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“Oh.” Her frown cleared. “That makes perfect sense to me.”

Instead of saying anything further, she flopped back onto the bed and rolled onto her side.

Benedict watched her a moment in silence. Then, realizing nothing else was forthcoming, he pulled the door shut and set about fetching the water. It seemed they would not be clearing the air tonight about the house on Winchester Street.

It didn’t take him long to feed and water the horse, and he smoked a while as he waited for the water to heat. For a moment, he debated helping himself to Lizzie’s writing supplies to send some new instruction to Edwards. But what was the point in throwing out his tenants if they weren’t going to live there for at least another nine months?

He cast the butt of his cigarillo away, removed the water, and put out the fire. Letting himself into the wagon, he found, as he knew he would, Lizzie fast asleep. He lit the lamp and moved to the bed, swiftly unlacing her boots. She stirred but did not wake. He moved onto her stockings and then her dress and underclothing, until he had her swathed in her nightgown and tucked under the covers.

When he dabbed at her eye area with some water to clean it and then followed this up with the ointment, she flinched and murmured. “Shhh, let me do it,” he soothed her.

His words seemed to do the trick, and she relaxed back onto the pillows with a sigh. Benedict glanced towards her wash bag but knew she would not appreciate him trying to tackle her with either hair or toothbrush. Pulling out any obvious hairpins he could see, he realized this would simply have to do for her evening’s toilette.

Moving back over to the washbasin, he saw to his own wash and then stripped down to his underwear for bed. When he pulled back the blankets to climb in, she rolled onto her side toward him and cuddled into him. Benedict lifted his arm to accommodate her and then settled it about her, resting his hand at her waist.

He’d sell the damned house if that was what she wanted. After all, what was the point of keeping it if she didn’t like it? While it was true, he had bought the house with marriage in mind, he had not precisely thought of Betsy, but rather some vague idea of what he thought a gentleman’s residence should be.

At the end of the day, he was under no illusions about his own claim to the title of gentleman. He had none. The best thing he could do at this point was simply be led by Lizzie in what was acceptable to her and what was not. Gazing into the darkness at their current cramped conditions, he found it hard to believe her standards could be all that exacting. After all, she seemed content enough in this tiny box. With him.

24

Lizzie woke abruptly, her eyes heavy and a bad taste in her mouth. She lay a moment in confusion before realizing she was safely in her bed. Though, now she came to think of it, she could not remember climbing into it. Glancing to her side, she found she was alone in the bed. Where was Benedict?

Sitting up, she could see light streaming through the small window at the foot of the bed and guessed it was mid-morning. He must be up and about already!

Swinging her legs off the mattress, Lizzie grimaced feeling her sore head. Raising her hands to massage her temples, she realized she had imbibed rather too much fruit punch. She had not brushed her teeth the previous night either, she thought with a groan and moved across to the wash basin which stood on the trunk. The water was cold, but she plunged her hands into it and scooped the water into her face.

That woke her up. She spluttered and swung around for her face towel which she found after a moment’s groping about. Then she set about cleaning her teeth with the small horsehair brush she used for that purpose. Her store of toothpowder was running low, she noted. Usually, she made this once a month with her aunt, from powdered castile soap, camphor, and charcoal, but she would need to make her own supplies in future. Perhaps she ought to make a list of ingredients she would need for that and her mouth rinse?

Consulting the small square mirror Benedict used for shaving, she saw the purple of her eye looked a little more yellowish in hue today. Catching sight of her hair, which resembled a rat’s nest, Lizzie gave a muffled squeak and grabbed her hairbrush. Each time she passed it through her locks, she snagged it on another concealed hairpin. She would never drink fruit punch again, however delicious. The mere thought of it this morning turned her stomach.

By the time she had thoroughly washed with soap, dressed her hair, and donned her underwear, she heard a fumbling at the door and snatched up her dress to hold it before her. Benedict’s face appeared framed in the doorway.

“You’re up,” he said climbing inside. “I bought you a currant bun,” he said setting it on the side. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now I’ve washed and cleaned my teeth.”

He nodded. “You’ll feel even better when you’ve eaten something. Come here and let me look at your eye.”

Lizzie dropped her dress onto the bed and stepped around it to stand before him. Benedict tipped her head back and gazed down at her eye. “It looks a little better, I think,” she said self-consciously.

He grunted and turned away to the door. “Come out when you’re ready, the kettle’s on.”

Lizzie made haste to dress, though her every movement felt sluggish and clumsy. When she joined Benedict moments later by the fire, he was already pouring the tea into their cups. She took a seat, and Sebastian touched his nose to her knee. Lizzie fondled the dog’s ears, and he settled beside her to gnaw his bone.

“Thank you,” Lizzie said taking her teacup and warming her hands against it. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Don’t be,” he answered with a shrug. “Everyone needs to cut loose once in a while.”

Lizzie colored and avoided his eye. She had a feeling he was waiting for the opportunity to say something. She had thought it must be a scolding about her disgraceful intoxication, but clearly that had not been it.

She wracked her brains for what else it could be. The only other thing she had done that he didn’t know about was meeting with her uncle in the tea tent. She felt a sudden panic that someone else might have seen her there and told him of it.

She eyed Benedict uneasily as he kicked his boot against a pile of logs next to the fire. These weren’t fallen branches but had been chopped. “Here’s a pile for you to keep adding to the fire today.” Lizzie looked up at him in surprise. Was she to stay put, then? His face grew stern. “I want you to stay here and rest today, Lizzie.”

“But I feel fine now!”

“Connie and the others have moved on, so there’s no reason for you to come into the fair. You can sit here quietly and … finish your sewing,” he suggested.