by S. G. Rogers
What have I done?
Chapter Three
Myles
NELL APPEARED. “MRS. KING, do you—” She broke off.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me for crying, but I can’t help it.”
The young maid made a sympathetic noise, sat down next to Larken, and put a soothing hand on her shoulder. She said nothing until the sobbing began to slow.
“Has Mr. King always been so cold?” Larken asked finally.
A shake of the head. “I haven’t been working here more than a few months, so I couldn’t say. All the staff are new, as a matter of fact.”
“What happened to the former staff? Did he frighten them off?”
“I was told Graceling Hall was locked up for several years, and the former staff was let go. I’ve never heard Mr. King be cross or cruel to anyone, but he’s always remote…like he was today.” She paused. “It’s none of my business, but why did you marry him? You could’ve had any gentleman you chose.”
“I only wish that were true, but I’m deformed and I have no dowry. I was obliged to take the first offer I received or be turned out.”
“Deformed? Beg your pardon, but I’ve seen you in the altogether and saw nothing where it oughtn’t have been,” Nell said. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”
“The scars,” Larken whispered. “No man wants to see that on his wedding night.”
Nell’s eyebrows drew together. “Oh, Mrs. King, someone was very evil to tell you that. You’re a beautiful woman and it’s going to be a privilege to serve you. I’m just sorry you’re in this situation, since it pains you so.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t have been so bad if Mr. King had just met my gaze or murmured a kind word. He made me feel like I was beneath his notice, hideously ugly, or both.”
“You’re neither, and I don’t believe he was thinking about your feelings at all.”
Larken glanced over at the wedding cake and sighed. “I don’t want to offend the cook, but I’m not going to eat that.”
“To tell you the truth, nobody thought you would.” Nell stood and picked up the cake. “I’ll take it to the staff dining room and say you invited them to partake of your happiness.”
Laughter broke through Larken’s tears. “Now I understand why the cake is so small.”
Nell giggled. “You’ve a real quick wit about you, Mrs. King. Is there anything else you need?”
“No, thank you. As one makes one’s bed, so one finds it, the saying goes. How long will Mr. King be away?”
“Nobody can say for certain.”
After Nell left with the cake, Larken went to her bedroom, washed her face, and pulled the rosebuds from her hair. She twirled one of the stems between her fingertips before tossing it onto the vanity with a frown. For good measure, she removed her wedding ring and threaded the plain gold band onto a candle sitting there. I hope Mr. King stays away for a good, long time.
She changed from her Sunday best into her worst gown, the better to probe all the nooks and crannies of her velvet prison. Although she’d thought about leaving the worn garment behind, she had so few clothes that she’d decided to bring it anyway. Now she was glad she had, because exploring was likely to be dusty work. After she was dressed, she set about looking for furniture or art to brighten her sitting room. The first two bedchambers were decorated largely the same as the one she occupied. In the closet of the next, however, she was delighted to find a dusty old silk satin opera hat, which sprang open with a sharp movement of the wrist.
“Lord Topper, your presence will brighten my misery considerably.”
She dashed back to her sitting room and left the hat at the head of the table as a permanent guest. Somewhat cheered, Larken went off to see what other treasures were waiting to be discovered. A few knickknacks caught her eye, as well as a silk shawl draped over a dressing screen. A staircase at the end of the hall brought her into an attic storage area lit by several large dormer windows. Several trunks of old clothes looked promising. Paintings of various sizes were stacked against the wall, and Larken spent several pleasurable minutes examining a few of them. One painting featured two handsome young boys posing in blue velvet suits. The brass plate at the bottom read, “Theo and Brandon King.” Larken peered at both the boys’ faces, trying to decide which one was Brandon, but she gave up. Neither child resembled the large bear of a man she’d glimpsed in the chapel.
A portrait of a handsome gentleman took her fancy, and she examined it more closely in the light from the window. A memory stirred within her as she admired the sheer beauty of his visage and splendor of his form.
“You, sir, will definitely improve my view.”
As if she were carrying a basket of eggs, she descended the stairs with the precious portrait and brought it into her sitting room. After some experimentation, she discovered a spot over the fireplace which would allow her to gaze into the man’s eyes wherever she stood. She climbed up on a chair, lifted the painting onto the mantle, and climbed back down again.
“It’s lovely to see you again, Lord Apollo.” She sank into a deep curtsy. “Very lovely indeed.”
Six weeks passed during which Larken was left to her own devices. The rose bushes were in full bloom by that time, so she cut some of the flowers, removed the thorns, and hung them by a string upside down. While they dried, she wove a wreath of willow branches to fashion a frame for the roses. When it was ready, she hung it in the room Nell had prepared for Mr. King’s ward, Myles.
“Isn’t that pretty!” Nell exclaimed. “It brings a lovely splash of color.”
“Thank you. The adjacent sitting room will make a nice play area for the lad, but we haven’t any toys for him,” Larken said. “Do you suppose Mr. King plans to furnish any?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’ll ask him when he arrives. In the meantime, I’ll canvas the attic for whatever I can find.”
“You’ve quite transformed your sitting room, I noticed!”
She laughed. “My foster parents never appreciated my fanciful nature, but I can’t seem to help myself. I hope Myles likes it.”
“It’s very kind of you to worry about the boy.”
“Not at all. I only wish I’d had someone to care about me after I was orphaned.”
Over the next few days, Larken busied herself in the attic, searching for playthings. She finally found a chest of old toys which she lugged down the stairs and into Myles’ playroom. Inside the chest were a Noah’s Ark with carved animals, a spinning tin top, a jumping jack, toy boats made of wood, several jigsaw puzzles, a cloth bag full of beautiful marbles, and an assortment of droll hand puppets. Although some of the items were scratched and chipped, they were still serviceable. Larken touched up the scratches with paint and spent several pleasant afternoons playing with the puppets on the oriental rug.
Voices startled her as she was in the midst of devising a drama between a puppet jester and His Royal Majesty.
“It’s nearly teatime,” a deep, unfamiliar male voice rang out from the hallway. “Give the lad something to eat, please.”
“Right away, sir,” Mrs. Mason said. “We’ve set up a playroom for the young master in there. Excuse me while I fetch the tea.”
The door burst open, and a man filled the doorframe. Larken scrambled to her feet. Although she hadn’t really ever known what he looked like, from the full, dark brown beard and longish hair, she assumed she was in the presence of her husband. As he regarded her with the puppets, an incredulous expression came over his face.
“Who the devil are you, and which idiot gave you permission to get into my things?”
He thinks I’m a servant. In a way, that’s exactly what I am.
“You did, when you married me.”
Mr. King looked taken aback. “Oh, it’s you.” His gaze swept over the toys. “These belonged to my brother and me when we were children. I suppose someone should get use out of them, but I’ll order some new ones.” He gave her a curt nod. “Carry on.”
/> Annoyed, she bobbed up and down in a curtsy. “Aye, aye, sir.”
His eyes narrowed at her temerity. “What’s your name again?”
“Mrs. King,” she snapped.
“Your Christian name.”
“Larken.”
“Why are you dressed in those rags, Larken?”
She glanced down at her dusty gown, which had become even more worn over the last few weeks from her efforts in the attic. In addition, her hands were still encased in puppets. Her chin lifted even as her face burst into flames.
“This is what I wear when I’m doing something useful.”
His eyes stared pointedly at the puppets. “Clearly. Well, change into something else before you meet the boy. I don’t want him to suppose you’re the scullery maid.” He paused. “And burn that dress. I never want to see you wearing it again.”
The man left. Larken knew it was childish, but she stuck her tongue out at the space he’d just occupied. Mr. Brandon King had all the warmth of a dead fish, and far less charm. Would it have hurt him to greet her politely or to acknowledge her efforts on his ward’s behalf? With a sound of frustration, she removed the puppets from her hands, arranged them on a shelf, and went to change her clothes.
Brandon chuckled and shook his head as he strode down the hall. Surprisingly attractive Larken was, and more spirited than he would have imagined for a mail-order bride. At the wedding, he’d gone through the motions of what needed to be done and hadn’t even noticed her face. His vague impression of her appearance at the time—gleaned from the corner of his eye—was only a slender young woman with fair hair. Today, he’d had a better look.
Larken. A pretty name, and extraordinarily unusual.
His valet prepared a bath to wash off the dust of the road. As Brandon relaxed in the hot water, he thought about his new wife. She hadn’t seemed glad to see him—resentful was more like it—but he didn’t blame her. His cold manner at the marriage ceremony must have been obvious to everyone, certainly, and to her most of all. A pang of remorse reached his consciousness, but he brushed it away. The girl had been made aware of his disinterest in her before agreeing to wed. Besides which, if her ragged garment was any indication, the marriage had improved her condition in life drastically. He oughtn’t feel any guilt. None whatsoever. Nor should he feel any guilt regarding the boy. Myles had been retrieved at great personal cost, and Brandon had undertaken the responsibility of seeing to the lad’s needs. Every so often, he’d check on the lad to make sure he was happy, and that’s all he was required to do. No, he’d done his painful, emotionally wrenching duty, and now he just wanted to be left alone.
Larken gathered her hair up and out of the way so Nell could fasten the buttons on her dress. Her eyes fell onto the garment she’d just removed.
“You might as well take the other dress for a cleaning rag. Mr. King didn’t approve of it.”
Nell giggled. “I’m not surprised.”
“I wouldn’t have worn that dress if I’d known he’d see it. I’d no idea he was arriving today.”
“The staff was caught by surprise as well.” Nell finished with the last button. “Your tea is ready in your sitting room.”
“Is Myles having tea with me?”
Nell shook her head. “He’s curled up on his bed, poor lamb, and won’t talk to anyone.”
“Perhaps I can coax him out.”
“I hope so, Mrs. King. Would you like to me to fix your hair?”
“No, I’ll do it. You go on ahead.”
Larken sat at the vanity, drew the brush through her tresses, and plaited them into a loose golden braid. The less forbidding she looked, the better. No doubt Mr. King had frightened the poor child out of his wits with his surly manner, snapping dark eyes, and untamed mass of unruly hair. Before she left, she remembered to slip on her wedding ring. The feeling of the unyielding metal against her skin was unpleasant. The gold band felt more like a dog collar than a token of eternal love.
She hastened across the hall and tapped on Myles’ door, but there was no response. Undaunted, she entered the room, where a small boy was curled up into a ball on his four-poster bed, facing away from her.
“Hello,” she said. “My name is Larken.”
Silence.
She came around the far side of the bed, until she could see the boy’s face. He was an uncommonly handsome lad, albeit extraordinarily sad. Smiling, she perched herself on the side of the bed, but he gave no indication he noticed her at all.
“You and I have a lot in common,” she said. “We’re both orphans.”
His eyes shifted from a spot on the wall to her face. “But you’re old. Old people don’t have parents.”
The boy had a foreign accent. He wasn’t English, that much she could tell. How far had Mr. King traveled to bring him here?
“I’m only thirteen years older than you are,” she said. “My parents died four years ago.”
A spark of interest. “How’d they die?”
“In a train accident. I don’t like to talk about it, really.”
“My mama was run down by a carriage. I don’t like to talk about that either.”
A nod. “I’m so awfully sorry. I expect it hurts terribly to be without her.”
His face crumpled. “Go away. You’re not my mother, and you’re not even as pretty as she was.”
Myles turned over so he was facing away from her again.
“I expect she was incredibly beautiful, if she looked anything like you,” Larken said. “But you’re quite mistaken if you think I want to take her place.” She lowered her voice. “The thing is, I’m lonely. I was hoping very much you and I could be friends.”
“I’ve never been friends with a girl before.”
“Outside of a few months in the orphanage, I’ve never been friends with much of anybody. In fact, I always make up pretend friends so I have someone to talk to. Would you like to meet them?”
“That’s stupid. I can’t meet pretend friends.”
“Why not? There’s Lord Topper, who’s always in formal attire because he doesn’t want anyone to realize he’s lost all his money, and Lady Peabody, who’s exceptionally nervous and constantly fainting about one thing or another. I left poor Mr. Marmalade back in Rugby, so you can’t meet him—sorry. But Lord Apollo is waiting to meet you, and Miss Josie, the beautiful debutante. She may steal your heart, I warn you.”
Myles was giggling by then.
“I have all sorts of scrumptious things to eat in my sitting room,” she said. “Will you join me?”
He sat up. “I am hungry.”
She stood and beckoned him toward the door. “Come on, then. So am I. And if we’re late, Lord Topper might just wrap all the biscuits up for himself to eat later, and then what will we do?”
Another giggle. “You’re funny.”
The boy slid off the bed and joined her in the hallway. They crossed into her sitting room, where their tea was waiting. Myles’ eye grew wide at the array of treats on the table, but before Larken would let him sit, she introduced him to all her pretend friends, pointing to each chair in turn. Lord Topper’s hat was hanging over his chair from a string stuck into the rafter overhead. A silk shawl was wrapped around Lady Peabody’s chair, and a dainty parasol was propped up in Miss Josie’s seat, along with an old pair of lace gloves and a dried nosegay.
Myles slid into a chair, and Larken clapped her hand to her forehead in dismay. “Oh, dear. You’re sitting on Lord Topper’s lap!”
He laughed out loud and jumped up. “Where should I sit, then?”
She pointed to one of the three unoccupied chairs. “There will do.”
As he sat, Myles reached for a pastry and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Manners, young gentleman,” Larken admonished. “What will Miss Josie think?”
He grinned, and some of the creamy filling spilled out onto his chin. “Oops.”
Larken flicked her eyes skyward and handed him a napkin.
“You h
aven’t introduced me to Lord Apollo yet,” he mumbled through the food.
“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” Her manner was overly supremely prim and proper so he would know she wasn’t completely serious. She nodded toward the painting. “That’s Lord Apollo. Lord Apollo, meet Myles. He’s my new friend, from…”
“New York City.”
“New York City!” Larken was amazed. “Do you mean to say you traveled all the way across the Atlantic?”
Myles nodded. “It was rather horrible. The ocean went up and down a lot and the air inside smelled like sick almost the whole time, but there was no way to get off the ship.”
She wrinkled her nose and shuddered. “Was Mr. King kind to you at least?”
A shrug. “He doesn’t talk much. We played checkers and he read me stories in the ship’s library. When we landed in Liverwurst, my legs were wobbly.”
“Liverpool, I think you mean.”
“Yes, that’s it. Then we took trains, and after that a carriage. I’m glad I’m not traveling any longer.” He paused. “Mr. King said you and he were just married.”
“Yes.”
He looked puzzled. “Then why are you both lonely? Don’t you have each other?”
“Mr. King is lonely?” If he was truly lonely, Larken would be surprised. The man didn’t seem as if he liked or needed anyone. Despite her animosity toward her husband, she’d decided to say nothing to Myles that would cast him in a bad light. “Well, our marriage is of an unusual kind. He and I are complete strangers, but we’ve come together for you.”
“You’re not in love?”
“We don’t really know each other.” She sipped her tea. “But I suspect we’ll both grow fond of you.”
Chapter Four
Pretend Friends
AFTER BRANDON HAD BATHED and donned fresh clothes, he felt slightly less dour. Downstairs, Mrs. Mason caught his eye as he strolled toward the library.