All the Sweet Tomorrows (66 page)

“Sometimes,” Skye agreed, “and then again sometimes not.”

The comtesse, ignoring the last part of Skye’s remark, said pleasantly, “I hope you will be comfortable here, my dear. Your bedchamber is to the right, and Adam’s to the left. I see that you have not traveled with a servant, and so I shall choose a competent woman for you, if I may.”

“Please, Gaby, do. I did not take my Daisy to Morocco with me, as the dangers involved were far too great. She is now back in England, and I did not like to bring a girl from Beaumont de Jaspre only to have to send her back.” A mischievous smile turned up the corners of her lovely mouth. “Adam has been a most helpful maid to me these last few days.”

Gaby laughed. “A role in which I do not see my son as successful, but I shall take your word for it, Skye. Is there anything I might get you now?”

“Oh, if I might only have a bath! It was impossible along the road, and my hair and the very pores of my skin are filled with dust.”

The comtesse nodded with understanding. “I shall see to it immediately, my dear. Now, I shall leave you to yourself. A
servant will attend you presently.” Then with a quick smile Gaby turned and was gone, closing the door behind her.

Skye looked more closely at the salon. The wide floorboards of the room were clean and polished, and the windows were hung with natural-colored linen drapes with a rose and green design. On one wall was a long dark oak table flanked by chairs on either side, and on either side of the fireplace were tall wooden chairs, their high backs and seat cushions embroidered in rose and cream tapestry. Before the fireplace was a fine oak settle with a dark green tapestried seat cushion. Built-in bookcases filled with leather-bound volumes lined another wall of the salon. Skye smiled to herself. She was not of a mind to read right now, but she would eventually see what reading matter the de Savilles had furnished this guest apartment with.

There was a door on the bookcase wall, and opening it, Skye peered into a tiny, windowless chamber furnished with a narrow cot and a small trunk. This would be a servant’s room. Walking to the end of the room, she opened the door to what Gaby had said would be Adam’s room. It was a medium-sized chamber with a small fireplace, a bed, and a small candlestand. Next to the fireplace was another door, and Skye walked through it to find herself in her own bedchamber. This room was furnished with a much larger bed, two candlestands, and a comfortable chair by its fireplace. It had two other doors, one leading back into the salon, and one opening into a fair-sized garderobe. Skye looked with pleasure at the bedchamber’s dusky rose velvet drapes and bed hangings. High-breasted stone maidens flanked the small fireplace, and upon the mantel was centered a little bowl of pink roses that perfumed the room. The windows looked out over the gardens with woodlands beyond. There was a warmth about the room that appealed to Skye, and she knew that she was going to be happy here.

“Bonjour!”
The voice came from the salon, and Skye hurried back into the main room of the apartment to confront a tiny, black-eyed woman of middle years dressed neatly in the clothing of an upper servant.

“Good day,” she said.

“Bonjour
, madame. I am Mignon,” the woman smiled. “Madame la Comtesse has sent me to take care of you.” She turned quickly as she heard the door opening behind her. “Ahh! The footmen with your bath, madame. Into the bedchamber,
mes amis! Vite! Vite!”
She hurried ahead of them, leaving Skye standing rather amused.

The footmen who struggled with the bulky oak tub were followed by a brisk procession of their fellows, each lugging two buckets of steaming water until, finally, the tub was filled. Mignon stood in the bedchamber door, and said, “Come, madame. I am ready to begin.” Skye nodded, and walked into her bedchamber. Mignon had flung the windows wide, and the soft warm summer air was easily dispelling the dampness of the room and mingling the fragrance of the cut roses in the bowl with the many flowers blooming in the gardens below.

Mignon quickly undressed her new mistress, saying as she did so, “I have prepared a basin of warm water, madame, and I will first wash your hair.
Mon Dieu!
Never have I seen so much dust! Did you roll in it, like a naughty puppy?”

Skye laughed. “I might as well have,” she said ruefully. “It was eight days of travel, and no rain to hold the dust down on the roads.”

“We do not need the rains now,” Mignon replied. “The more sun, the sweeter the grapes, the better the wines this harvest.” Gently she pushed Skye over so that her long dark hair was in the porcelain basin. Then with quick, deft movements she began washing Skye’s hair.

Skye sniffed disbelievingly. “Damask roses!” she exclaimed.

“Mais oui,”
came the calm reply. “Is it not your scent?”

“Yes, but how did you know?”

“Madame la Comtesse told me.” Mignon rinsed, and began a second washing.

How much had Adam told his mother about her? Skye wondered. Obviously he had written quite a bit to Gaby. Skye was touched. He really did love her, she thought, and realized that when he had turned her away saying that she needed a greater, more powerful husband than he could be, he had done so because of that love. Khalid, Geoffrey, Niall—all had loved her deeply; but had they loved her as much as Adam de Marisco obviously did? Comparison was unfair in this instance, Skye knew, yet she was touched by his devotion to her, and sad that she could not accept his proposal. Adam deserved to be happy, but could she bring herself to marry again? Not now. Perhaps, and the thought slipped into her mind unbidden, much to her annoyance, perhaps later. He had said he would wait, but would he? Suddenly Adam de Marisco was of a mind to marry, and he might grow tired of a woman who could not make up her mind. Well, if he did, Skye thought mutinously, then so be it! She had had all she could bear of being owned.

Mignon was now wringing out Skye’s long black hair, having emptied a final bucket of rinse water over her head. Vigorously she toweled her mistress’s waist-length hair, then politely said, “If you will sit for a few moments, madame, here on the window seat with your hair spread out in the sun, I shall prepare your bath for you.”

Skye stretched herself so she might lie straight out, the back of her head resting upon the windowsill while her flowing hair fell over it and blew in the gentle breeze. Having clean hair felt wonderful, and Skye closed her eyes for a moment in the bright sunlight, humming lazily to herself as Mignon poured the bath oil into the waiting tub and mixed it with a wooden paddle. It was several long minutes before the scent suited the tiny Frenchwoman, and by that time Skye’s mane was almost completely dry.

“Sit up, madame,” Mignon said with a cluck of satisfaction. Swiftly she pinned the hair atop her mistress’s head. “You will find your tub perfection,” she said as she helped Skye up a pair of steps and down into the water.

“Ohh, yes,” Skye murmured as the hot, fragrant water soaked into her skin and tired muscles.

Mignon chuckled. “Eight days in a jouncing coach is exhausting,” she said sympathetically.

“Could I soak for a few minutes?” Skye begged, and Mignon smiled.

“Of course, madame! I will begin to unpack your things, which the footmen have brought up to the garderobe. I am going to find you a comfortable
robe de chambre
so you may rest for a few hours until the evening meal. I have ordered up some fruit, cheese, bread, and wine for you, as I suspect that you are hungry.” Then she was off to the garderobe as Skye’s thanks rang out.

What a jewel, Skye thought, and how fortunate she was that Mignon was available to serve her. Skye sighed, and snuggled down deep into the warmth. She could feel the very pores in her skin welcoming the heat and the silken bath oil. How foolish those poor women were who thought bathing was injurious to health, and covered their body odors in layers of perfume. Bathing was truly heaven-sent, and nothing cleaned a body like soap and water.

“Do you want company?”

Skye didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “Not now, Adam,”
she pleaded prettily. “I don’t know the last time I so enjoyed a bath.”

His deep laughter rumbled about the room. Her refusal did not, he knew, stem from prudishness, or a cold nature. She simply did not wish to share her tub this time. Her enjoyment was plainly written upon her face. “I’ve already instructed old Guillaume to have a tub prepared for me, but I stopped on the chance you might be willing to share, little girl. I will be back when I have bathed.”

When she opened her eyes briefly he was already gone. Why was he coming back? Then the truth dawned on her. For almost two weeks she had slept in the same bed with him, and other than hold her close in the night he had made no move to touch her. Adam was a man, however, and he had his needs as she had hers. He wanted her; she had not needed to see his face or the look in his eyes to know that. She had heard the longing in his voice. Adam was the one man she would never use, Skye thought seriously. If he wanted to make love to her, then they should make love. She smiled to herself, and then a tiny frown creased her brow as she remembered that no man had made love to her since Kedar.

“Are you ready to be washed, madame?”

Skye jumped at the sound of Mignon’s voice. “Y-yes,” she managed to answer as her eyes flew open.

“I am sorry, madame,” Mignon apologized. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“It’s all right,” Skye assured the tiring woman. “I was merely thinking.”

“About M’sieur Adam?” Mignon inquired slyly. “I have known him since he was a boy. He is, how you say it,
formidable! Magnifique! Un grand homme passionné!
He is your lover?”

“She is to be my wife, you nosy creature,” Adam chuckled from the door that connected their two rooms. “She is in mourning now for her last husband, but we have known each other a long while, Mignon, and Skye will marry me sometime next year.”

“M’sieur Adam!” Mignon dropped the sea sponge with which she had been washing Skye’s back, and clapped her hands together with delight. Then she ran to him, took his face in her two hands, and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Bonne chance
, M’sieur Adam!” she exclaimed. “I am so happy for you! Did I not tell you those long years ago when that wretched Mam’selle Athenais
spurned you that somewhere there was a wife for you. Madame Skye is far more beautiful than that other one!”

“She has a good heart too, Mignon,” Adam said seriously.

“You are impossible!” Skye fussed at him. “Go and bathe, you great fool. You stink of half the roads of France! Mignon, this water grows cold!”

With another chuckle Adam disappeared back through the connecting door into his own room. Mignon, realizing the truth of Skye’s complaint about the bath water, clucked and fussed as she swiftly washed her new mistress, then assisted her from the tub to dry her. “Madame la Comtesse tells me we are to go to Paris for the royal wedding,” she chatted. “I did not think to be included in that journey. What a tale to tell my grandchildren!”

“You are married?” Skye was surprised.

“To Guillaume, who valets M’sieur Adam. He is much older than I, of course, but we have been married many years. I had my two babies before I came to be a tiring woman. When Comtesse Gabrielle married with M’sieur Antoine and brought her children to the château, Guillaume was assigned to be M’sieur Adam’s valet. Now my husband is retired, but when he learned that M’sieur Adam would be visiting nothing would do but that he serve his old master. We have several grandchildren, madame, and they will enjoy the tales we will bring back of the royal wedding in Paris.”

Skye smiled, remembering how very much Daisy enjoyed the galas and entertainments at court. “A wedding is a wedding,” she said. “I expect this one will be far more lavish, nothing more. Still, perhaps we can find some special treat to bring back to the little ones.”

“Madame! You are too kind!”

“I have children too, Mignon, and I know that even the smallest of gifts delights them.”

Mignon fairly hummed with approval of her new mistress as she helped Skye into a pale-rose silk caftan with tiny pearl buttons. Seating her, Mignon unpinned Skye’s hair and began to brush it out. Only faintly damp, it shone with soft blue lights and was sweet with the scent of roses. At last the tiring woman was satisfied. “There, madame, it is done. Now where shall I serve you? In the salon?”

“No,” Skye said. “I am weary. Bring me a small piece of bread with a bit of cheese and a little wine. I will eat it here by the window, and then rest.”

Mignon hurried to do as she was bid, and when she had placed
the plate and goblet by Skye’s side, she said, “Your gowns are frightfully wrinkled from all that travel. While you rest I shall see if I can get one in decent condition for you to wear tonight.”

“Merci
, Mignon,” Skye replied as the woman departed the room.

She chewed slowly, savoring the fresh, crisp bread with its covering of soft, ripe cheese. The golden wine was sweet and very mellow to her taste. Her gaze moved out through the windows into the gardens below, where several children were playing under the careful supervision of three nursemaids. For a moment Skye wondered how her own children were faring. Then she shook her head irritably. They were all safe, and well fed, and warm, and clothed. They survived quite well without her. Quick tears sprang forth from her beautiful eyes. She was being unfair to her children. They survived without her because they had to, but she knew that they didn’t like being apart from their mother any more than she liked being apart from them. Still, she was not quite ready to return to England: not yet ready to be a mother again, to pit her wits against those of Elizabeth Tudor. The last two years had been very harsh, and she needed time to regain her strength. She brushed the remaining crumbs from her lap, drained the goblet of the last sip of wine, and, standing up, walked over to the bed and lay down.

God’s bones, she was tired, and her head had barely hit the down pillows when she was asleep. She had no idea how long she slept, but she awoke to find the shadows long in the room, and Adam snoring lightly by her side. She gazed down on him for a moment, and then smiled. He was such a big man. He made her feel small, which she most certainly was not. There were the faintest flecks of silver in his shaggy black hair now, and she wondered how many of them she had given him. Strange, she thought, she had never noticed how beautifully sculpted the planes of his face were. The skin stretched over his high cheekbones was smooth, although tanned with the sun of the outdoor life he preferred living. She liked the way he wore his beard now, clipped close and coming down from the round of his mustache, which enhanced his sensuous mouth. He was such a handsome man.