Lily shivered with fear as frightening shadows flickered across strange reflective surfaces. Touching her throbbing head her fingers found stubble. Her hair, it was gone. Sitting up, she could see the bedclothes beside her had been recently occupied. Yes, they were still warm to the touch. Had she shared a bed with Mr Bowen? Had he just risen? Where had he gone? The last thing she remembered clearly was magical eyes insisting she finish the glass of water that tasted of laudanum. She had a faint memory of having her face and hands washed and the smell of blood. She absently looked down at her chest; it was pristinely white. Her eyes widened in horror as she remembered; her husband had removed her bloody nightgown and helped her into a clean one. It happened so quickly she’d barely had time to register the heat of the fire on her skin and then she was in his arms being kissed and it didn’t matter that he’d seen her unclothed. If only Mrs Jones had delivered the tray without slamming it down.
