Winters at Highhurst were particularly chilly in the earl's bedroom, where the maids never made up evening fires. This was a precaution taken just in case Mrs. Holland happened to be in there. Such a finding could easily cause a scandal.
On this particular evening, Mrs. Holland had indeed been in there. With the earl. And the countess. The three of them were now all in the particularly wide bed, settled in for the night. Sibella's husband was in Newmarket on business, so she would not be missed at the Holland estate. Monty, of course, was in the middle, with his wife on his left and their mistress on his right. Phoebe always slept with her head on his chest. He had asked her why once, and she had explained that after the string of D'Ysquith deaths a few years prior, it brought her comfort to feel him breathing. Sibella had her head nestled between his neck and shoulder, her body curled into his side. He had an arm around each of the women, holding them close.
Just on the brink of sleep, Monty shifted slightly, and suddenly jumped. "Good lord," he muttered. Both of the women looked up at him, wide-eyed.
"What's the matter, darling?" Phoebe asked.
"Your feet!" he exclaimed. "They're downright icy!" A moment later he gave almost a shriek.
"What the devil is it now?" questioned Sibella, barely concealing a smile.
"Both of you!" he exclaimed.
"I told you we should get Miss Shingle to secretly light a fire in here. She knows all about us anyway," said Phoebe.
"Miss Shingle is far too old to have to climb all the way up to the third floor just so I don't have to suffer frostbite from you two," Monty countered.
"Well then, you shall have to handle the consequences," Sibella proclaimed, and put her other foot flat on his leg. Phoebe did the same on the other side. He flailed a bit and the women giggled. Pushing them both away, he sat up abruptly, pulling his knees to his chest. Phoebe gave a soft whine, and Sibella pouted up at him, trying to pull the blankets around her bare shoulders. "Come back here, I'm cold!" the blonde complained.
"Yes, I know!" Monty shot back at her.
"For richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, for warmer or for colder-"
"I am certain that that was not part of our vows, Phoebe."
"Deceitful, delectable, and downright freezing over here!" Sibella interjected. "Why can't we just light our own fire?"
"Does either of you actually know how?" Monty asked, astonished.
"Well I'm certain I can light a match!" Sibella protested. "How hard can it be?"
"A match we don't have to light wood that isn't there!" Phoebe pointed out. "And we can hardly go to get either in this state!" The other two took a moment and were reminded of the fact that all three of them were quite without clothing.
"Could we use our coats as blankets?" Sibella queried.
"Our coats that are downstairs, with the matches and the wood?" Monty asked.
"Yes, those are the ones." They sighed.
"We could let Bella and Donna curl up over our feet for a bit," Phoebe suggested.
"Darling, the one and only time we let them sleep up here, they decided to curl up on our heads. I could barely breathe," Monty reminded her. Phoebe opened her mouth to respond, but Sibella beat her to it.
"Well," the blonde interrupted, "I don't know about the two of you, but I am cold. And," she continued, turning to the others with a mischievous look in her eye, "I know of something that is guaranteed to keep us all quite warm." Her lips turned up in a sly smile. Phoebe smiled back and both women looked up at Monty expectantly.
Instead of replying, he slid back down beneath the blankets and pulled them over his head, at the same time grabbing for the women on either side of him. Momentarily, all three of them had disappeared beneath the blankets, all laughing wildly.
