The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone (Lords of Disgrace 4)

She was still smiling at the memory as Gabriel paid the one shilling and three pence for her and the one shilling for himself without a dipper.

‘There are two machines free now, just where I wanted them. Apparently the ladies prefer not to be so close to the men and the gentlemen are inhibited by the thought of appearing to spy on the ladies.’

Caroline went down the ladies’ steps to the beach with Harriet to be met by a woman with her sleeves rolled up over brawny arms. Her stout form was clad in a voluminous and soaking wet black-bombazine gown with numerous flannel petticoats dripping below the hem.

‘I am Mrs ’Uggins, marm, and I’ll be your dipper. No need for any alarm, marm, I’ve dipped them all from dairy maids to duchesses and never lost one yet. If you and your woman just step along and climb aboard, ’Uggins will take you down to the briny, smooth as silk.’

They clambered up the steps, through the door and into a narrow box with wooden benches on either side, a door at the far end and louvered slats letting in some light and the sound of the sea.

‘It is a good thing I spoke to Mrs Chamberlain’s maid yesterday and got some advice,’ Harriet said as she began to unfasten Caroline’s walking dress. ‘It would be far too difficult getting fully dressed and undressed in this, my lady.’

She had the simple gown and one petticoat off without any trouble and was just attacking the strings of the pair of short stays that was all the corsetry Caroline w

as wearing when the machine gave a lurch and began to move. Harriet sat down with a thump on one bench and Caroline on the other.

She was still giggling when she emerged through the door on to the steps into the sea to find Mrs Huggins at the foot of them, the waves rising and falling around her vast hips, her impressive bosom emerging like sea cliffs from the foam.

‘Down you come, marm. Lovely and warm it is. We’ll have you dipped three times before you can say Neptune!’

Caroline took advantage of the dipper’s bulk as a screen as she descended the steps, stifling a shriek as the water hit her stomach. Then she was in, her Bathing Preserver, as invented by the modiste Mrs Bell and widely advertised, shrouding her in its folds. The weighted hem kept it from billowing up and once she had arranged it evenly around her she felt quite decently covered and surprisingly unhampered.

‘I do not require dipping, Mrs Huggins. I can swim quite well.’ And in fact it was quite difficult to keep her feet on the bottom in the buoyant salty water.

‘It’s more healthful to be dipped,’ said the bathing woman doubtfully. ‘Not many ladies swim. Are you used to the waves, marm?’

‘I am perfectly confident, thank you. I can see my husband over there.’ And sure enough Gabriel’s dark head was visible as he swam powerfully out to sea from the next bathing machine. He dived under and re-emerged to swim back towards the hut and when he reached the steps he rolled on to his back and began to float.

Caroline struck out, put her head under, blinked at the salt, then, suddenly confident, dived and swam submerged towards him. Being beneath the sea was different from the still cloudiness of the lake and clouds of bubbles released by the breakers and the swirls of sand disorientated her for a moment. Then she saw Gabriel’s legs and surfaced close behind his back, ready to splash and startle him.

The sunshine was directly on him, gilding the water on his skin, emphasising the muscles, the beautiful masculine taper from shoulders to waist, the dip of his spine. The scars.

Gabriel turned at her gasp and his face, for once unguarded, was stark with shock and anger in equal parts. ‘Get back over there,’ he snarled. ‘Are you mad? If anyone saw you behaving like a hoyden the word would be around Brighton before you have dried your hair.’

Blindly she dived back under the water and came up within the shadow of her own hut. Mrs Huggins was calling across to one of the other dippers and seemed not to have seen her and she realised that the incident had been over in seconds. No one was looking across from the men’s swimming area, the ladies were too preoccupied with their own rigorous dippings to peer through saltwater-laden lashes in her direction and as far as she could see the few telescopes in evidence on the promenade were trained at the horizon.

She had not been seen, and if someone had spotted one head popping up too close to the invisible dividing line, then there was no reason to suppose she could have been recognised. And Gabriel knew that. His anger had been because of what she had seen, not what she had done.

Those scars. In the unforgiving light his back had been a tracery of thin silvery lines, dead straight, criss-crossing like intricate lace created by some demon. He had been whipped, often and often, and he had tried to hide the fact from her. When they made love the curtains were always at least partly drawn, or the candles away from the bedside. When he got out of bed he reached for his robe, or his shirt, before turning his back to her and always took his bath behind a screen. She had thought it simply a courtesy to preserve any modesty she might feel once the intimacy of lovemaking was over.

But he could not have thought he could hide them from her for ever, surely? As her confidence grew she felt an increasing desire to sometimes take the lead in bed, to explore Gabriel’s body, to push the robe from his shoulders or to see what erotic games might be played in a bath. And in the day-to-day intimacy of married life, surely he might expect her to walk in on him unclothed and unaware?

Unless he did not expect their intimacy to extend much beyond this honeymoon trip. Unless domestic closeness was the last thing he intended.

‘Marm, are you all right? You’ve gone all white-like. Knew you should have had a good dipping and then got out.’ Mrs Huggins surged towards her like some amiable sea monster. ‘Up you go now, your girl’s waiting for you with a nice big towel.’

Her legs were tired which must be why she was so clumsy. Stumbling up the rough wooden steps, she stubbed her big toe painfully enough to bring tears to her eyes. Harriet, anxiously fussed over the bruised toe, worrying as she swathed Caroline in towels and did her best to get her dressed in the gloom.

‘Oh, my lady, that must hurt so much. I can’t see if there are splinters. We must send for a doctor directly, you might have broken it, for you to cry so.’

‘I’m not...’ Yes, I am. With an effort she pulled herself together, scrubbed at her eyes with the edge of the towel, and did her best to get her clothing in order over her damp skin. ‘It was the shock. You know how things always hurt more when you are cold? I’ll just slip my foot into the slipper and not fit it right on.’

Harriet was down the beachside steps before her when they finally jolted to a halt. She ran over the shingle to where Gabriel waited, his face once more his impassive card-player’s mask. Caroline, hobbling down the steps with the assistance of Mrs Huggins, could hear her talking.

‘...broken toe, my lord...doctor...’

Gabriel came striding down the beach and scooped her up from the bottom step with a curt nod to the dipper. ‘Harriet, find a coin in your mistress’s reticule for this good woman.’

He took the steps up to the bathing house without pausing, passing an interested group of ladies at the top. ‘My wife has a slight injury to her foot, that is all. Thank you for your concern, Lady Oxenford. Mrs Hughes, too kind, I am sure it is nothing serious. If there is a retiring room where she can rest while we wait for a doctor to come—’