Chapter 16

Logan felt his aunt before the door opened. He glanced up from the open ledgers, and greeted her stormy visage.

"Logan Oliver Richard Dunham, please don't tell me you withheld food from that poor girl." He had no idea how the words passed through her clenched jaw.

He stood, and stepped from behind his desk. When he motioned to the chair in front of him, he hoped his aunt would sit rather than leap upon him, claws bared. After a moment of thought, he admitted he'd been remiss in providing food for his prisoner. She was a stranger, a mystery, someone who deserved his distrust, not his concern. So why did shame force its way into his heart? No matter his intentions, he couldn't get things right around her.

He took a deep breath. "Aunt Mildred, I can assure you I had no intention of starving Miss Edwards. When she arrived last evening, she was unconscious. When she awoke, in my earnest attempt to question her, I neglected to provide her with breakfast. Yes, it should have been a priority. There is no excuse for it."

Remorse, heated and sharp, rose from the pit of his stomach.

When her shoulders relaxed, he knew his explanation doused the flames of his aunt's ire. Somewhat. "Good news. I asked Mrs. Roomer to send up a hearty breakfast. That poor girl. I've never heard a stomach cry so loudly for food." She peered at him from over the tip of her nose. "You have bungled this so far, nephew. You have a lot to make up for. Good thing I am here to rescue you, dear boy. There are a few dresses and other sundry feminine items I've had stored here over the years. She is much longer than me in the legs, but I am sure one of your capable maids can let out a hem or two and give the girl something suitable to wear."

He listened with half an ear, and picturing Miss Edwards's legs, his throat tightened.

His aunt continued. "Once she has finished eating, I intend to have her dressed, bandages refreshed, and the room aired. Then you may come and ask your questions." A quirk of his eyebrow brought him a glaring look. She pulled herself to her full height, raised her chin, and marched from the room. A torrent of disapproval rained on his head.

***

The low rumble of her stomach turned into a roar the second she smelled food. The housekeeper placed a laden tray on the small table by the window, and opened the curtains to let in more of the afternoon light. Hungry and restless, Haven threw off the comforter, and swung her legs to the floor. She took her time so the pain in her head could work its way through the circuit behind her eyes. Once she knew she could stand without piercing pain shooting through her brain, she planted her bare feet on the lush area rug.

Oh, God, her body was never going to forgive her for all the crap it had been through.

Mrs. Roomer grunted in obvious disapproval. Looking down, she saw why. Her clothing, which had been washed that morning, was wrinkled, torn, hanging awkwardly, and still stained with a putrid substance. Sheep crap. Couldn't get that odor out with OxyClean.

"It's a good thing her ladyship has ordered some gowns let out for you. You can't go around wearing those rags," Mrs. Roomer said, avoiding Haven's gaze with a pained, pinched expression.

Taken aback by the woman's behavior, Haven nearly opened her mouth to say something snarky, but curbed her tongue.

Catching another subtle but disgusting whiff of sheep dung, she was suddenly very grateful to Millie. "That's nice of her. I will have to thank her when I see her again."

Nodding, Mrs. Roomer headed to the table by the window, and uncovered the small silver platter. Haven walked over and inhaled, the savory scent of meat enticed her nostrils.

With an eager stomach, and mouth threatening to drool, she came face to face with the strangest piece of meat she'd ever seen. Next to the "meat" was a mushy heap of what she could only assume was vegetables. Next to that sat a large hunk of dry bread. She'd never been so disappointed over food before. She stood over the platter staring at the yummy smelling, yet unappealing food, and her stomach flipped in ravenous anger.

"What? You're hungry ain't you?" Mrs. Roomer barked.

"Yes, I am, but..." How could she explain that she'd never eaten anything like it before? Her hand flew to her belly.

"Well, if you want to get your strength up, you'll eat."

She yanked up her dignity and boldness. "But what is it?"

Mrs. Roomer gave her a peculiar look before planting her hands on her hips and screwing up her mouth. "You act like you ain't never seen mutton before. What do you think all them sheep out there is for?" She indicated a wide-open green area outside the window.

"That will be all, Mrs. Roomer." Millie floated into the room, gave the housekeeper a searing scold with her expression, and signaled for her to leave. Motioning for the maids behind her to file further into the room, she said, "Here are a few dresses and things I'll have altered for your height." Eyeing Haven's bosom she continued, "Most of our other attributes are similar in size, so you shouldn't have a problem fitting these once the hems are lengthened, and the busts are let out."

By these, she meant the most beautiful dresses Haven had ever seen. The first was a soft rose pink low-cut, high-waist gown, with short sleeves, and golden ribbons sewn into the cuffs and collar. Unable to keep her hands still, she ran her fingers along the rich satin fabric. Delicious. The second dress was the same style, but a glorious emerald color.

Her breath hitched in her throat, and hot tears burned behind her lashes. "I don't know what to say. They're beautiful." She turned to Millie. "Thank you." Fighting the urge to give the older woman a bear hug, she bit back a sob.

"You are more than welcome, my dear." Millie looked at the tray of cooling food, and clicked her tongue. "You must eat something. You need food for strength, and if I know my nephew at all, which I do, you will need it."

Wonderful. Kill me now.

She followed Millie to the open window, and sat in the chair facing the warm sunlight and scented breeze.

Peering down at the questionable respite, she picked up a fork, and poked at the heap of sopping wet and probably tasteless vegetables. She held her breath, shoved a forkful into her mouth, and chewed.

Shrugging, she took a breath, and triggered her terrified sense of taste. Surprisingly, it wasn't bad. Or good. It tasted like the boiled cabbage she had at a St. Patrick's Day party a few weeks ago. Chewing, she smiled up at Millie whose eyes were bright with relief.

"It's good. Thank you." She nearly gagged on the lie.

"I'm glad you like it." Clasping her hands in front of her, Millie announced, "Once you've eaten your fill, I'll have one of the maids redress your wound-"

"No. Don't worry about it. I'll do it myself." Her abrupt comment left Millie eyeing her curiously. The idea of undergoing more medical care from anyone in the nineteenth century made her anxious. Despite having come a long way since trephining human skulls, they still bled people to rid them of infections.

No thanks.

It couldn't be that hard to change the bandages, right? She'd learned a few basics during her short time in nursing school, before Elgin sunk his claws into her dreams.

Millie patted her hand. "If you say so, dear. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. Once you've finished redressing your wound, you can remove your, er, clothes, and put on the rose satin." Once again confronted with someone's dislike of her clothes, she sighed into her boiled vegetables.