Rogues and Ripped Bodices Read Online Free

to
learn about English gentleman and their etiquette.

Chapter
Three
    “It’s
so small.”
    “Yes, miss,” Jenny replied.
    “Aren’t there any bigger ones?”
    “No, miss. This is the master’s one.”
    Viola tapped a finger to her lips as she eyed
the tin bath. She was hardly the largest of women but she was tall. How would
her legs fit inside that tiny thing?
    Jenny poured in another bucket of water and
handed it back to the maid who was bringing warm water up from the kitchen. The
other maid looked to be a good few years older than Viola and not up to the
task hauling bucketful upon bucketful of heated water from downstairs. She
suspected that by the time the bath was full, the original water would be cold.
    “Do you not have indoor plumbing?” Viola
couldn’t resist asking. It was an inane question because surely if they did,
they wouldn’t be running back and forth to fill her bath.
    But she was entirely baffled by the lack of taps
and baths. A house like Lockwood Manor would have all the latest in modern
engineering surely? The vast building with its impressive columns, high
ceilings and utter decadence had taken her breath away but she really had been
expecting it to be less... old. And certainly less draughty.
    “These old houses aren’t easy to modernise,
Miss,” Jenny explained. “Only new houses and hotels have indoor plumbing. I
expect you have it everywhere in New York.”
    “Well, yes, actually.”
    “We do have it in London—not that I’ve ever been
there, but my brother has. It must be wonderful to live in a city like New
York. I’d love to visit it one day.”
    Viola sat down on the four-poster bed and gave
the mattress an experimental bounce. It was soft—very soft. As old as the bed
probably. “It’s exciting but I do like your countryside. There’s no green
fields where I live.”
    “Green fields are dull.” Jenny swirled about the
bath water with a hand and looked to her. “I’d far rather be surrounded by
shops and huge buildings.”
    The other maid returned with another bucket.
Jenny poured it in, gave it a swirl and stepped back to eye the bath. “We have
no bath oils or salts, I’m afraid. The lord threw out everything like that
after his last wife died.”
    His last wife? She knew he was a widower but
hadn’t realised there had been more than one. How awful, losing two wives. He
had written little about his wife in his letters, save that she had died just
over a year ago. Was he still in mourning? Did that explain his surly
countenance? And if he was, why had he implied he wished to marry her? Viola
resisted the desire to put her head in her hands or probe Jenny for
information. That would be the crass thing to do and she was trying to prove
herself. If she could show that she was marchioness material, perhaps he would
warm to her.
    No doubt he had been expecting something else
from her letters. Someone refined and intelligent perhaps. Viola was certainly
not simple but she always felt she expressed herself better in writing. Was he
disappointed in her?
    “Shall I help you undress, miss?” Jenny asked,
interrupting her thoughts.
    “No!” She smiled. “I mean, no I can manage,
thank you.” She’d certainly never needed anyone to dress and undress her. She
wasn’t going to start now.
    “Very well. If you need anything, just pull that
rope there.”
    “Thank you.”
    Jenny backed out of the room and Viola finally
gave into the urge to throw herself back against the bed and lay an arm over
her face. If she became a marchioness, would she have to let people dress her?
She shuddered—and not from the cold. In a house full of boys, privacy had been
a rare thing so she treasured it when she had it. She was the only one with a
separate room growing up—at least until her father made his fortune in coffee
and moved them into a beautiful house with rooms enough for all of them. Except
for Ralphy who had left home by then.
    Fatigue made her lids heavy and she forced