South Landers: Wenna Part 10

"Remember to spread the word about where you have your hair done," she told Jane, as she reflected the back of the barmaid's hair into the big mirror. "Mrs. Busby's hat shop. No one needs buy a hat if they don't want a hat, but the more people who come in, the more who might like to buy one."

"I'd say so," Jane said, turning her head and preening. "Real fas.h.i.+onable, I look. I might even want to buy a hat meself."

Wenna stood, squinting as she critically examined her efforts. The young woman had thin blonde hair, which Wenna had combed through with a weak sugar solution to hold the shape. The coronet braid ran from her nape to the crown of her head, making her narrow face rounder. Jane certainly looked smarter. "Wait there, and I'll show you which hat would look best with the style I gave you." Two steps into the other room, and she found a basic shape with a small brim she turned up at the sides. "Wear this forward on your head with a ribbon tie behind. Mrs. Busby could advise you on decorations."

"I could." Mrs. Busby had followed the hat into Wenna's area. "I can decorate these small hats quite economically, too, with ribbons, or even leaves and flowers."

Jane left with the smartest of hairstyles and a discounted hat.

Mrs. Busby made an astonished face at Wenna. "You made her look very nice. If you style all those barmaids, Miss Chenoweth, they'll soon look too smart to be barmaids."

Maisie glanced at Wenna. "Just what Mr. Snow said when he first saw my hair. Gave him an idea, it did. You might notice a change in the hotel tonight."

"What sort of change?"

Maisie tapped the side of her nose. "A good change. Wait and see." She stayed to help with the hairdos until midday, and then she scooted off to work.

In the afternoon, Mrs. Busby sent in four paying customers to see Wenna. At sixpence a head, she did well. She thought she could manage eight a day, which would make her more than a pound a week, not bad for a woman working in her spare time. The average wage for a man was a pound a week. Maisie could earn twelve s.h.i.+llings, more than half that if she could help Wenna each morning, and then Wenna could manage to make even more money.

She arrived at the lodgings in time to occupy herself with finis.h.i.+ng a black-and- white striped bodice before Devon came home looking weary. He smiled at her, removed his cotton jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and began to have a cold-water wash in the sink basin. "Were the scones successful?"

"Ernie seemed to think so. Mr. Finn ate a few."

"None left, I suppose?"

"If I'd thought you were serious, I would have saved you a couple. I just didn't imagine you would eat something as ordinary as a scone."

"I can lower myself occasionally," he said with a glint in his eye.

She was beginning to know that look. He wanted to tup her again.

She backed. "I must change for dinner," she said hurriedly. Although her body had responded with an excited thud, without her contraceptive device, she couldn't let him touch her. "The daylight is starting to fade."

He gave an offhand shrug, and he changed into a dark suit. Together they strolled over the road to eat. When they reached the entrance of the hotel, he opened the door for her.

She moved inside ahead of him and then stopped. "Well, now. What has happened here?" She glanced in astonishment around the room.

"Snow appears to made the dining area separate from the bar area." Devon indicated a waist-high wooden part.i.tion, which now divided the big room. The section of the bar parallel to the window was now a s.p.a.ce where drinkers could stand or prop on stools. The remaining half of the room had been set up with the tables and chairs.

Maisie sashayed over, wearing a plain gray gown with a white ap.r.o.n. "Let me show you to your table," the newly re-made waitress said, her gracious arm-swing into the room a trifle overdone.

Jane, standing behind the bar in the dining section and wearing the same uniform, winked. With their new hairdos and gowns, both women looked very smart. Wenna hitched her shoulders with delight, knowing they'd be asked numerous times about their hair. After she'd been seated, she watched more and more couples enter, stare around the room, and look pleased to be seated away from the noisy bar.

"Seems to me, Snow's clientele will change. Men will bring their wives in here more often."

Devon inclined his head and pasted a lordly smile onto his face. "You can't complain about me. I take you out every night."

"I can't say I've appreciated that until tonight." Beaming back, Wenna sat mentally counting her pennies. She could see Maisie's and Jane's new look being closely examined by the wives, mothers, and sisters in the room. Before long, Wenna might have a solid clientele.

Devon fingered his clean-cut jaw. "Did you know about this?"

"I was told to expect a surprise."

"The barmaids are copying your hairdos, which is very astute, because you do have style. Did you know that? Did I also tell you how charming you look tonight? In the lamp light, your hair looks a delightful shade of auburn."

"Charming," she repeated with a smile, not sure how to take the compliment. "You look charming, too, but because you are, not because of the color of your hair."

He grinned. "I can take a compliment. Thank you. So, I'm charming and you are beautiful. You are, of course, but it never seems quite fair to compliment a woman for her looks. Your coloring is stunning-that bright wonderful hair and your clear white skin, but you would have inherited that." He made a throwaway gesture with his hand. "You make so much more of your coloring by the gowns you wear. It's your style that's to be complimented, because your style is all your own."

Tonight she wore her russet skirt and her black-and-white striped top. She cleared her throat, amazed to hear him say she was beautiful. No one had ever thought that; in fact, quite the opposite. "Thank you. I am complimented. Did you have a satisfactory day?"

He nodded and rose to his feet to be introduced to the wife of a man he knew. This happened twice more during the course of the meal, and he scrupulously introduced her, too. Her new husband had a natural courtesy, but of course anyone could see he was a gentleman. Certainly the tradesmen and their wives treated him as such.

"Tell me about your garden, Devon," she said when she finally had his attention again. "Describe it to me."

"We don't have a garden. You've seen it. It's just a clothesline and some rubbish bins."

"I mean at home. In Cornwall."

"Oh, that garden." He narrowed his eyes in concentration. "You'll understand that the cricket pitch was all I needed. That's at the side of the house near a small garden planted with herbs. At the front, we have a long carriageway lined with pines on either side to the front gates. Behind the house, we grow a few acres of flowers to be picked and sold."

"It sounds wonderful. Your father is a flower grower?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"I'm glad he has nothing to do with the mines."

"He owns mainly farming lands." He took a deep breath and leaned back, his brow crinkled with thought. "My mother had a pretty little garden outside her bedroom window. She grew lavender and roses. She might have grown violets, too. I'm not certain. Along the path to the big main garden were two statues of naked women." His mouth curved into a devilish smile.

"I suppose you examined them thoroughly."

"I have to admit I was rather fascinated. These days I prefer the real thing."

"I'm glad." She blushed. For too many shallow reasons, she enjoyed her evening meal tonight.

Mr. Snow came over as Devon put the price of the meal on the table. "What do you think of my girls?" he asked Devon, glancing in the direction of the bar.

Devon shook his head slowly, his smile complicit. "You'll make a fortune, you sly dog. This is exactly what the colony needs, somewhere for respectable people with limited incomes to eat."

"That's what you told me months ago. Then the barmaids had the idea about the uniformthought they might look better as waitresses." Mr. Snow pushed his hands into his pockets and leaned back on his heels. "We'll try this for a while and see if it makes a difference."

Devon gave a noncommittal nod and pulled out Wenna's chair as she stood. She could easily get used to his fancy manners. As they walked together over to the lodgings, she held his arm.

"So, the idea of the dining room was yours?"

"Not really. One day I had a discussion with Snow about the great hotels in London and the aristocratic people who patronized them." He opened the front door for her. "I also mentioned the prices of the meals."

"Let's hope he doesn't put his prices up, too."

"Ever-practical Wenna. You should be happy to be eating in a place where you don't have to compete with extended cleavages and bottoms begging to be pinched."

"You're quite mistaken if you think women want their bottoms pinched."

He put his arm around her waist and turned her into him, planting a soft kiss on her mouth. "I've found they'd rather be kissed." His breath warmed her cheek.

She pushed his firm chest. Although he could melt her with his smile, her determination not to have a baby until she knew she would have money enough to look after her grandparents in Cornwall could not be overridden. Smoothing her thumb over his cheek, she smiled and wriggled out of his grip. Devon's father might want an heir, but he certainly wouldn't want a few extra strangers to support, no matter how well-fixed he was.

Clearly, his father didn't support Devon in a life of luxury, although he owned beautifully cut suits and shoes made from the best leather money could buy. Likely, he had needed these accoutrements while he had worked for the governor, but his savings wouldn't last if he took her out to dinner every night. If he looked around for a proper job, he would find one, being as personable as he was. Then they could find a more congenial place to live.

She took the first stair tread, realizing that that idea was impractical. If they were leaving the colony in a few months, she should make the best of these lodgings, because moving would be a waste of money, even if she managed to earn enough for a move. Better to stay here and spend her earnings on essentials.

Despite her husband's idle lifestyle, or perhaps because of it, he excelled in bed sports. That night he explored her and her reactions with meticulous attention to detail. She rode him while he laughed up at her. The man was irresponsible, a slacker, a charmer, and the best lover a woman like her was ever likely to have. No one had ever made her smile as often as he had.

Life with him could be very comfortable if this burgeoning relations.h.i.+p grew, but she doubted he would remain faithful. His sort didn't, but if he kept his promise to take her to Cornwall, she would be a good wife to him... the best, as long as she remembered to remain emotionally aloof.

To fall for him or his charm would be an irretrievable mistake.

Waking before Wenna in the morning, Dev realized he hadn't married her because his thoughtless flirting had lost her a job. He had not a single n.o.ble bone in his entire body. However, the idea of presenting a redheaded maid to his father as the mother of the next heir had appealed to him. Why not? One woman was the same as the next, and to set his father back on his heels had seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now Dev realized he had made the best of bargains for an entirely puerile reason. His thinking had been unworthy of him. The earl had been well within his rights to resent having a cuckoo in his nest. Perhaps he didn't treat his youngest son the same as his brothers, but in all, as a youngest son, Dev had been given a good grounding to make his own way in life.

The sooner Dev returned to England and faced his unwanted responsibilities, the better. He owed this at least to the earl, who was man enough to appreciate Wenna for herself. She would give his father a run for his money, though. Wenna said exactly what she thought, and she wouldn't be intimidated. Her sense of style had been a revelation, too, given the miserly funds he had supplied. Clearly she could manage wonders on a budget. Well and good. Since she wouldn't be cobbling a place for herself in Adelaide's society, she had no need for an extensive wardrobe-not yet, not until they reached England.

A splurge in Paris with his sister-in-law would most likely suit both women, and Wenna might impart some of her sense of style to his brother's dowdy widow. Devon looked forward to Wenna showing the English aristocracy the freshness of a colonial upbringing. This in itself had been a welcome surprise. Her lithe healthy body and her sensuous enjoyment of his had been a revelation. Judging by her initial tight-lipped a.s.sessment of him, he'd expected her to be a woman who would slap his hands away when he touched her and keep her knees closed until he begged.

He rolled over onto his back and saw she watched him. Her sleepy gaze wandered to his p.e.n.i.s, which sat large and sluggish on his belly. She reached out her hand and stroked him from the base to the tip, where her fingers lingered. Idly, she pulled his foreskin to the glistening head and watched his c.o.c.k swell further. Short of breath, he watched, too.

This inexperienced maid had quickly learned how a man liked dallying. She'd gone from a woman who would merely lie on her back, to one who wanted to experience anything and everything. She stretched him a few times while his languorous l.u.s.t expanded and then she said, "What do you plan to do today?"

"The same as I do on weekdays," he said, his tone husky with need.

Her hand stopped moving. "That would be to idle around with your worthless friends?"

"Not many of my friends are worthless or idle."

She straightened her fingers, her palm just a whisper above his skin. "Which isn't an answer to my question."

He put his hand over hers to keep her touching him, but he no longer had her full attention. "I work as a laborer," he said unwillingly.

"Well! I couldn't see how looking at land would make you so dirty every day." Her eyes met his, and her delighted smile was a joy to see. "You do get paid, don't you?"

"It's certainly worth my while."

She shook off his hand and began exploring his p.e.n.i.s again, this time tracing a torturous vein until his member jumped. "Do that again." She laughed.

He liked her in this teasing, relaxed mood. "It's involuntary. You need to work out how to make me do that again."

"Oh, my, you're a devious man." She rolled over and sprang out of bed, her nightgown a tent over her delicious body.

Suspecting he was the pot talking to the kettle, he, too, swung out of bed. "I'll start up the stove and put the water on." He dressed in his running clothes while she went to the privy, leaving before she came back.

By the time he returned home after his run, she'd bathed and dressed, and she had her oats prepared for breakfast. He'd discovered a plateful fortified him for a good day's work, and he no longer glanced at the unappealing gloop with disdain. He sat with her in the kitchen to eat, though the area was scarcely a dining room. However, this didn't bother him, for she kept the whole place neat, she kept him fed, and she did more than her wifely duty in bed.

He grinned at her. "What do you plan to do today?"

"I think I'll get to know the neighbors. I need a little female company." She kept her gaze on her plate.

"I do, too, but if I mentioned female company, I doubt I would please you."

"You please me well enough if you mean my company, but I would rather you earned a pot of money." She lifted her head. "If you mean other female company, I imagine you could get that without a pot of money." Her mouth moved into a wry tilt.

"I meant yours. I would be a fool to say otherwise." He stood up, considering a quick kiss on her cheek, but decided to leave her wondering exactly what he had meant.

At this stage, she was his perfect foil, still unsure of herself and him, which kept her being his delight. If they remained here rather than scurrying off to Cornwall, she would be a far more suitable wife for him than one of the spoiled darlings he constantly had presented. In Cornwall, Wenna might receive a chilly reception at first, but his father would soon see his son was teaching him that societal designations depended on cla.s.s rather than birth. Wenna was nothing if not cla.s.sy, being able to change at will.

"But you're right. I need to leave for work. I won't be working tomorrow. Are you a churchgoer?"

"I've always attended a Sunday service." She clasped her smooth hands in her lap. "Except last week because, as you know, I was being dismissed from my job."

"I'll take you to church if you like, but I'll be playing cricket for the rest of the day." He paused, tilting his eyebrows in query. "Would you like to come and watch?"

Her eyes wide, she spread her splayed hand protectively across her upper chest. "Who will be there?"

"The men you saw playing cricket at the Brooks' last week, and the wives and mothers and daughters you also saw there. We usually play on Sunday. That Sat.u.r.day game was only scrambled together because most of the team was in the hills."

"The mothers and daughters." Her mouth twisted. "I'm not quite ready to confront Mrs. Brook and Miss Patricia."

Dev eyed her, appreciating her fine, narrow nose and the elegant curve of her cheekbone. "When the time comes, I'll do the confronting. You needn't worry I'll let them patronize you. I won't."

"Nevertheless, I need more than a week to learn my new place. I spent more than twelve years as a servant."

He paused, curious. "How old were you when you started working?"

"I worked to support myself from the age of thirteen, but I needed to help Mumma after Da died. That was the year before." She rose to her feet, collecting the dirty plates.

He followed her into the kitchen. "What did your mother do?"

"Laundry. Endlessly. I used to do her damping and starching, thinking I was a great help. Looking back, I spent far too much time rattling about with my friends." She smiled wryly.

"I'm sure she understood."

She nodded. "Too well. She tried to encourage me to better myself." Turning, she poured a little of the hot water into the sink dish. "Perhaps, if she hadn't died, all would have gone as she had hoped. But in the end, I achieved the same household position she did."

"In which part of Cornwall were you born?"

"I was born here in South Australia."