Powder of Love (I) Read Online Free Page A

she reached the door, she went into the parlor to await Miss Renshaw and possibly forestall any servant who would go out that door and head down that path. Rosalie stretched out on the sofa to wait.
    When she woke, she discovered someone had covered her with a blanket and it was daylight.
    “Did you have trouble sleeping?” Miss Renshaw stood nearby, her hand resting on a tray that lay on the table. Steam rose from the coffeepot and fresh muffins.
    Rosalie gaped up at her companion, who looked as she always did: mousy brown and gray hair smoothed under the cap. A puce-colored gown. Absolutely no sign of debauchery. No, perhaps Miss Renshaw’s cheeks were pinker than usual. But it wasn’t a blush of shame. Some sort of irritation perhaps.
    “I’m sorry if you didn’t…sleep well,” Miss Renshaw said. She wore her normal, vague smile. “I slept like a log.”
    Rosalie sat up, and the covers slipped to the floor. “Miss Renshaw, are you well?”
    “It’s strange that you… I am coming down with something. My limbs ache, and my skin…” She gave a slight cough, the smallest of sounds that she made when something slightly embarrassed her.
    Rosalie swallowed to banish a wave of nausea. “You don’t recall last night? You touched the box. Remember?”
    “I felt odd. Not disagreeable, but odd. And my dreams…pleasant, but…” Her voice died away, and now her face definitely reddened. “Very naughty…” She wore the faintest smile.
    Rosalie hated to do it, but she had to. “What if? Uh. Um. What if they weren’t dreams?”
    Miss Renshaw’s smile faltered. “You had a disturbed night, my dear. Sleeping here and… Perhaps you need more rest.”
    “I wonder, should I tell you what happened?” she whispered. Yes, she had to.
    At that moment, Beels came into the room. He jerked back, away from Rosalie’s companion when he noticed her. The ends of his mouth quivered. “Flowers, miss,” he said, holding up a rather bedraggled nosegay of roses. “Hawes wished to deliver them to Miss Renshaw himself, but I deemed it best he not enter the house.”
    “Hawes?” Rosalie squeaked. “The coachman?”
    It made sense, of course. The mews.
    “Hawes?” Miss Renshaw whispered and went very pale. “Hawes. Oh no. Hawes. And…and… Is his Christian name John?”
    “I wouldn’t know, miss.” He didn’t sneer, but Rosalie supposed that was only because he’d been too well trained.
    There was only one cup on the tray. “Beels, bring me another cup for the coffee. At once,” she said sharply. After he left, she helped her companion to the sofa. The poor lady’s eyes were closed tight.
    Rosalie pressed her hand. “The dream. Did it involve intimacies? With Hawes?”
    Miss Renshaw’s lips quivered. “Yes. With…”
    It could have been worse, Rosalie supposed. He was not a bad person, not like the coachman next door, who had a tendency to drink too much, use the whip too often, and act in an unpleasant manner with the maids. “He’s a good man. He won’t gossip.”
    The older lady kept her eyes closed, but she did not fall into hysterics. “I saw him,” she said in a low voice. “He was coming back from the, ah, privy. And I told him the air was too wonderful to go indoors. He agreed. Particularly in his room, he said. I gave him permission to come through the iron gate. The garden. To look at the fountain. And we talked, and then I, ah, I think…I told him I wanted him to kiss me. I hadn’t been kissed, you see. I hadn’t. But if it wasn’t a dream…” Her voice grew thick with unshed tears. “Good gracious, I’ve been kissed…”
    She gave a choked sob. “It-it was… The whole thing was so…” She shook her head. “I will never forgive myself. Never.”
    “It wasn’t your fault. Please, Emily, you were under the influence of a powerful drug. No one could blame you.”
    The lady pulled out a neat little handkerchief and broke down completely. “Oh no. It’s terrible. Unforgivable.”