The Lady and Her Secret Lover

by Jenn LeBlanc

  Louisa prodded the fire and dimmed the gas lamp left in the far corner of her room to chase the shadows. “I know,” she replied. She put out the remaining gaslights as she left, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. If only she could chase her own shadows as easily as she chased the shadows from Amelia’s room.

  Louisa turned down the hall and headed for the gallery where all the family portraits were. She went there to sit amongst all the ancestors of her employers; it wasn’t her father’s gallery by any stretch of the imagination, but it had the same feeling. She sat on a chair beneath a large portrait of some old woman painted to seem younger. The moonlight cast a pattern across the tiles at her feet, and Louisa thought about Ellie again. Her mind had been so clouded—thoughts of Ellie tangled with thoughts of her family.

  Louisa wasn’t sure she’d survive this return to London. Her heart was always racing, her nerves were on constant edge, and her brain was running away with her at every moment. She followed her gaze down the crossbar shadows of the window, the pieces of light forming shapes and patterns on the tile floor, cutting across the ordered tiles in a diagonal pattern. The floor in her father’s gallery had been black-and-white marble, large, veined tiles. It had been her favorite place in all the world for such a long time. She used to sit on the statue’s lap or at the foot of her mother’s portrait and talk to her, and cry, and work through things on her own.

  Perhaps it was still because regardless of the pain remembered in that room, it had also been witness to such beauty and such joy. She tucked her feet under her and leaned against the arm of the chair. She’d shared her first kiss with Ellie in that room. She’d shared her mother’s portrait with Ellie. That was the first time Ellie had ever come to her house.

  Ellie had said, “She looks like you.”

  Louisa bolted upright. She’d forgotten her mother’s portrait until now. Surely it had been destroyed after she’d been abandoned. There would have been no reason to keep it. Her step-mother had made it clear that it wasn’t wanted, and now the only thing she had—or that she would have had—of her mother was gone.

  The heat of a tear fell on her cheek and Louisa brushed it away before it could fall, before the feel of it could spread across her skin and along her nerves and seep into her bones, where it would become permanent. She couldn’t have that. The portrait was gone, just as she was gone. There was no use crying over it.

  She stood and stared at the portrait of Amelia’s grandmother that looked nothing like her. These were the faces she would see for the rest of her days. Strangers. She would do well to get used to it.

  A shudder ran through her. She needed to forget Ellie, but she couldn’t force her from her mind. She could feel her. Everywhere she went. Everything was a remembrance of her, and it hurt. It hurt so very much. She was hot and tight, stuffed into the clothes and the corset. She turned to the window and opened it, trying to get a fresh breeze only to be reminded that she was in London and there were no fresh breezes here. She closed her eyes and breathed the cool night air anyway. At this rate, she wasn’t going to last until they left London.

  Ellie

  Ellie stood in the park outside Pembroke House wishing they were less careful about their privacy. One of the largest private residences in London, the house was massive, taking up most of the west side of the park. And all of the curtains were drawn. She’d wandered around to the mews as well, to find that the house had wings that extended far into the gardens, but she couldn’t see much more than the upper floors and the rooftops.

  She shouldn’t be back here. If someone saw her, it would end very badly. Ladies didn’t belong wandering the mews of London. She kept the hood of her cape low on her brow, hiding as much as she could, and searched for something she could stand on to get a better view when a carriage rumbled through the mews and the stable door swung wide.

  Ellie hid behind the door, out of the way as the men unhitched the horses from the large carriage. She leaned back against the brick mews, closing her eyes and allowing the sounds of the tack and stomping hooves to settle her nerves.

  What was she doing? This was insanity. If someone discovered her they’d…well…they’d either ruin her in society or something much worse, where society’s opinions would no longer matter to her.

  She heard the driver and stable hands yelling as the horses were managed. The carriage was left there, half in and half out of the stable doors, the wheels grinding rock and dirt as they shifted it. She opened her eyes and waited to be discovered when a hand wrapped around the door to close it, but then someone called and the hand disappeared. She peeked out.

  She’d gone from a terrible situation to a horrible one in the span of a breath but she couldn’t help herself. She walked through the stables, head down, her black cloak as deep as the shadows around her swishing over her toes. When she got to the garden wall, she pushed the latch on the gate and pulled it open, slipping into the back gardens and pulling it closed.

  What was she doing? She was supposed to be sleeping. She was supposed to be home. She wasn’t supposed to be breaking into the gardens of a powerful duke. But if there were any chance that Louisa was here… She stopped and inspected the manicured paths, the shaped hedges and trimmed rosebushes looming in the dark like tangled claws. It was a nice garden, but it wasn’t particularly a welcoming one. She ran down the path to a small trellis covered with vines and hid herself there.

  She should leave. She should go back to the stables and slink her way back through the mews and back home before she was discovered. She peered around the corner column and up the brick of the house where here, the windows were shrouded by georgette as opposed to heavy brocades one could not see through. Somewhere in that house was her Lou. Maybe. Hopefully. Oh, how she wished.

  She found a music room, the harp in the window. She found a library, the walls of books. She found a study, perhaps, with paintings on the walls. She searched the lower floors but there were no signs of habitation of any kind. Nothing. She examined a higher row of windows over the gardens. She could see faces in the moonlight—paintings. She took a step forward, the hood of her cloak slipping back as she lifted her chin and stared at the shadow she was certain had moved.

  Her heart stuttered against her ribs, her fingers tingling with awareness and she reached, heart first, with all the hope in the world, that it was Louisa. The shadow shifted, stretched out taller in the moonlight, and Ellie followed heedless. The gallery. Of course, the gallery. She would find Louisa in the gallery amongst the art; of course she would. She reached out to the edge of the trellis to steady herself as the shadow above moved, then the window opened.

  As the moonlight washed over Louisa’s face, Ellie crumpled to the grass, no longer able to support her legs as her heart raced and her lungs fought against her constraints for air. “Louisa.” But it wasn’t even a whisper, her throat was so dry. She swallowed tears, trying to whet her throat as Louisa gazed down to her.

  “Oi!” a man’s voice yelled, and Ellie fell to the grass, curling beneath her cape as she froze. “Dun ya know how much coal’s needed on that house, miss?”

  “Jerrod! My apologies,” Louisa said, and it was everything Ellie could do to not cry out now. “I needed a bit of air.”

  “We’re in London, miss. No air here,” Jerrod replied, and Ellie could hear the smile in his voice. She managed to remain silent as she shuddered beneath her cloak on the cold ground. Her heart felt like it would beat right out of her chest and if she weren’t curled in a ball, she thought it might.

  “Right, of course,” Louisa said, and Ellie heard the window wind closed, then the click of the metal sash as it seated in place. She peeked out and the last thing she saw was Louisa’s hand pressed to the glass, lifting away until it was naught but the four tiny pricks of her fingertips lit by the moon.

  Jerrod chuckled, and she covered her face once more. She had to get out of the gardens and back home before anyone discovered her. She listened to his footsteps fade toward th
e stables and stood, shaking off her cloak and dress as best she could. It didn’t do much; she looked perfectly ruined.

  She glanced back up to the window once more but it had gone dark and still. For a moment, she considered trying to get into the house, but a noise from behind her sent her running straight to the mews as fast as her feet could carry her.

  Louisa

  Louisa tossed Amelia’s skirts over her head then arranged them at her waist. She was doing her absolute best to forget the dream from the night before. She needed to stop going to the gallery—she was conjuring Ellie in her dreams and she was set to go mad, and then where would she be? But seeing Ellie kneeling in the garden… She was haunted. Right now she needed to concentrate and listen, because Amelia was having a conversation with nobody and that was unfair.

  “—I fear he won’t wish to marry me unless I’m truly done with Hugh.”

  Louisa stilled, frozen behind her as she fastened myriad buttons at her waist. It didn’t seem fair, how much women were forced to give up. Always. In every way.

  “Louisa?”

  “Yes, I…I heard you. Amelia, I know how much Ender means to you but—” She shook her hands out and went back to fastening buttons. It wasn’t fair, and it never would be, but more than that, Louisa wasn’t sure Amelia would survive without Hugh. Perhaps survive wasn’t the right word. Of course she would survive. She just…wouldn’t be the same.

  “Louisa?”

  “Yes?” She needed to stop maundering and pay attention. She stood when she finished the buttons, and Amelia turned toward her.

  “I feel so terribly lost. I… He’s my—”

  “I know.” Louisa took her in a strong embrace, unable to not comfort her, and knowing that if she held her tight, Amelia might find enough solace in that to carry on today. She wrapped her arms around her and squeezed, and Amelia let go and relaxed into her before Louisa released her. “Let’s leave that for now, shall we? Today is merely a trip to the park with Charles. That’s all. Today is not the wedding, and it certainly isn’t the day you lose Ender.” She leaned back and took her shoulders. “And you are absolutely lovely. Come, turn back around let me finish your bustle.”

  Louisa fussed a bit more then handed Amelia her reticule, which she glanced at disdainfully—it was a bit over-decorated, and Louisa would be surprised if it still had all the beads on it when Amelia returned.

  Louisa turned her toward the door. “Enjoy the park, you love the park,” she said, then the door clicked shut. Louisa turned to straighten Amelia’s things and put her nightclothes in the laundry. Then she sat before the fire.

  She knew what it was like with someone new, that spark of…something that fluttered inside, made your fingers tingle and your heart race. Though Amelia’s feelings for Charles were a bit more complicated than all that, Louisa knew what she’d felt like, because the first time she’d felt it—that night in the ballroom—she’d latched on to that feeling and refused to let go. At the time, she’d no idea it would be wrenched from her so soon.

  Louisa stood. She’d felt that again last night when she thought she’d seen Ellie in the gardens. It had been a dream—of course it had. How could Ellie possibly end up in the Pembroke House gardens? But the moment she’d seen Ellie glowing like seraphim in the moonlight, her heart had skipped and her toes had gone numb. But then, she’d been so concerned with Amelia, she hadn’t even considered what being back in London might mean for them. She’d shoved it away, too dangerous to consider.

  She couldn’t go to Ellie because if anyone saw her—if her family saw her… But nobody else in London would remember her. Though…she was now a ladies maid. In her work dress, she could move through London without anyone paying her any mind.

  She sat back down. Ellie was safe—not trolling ladies gardens in the dark of night. Beyond that, Louisa knew nothing. Hugh hadn’t said anything. What if Ellie had quit London? What if she’d married? What if Hugh couldn’t bear to tell her the news? All these questions. She shook them off and stood.

  She should stop thinking about Ellie and forget what happened between them. Certainly Ellie had already done so. It wasn’t as if they could ever be together again—after all, she’d been the one to tell Ellie to move on.

  Louisa sank once again. She pulled the letter from the pocket she’d sewn at the edge of her corset and held it. It was so fragile at this point, the soft vellum no competition for all the tears and handling. The unfolding and refolding. She read it once again to remind herself of what she’d said, and she cried anew. There was no going back.

  And yet…she couldn’t fathom Ellie regarding someone else the way she’d regarded her. Those eyes like ametrine in the sun. Threaded so perfectly. She wondered if anyone else knew her eyes were woven with gold in the purple.

  She wanted her mother. A mother would tell her what to do, she was certain. A mother would know. Even though she’d never had a mother, Louisa knew that a true one would help her, guide her, and if all else failed, would hold her and let her cry until the world felt somewhat more bearable.

  Louisa stood again, this time determined. If she stood far enough away from her father’s house she’d be able to see through the gallery windows. She could wear a shawl over her hair and keep her head down—nobody ever paid any mind to the help.

  Louisa went to her room and removed her apron, but she kept her simple black work dress on. She took her ragged shawl and headed out. She knew she was being ridiculous. This was dangerous. Going to her father’s house was not a good idea and she knew it. It had been three years since she’d been banished from that house, from London, society, her family, everything she’d ever known—

  But then…nobody would remember her now, not like this. She’d been cast from memory the night her father had discovered the truth and sent her away.

  Louisa found herself standing in Portman Square across from her father’s house and dropped her head, hiding her face. It was as though her feet had known where to go without her consciously making the turns. Her heart knocked wildly against her ribs and she did her best to steady her breath.

  She cast her eyes about, but there weren’t many people. At this time of day, they’d be out calling on others, or riding the row, or shopping in some fashionable district… Portman was a smaller, more private square; it wasn’t one of the destination parks where the ton went to see and to be seen. For that she was thankful.

  She walked to a park bench and sat down before her knees forced her to the ground, then she lifted her chin until she could see the front entry to the house. It was as she’d remembered: the white marble portico over the entry, the flat-red brick façade, the wrought iron gates before the full-length windows, the exterior balconies on the upper floors that nobody ever used, and the whitewashed window trim that was touched up. So many windows were a statement, money to burn while the chimneys pushed out a bleakness that covered the roof, tarnished everything.

  It was so cold. Louisa shuddered, pulling the wrap tighter around her shoulders.

  Nothing had changed. Except that it was no longer her home, if it ever had been. If she had to choose a place to be her home, it was wherever Amelia was. Because that was when she felt safe.

  She looked higher, only to have her line of sight blocked by the branch of a tree, and it took a few moments of berating and watching the sidewalks for people before she could convince her chin to lift further again, but when it did, her eyes went to the window on the second floor. It was dark inside, the clouds today heavy with coal dust and smoke from the trains and London. The sun wasn’t making its way through the glass ceiling of her father’s townhouse, that was certain.

  She could see some of the shapes inside, the human forms that were larger than life, denoting her favorite sculptures as opposed to the members of her family—former family.

  She shouldn’t be here. Even the rare chance that she be recognized was too much to risk and she suddenly knew it. The last time she’d left this square should have been the last
time forever.

  Louisa turned away from the house and started back across the park. She shouldn’t even be out in London. If anyone saw her and recognized her…

  This would lead to certain disaster. She twisted her hands together and attempted to steady her breath. She needed to remember the past; she needed to remember. If she forgot—even for a moment—she could end up dead or worse. She and Ellie had forgotten to check the gallery the one time, and that was all it had taken to ruin her entire life. She glanced up as a carriage cut across her path. She needed to return to the house, to see to Amelia. She pushed all thoughts of the past to the back of her mind. She needed to concentrate on Amelia now. Amelia was her life.

  Ellie

  Ellie couldn’t bring herself to rise from bed. She begged off all her mother’s plans for her and lazed about in her room reading, drinking tea, and staring into the fire thinking about Louisa’s hand on the window and what it would feel like to have those fingertips on her body once again.

  A shiver slipped through her system and she melted into the settee, one hand between her thighs, the other on her heart trying to convince it to calm so she could breathe.

  The biggest reason she didn’t dress today was she didn’t think she could manage a day of breathlessness inside a corset, because every time Louisa crossed her mind—which was too often at the moment—she couldn’t take a breath. She didn’t need a steel-boned corset hindering her further. What she wouldn’t give to wander corset-free and happy in the cottage they’d built in her dreams.