I wrapped the drape around him, created a lather on his brush, and proceeded to remove the two-day growth on his chin and cheeks.
“It might only be temporary, and I will have to talk to Colonel Jackson. He might not want to lose a good man from his ranks,” he murmured as I worked.
“I would very much like the position, sir. It is a better use of my talents.”
He pursed his lips, and I fought to keep my gaze steady, though my cheeks grew hot again. I’d shaved dozens of faces, but I was stricken with a sudden, painful awareness of myself and of him. I had not had a proper bath in ages, and my menses had begun that morning. The bleeding wasn’t heavy, and I’d folded a rag and fashioned a sling to keep it in place beneath my breeches, but I could feel the wet and smell the distinct musk of my body, and feared he would too. I did my utmost to keep myself tidy and clean, but it was nigh on impossible.
The general, on the other hand, smelled of linseed oil and honeyed tea, and his waistcoat rivaled Agrippa Hull’s. I hoped the lather beneath his nose would mask my scent, and I willed myself to be calm. It was a miracle that such an opportunity had arisen. I would not plead or press for the appointment, but I would not let my fear of his proximity make me shy from it either.
To be the general’s aide would mean a bed of my own and a privacy that I had not enjoyed since my enlistment began. I would be able to wash and relieve myself without plotting and planning. I could sleep without being surrounded by men on every side.
I needed the position.
“You’re quite good at that, Shurtliff,” the general said after I’d cleared the stubble from one half of his face.
“Yessir. I know,” I said quietly. I wasn’t concentrating on my words but on the lather on the line of his left cheekbone and the scrape of the blade in my hand.
He jerked, laughing, and I gasped, my eyes flaring to his in alarm.
“Don’t move, sir!”
“Sorry,” he grunted. “Such confidence surprises me. Especially in one so young.”
I ground my teeth and willed the embarrassment in my chest to subside as I considered my words. I hadn’t meant to brag. I was distracted and had simply stated the truth.
“I am only accomplished because I try very hard at everything I do. Not because I am especially gifted.”
“Hmm.”
“Tuck your lip, please, sir,” I asked, intent upon my task. He obeyed, and I pressed my thumb to the point of his chin to hold him steady. He did not speak again until I was finished. His eyes remained closed, his lashes thick against his cheeks, and his breath was even. His stillness made me more nervous than his speech, the necessary familiarity of the act creating an intimacy I should not feel.
I stepped back when I made my last swath and breathed in deeply, composing myself as he blinked his eyes open. He looked as though I’d come close to putting him to sleep. The man was weary, and my heart twisted in a compassion almost as great as my hope. I would be an excellent aide-de-camp, and I would take very good care of him if given the chance.
“Finished?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. The men in my company will attest to my skill.”
He ran his hands across his face and rose to look at himself in the small oval mirror mounted on his office wall.
“Not bad. You have a fine hand and also a steady hand.”
“Thank you, sir.”
He studied himself in the mirror as if he pondered his decision. Then he squared his shoulders and drew the drape from his neck, tossing it toward me.
“Come then, Shurtliff.”
I caught the drape, shook it out, and folded it neatly. “Where are we going, sir?”
He strode from the room, and I followed him obediently. The door opposite his office was identical to every other door lining the hallway, but he opened it and motioned me inside.
The room looked much like the drawing room in color and shape, though a big bed with carved posts and a deep red coverlet dominated the chamber. Two oversized leather chairs bracketed a stone fireplace, and a chest of drawers, a writing desk, and a table that held a basin and a pitcher for washing completed the furnishings. The only item of a personal nature was a painting of a dark-haired woman that hung above the bed.
“These are my quarters,” the general said. “When General Washington is here, they are his quarters. You and I will move up the stairs to the servants’ wing when he’s at the Point.”
“You and I, sir?”
“If you want the position, Shurtliff. There is a valet’s closet through that door.” He moved toward a section of paneling that was slightly ajar. A discreet knob was hidden in the raised whorls and vines of the woodwork.