LITMIR.BIZ

      It was the butler Truss who escorted Olivia to her room. He hadn’t much to say as he was clearly discomfited by her presence. Her bedchamber, he told her, was on the same floor as the viscount’s, but at the rear of the townhouse. He mentioned it only because he wanted her to know that he hadn’t put her in the servants’ quarters as it didn’t seem fitting. He made a point to explain that every other room in the establishment had a most particular purpose and that she wasn’t to be in any one of them without the express consent of Breckenridge himself.

      Olivia had no reservations about agreeing to that.

      The bedchamber was more than adequate for her needs. She was surprised to find that a small bathing room adjoined it. The copper tub was of such ridiculously large dimensions that she was sure the water would be cooled before it could be sufficiently filled. She had to squeeze around the tub to reach the washstand. Bracing her arms on the marble top, she confronted her reflection once again. In spite of her embarrassing bout of sickness, she could see that her color had improved since earlier this morning. Such was the influence of the viscount. Olivia counted it as a good thing she would not have to endure another interview with him during her stay. He was as desirous of ignoring her presence as she was desirous of being ignored.

      All things considered, it could be much, much worse.

      Olivia removed the tortoiseshell combs from her hair. She glanced around and saw that no brush had been provided. Using one of the combs and her fingers, she managed to weed the small knots from her hair and finally tamed it in a thick braid. To secure the plait, she removed the ribbon that defined her bodice and wrapped it around the tail. Satisfied, she poured water into the washstand bowl and applied a damp flannel to her face and throat.

      Moderately improved in spirit, if only temporarily, Olivia returned to the bedchamber. It was comfortably appointed with a neatly made bed and night tables on either side of the plump pillows. A blue-and-brown plaid wool rug lay folded at the foot of the bed. A fire had been laid and there was a stack of logs on the marble apron. The armoire was sufficiently large to store what belongings would be brought for her and a narrow chest of drawers would hold incidentals and sundries.

      There was only one painting and it hung on the same wall as the door. She would be able to see it when she woke and the thought cheered her. The artist had used the brightest colors in his palette to create a scene of kites flying in the park. It was easy to imagine the dizzying motion of the kites and the children who ran after them, arms stretched, clutching their strings in small fists. She thought it was an odd choice for a room that probably rarely saw visitors, but then it was also safe here, and it was unlikely to have drawn the notice or approval of Breckenridge’s gamers.

      The bedroom’s sole window overlooked the small garden and alley beyond. Olivia tied back the heavy velvet drapes to allow the modest light of an overcast sky to enter. There was but a single chair and it was situated too close to the bed and not close enough to the fire. Olivia changed that, turning it so she could have all the benefit of the flames, then tested it for comfort.

      When she sat down she did not imagine she could fall asleep, or even that she would want to, yet once she had fit herself between the wings of the chair and curled her feet under her it was as if the choice had been taken from her. She did not recall her head tipping to one side or her eyes drifting closed. Sleep came upon her surely and deeply and led her to a place without dreams, without cares, but also without hope.