“Oh,” said Garth, rubbing his hands together and turning with his back to the fire. “How fortunate I feel.”
“Up at the Highlands, were you? Did you buy those bottles you were set on?”
“I did. Lovely little things they are, too. Here’s a sample.” And again, he dug out the little bottle and presented it for inspection. “Wouldn’t any woman, old or young, like a dear bottle like that, sitting before the mirror on her pretty-shelf?”
“Well, Mrs. Fentwig would, for sure, and our daughters no less. When you come this way next, Sentith, bring one for each of my womenfolk.”
So they chatted about nothing very much while Genevieve lay in a curtained cubicle, warm water up to her chin, half floating, the scented steam gathering on her face, for Mrs. Fentwig had come in to whip the bathwater with a bundle of herbs that had lent a soft, clean smell, like rain in a garden. Though Genevieve had been careful not to think of Aufors during all the miles she had ridden for the last two days, the warm water loosened all her constraints and her mind flew to him like iron to a magnet, clinging. Oh, Aufors! The touch of the water was the warmth of his mouth, the embrace of the flannel was the touch of his hands, and there was a tremor inside her, a molten feeling, as though she had become a little fire mountain, flowing with white hot stone, no longer rigid and hard but liquid, shapeless, capable of running over or around everything, anything in its path. Oh, this was a twitch of the loins indeed!
She had not really known she was in love with him until the moment of leaving him. She had wanted to be with him, surely, because he flattered her and she felt wonderful in his company, but she had not known this feeling until he held her. Barbara had been right, quite right, a twitch of the loins was unmistakable! Oh, she would willinglygive up being part of the nobility if that would let her be with Aufors. She would love to be common, common as he! As Alicia’s first husband had been! And safer for it!
She sighed, giving up thought. Thought did no good at all.
So determined, she dozed until the water began to cool, at which point she came out of the water like a pearl from the waves and dove into the folds of the thick towel that had been warming on the pipes from the hot spring, and thence into clean garments while the tub glugged itself empty. She was rosy and warm when she went back through the common room into the kitchen where both the Fentwigs were busy.
“Imma, my dear, but you look rested.”
“I am, Papa. The lovely bath was almost enough to make me forget my disappointment in Upland.”
“Disappointment, my dear?” asked Mrs. Fentwig. “Who would disappoint such a lovely child?”
Which led to the story of the bad cold and how she had seen absolutely nothing, so the whole trip had been less than amusing. “But, I feel very well, now, and I’m looking forward to the sail home.”
“Sail, Sentith? This time of year?” Fentwig opened his eyes wide, miming astonishment.
“Now should be possible,” said Garth. “It’s windy, I grant you, but—”
“Windy! This season is a good bit more than windy. If you’re going to sail south, well, you’ll have to wait a few days on the Northerlies, which’ll be even breezier! The islands of the Drowned Range don’t protect the lagoon as well as once they did, now they’re being drowned all over again!”
“Still, it’s the quickest way home,” said Garth comfortably. “Eight or ten days instead of twice that on a horse! We can sail close to shore and put in if there’s a gale, and I’m sure you’ll find someone to take us.”
“Some lunatic,” opined Mrs. Fentwig. “Like Weird Wigham.”
“Weird Wigham, exactly,” cried Garth. “The very person!”
“Who is Weird Wigham?” begged Genevieve.
Garth said, “Why, Imogene, he’s a strange old youngster or young oldster who rejoices in doing the different on weekdays and the ridiculous on holidays. And he has a boat, which is the most relevant thing about him.”