by S. G. Rogers
“Why do you have nightmares?” Myles asked.
She sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know that, either. I suppose it’s because something frightening happened to me and I haven’t quite come to terms with it.”
“Am I going to have nightmares about Mama?”
“I hope not.”
“When I had a fever last year, I dreamed I was hiding under the bed and the devil was jumping on the mattress and laughing at me.”
“That is a horrible nightmare!”
“Yes. It only happened the one time, though. I wouldn’t like to dream that every night.” He paused. “When we’re in church this Sunday, I’ll ask God to take your bad dreams away.”
Her heart melted. “That’s truly the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard. Thank you.”
As the world lurched sideways, Larken sat up in bed with a gasp. Darkness combined with her nightmare to render her disoriented, and she stared wildly around until she remembered she was in her new room next to the attic stairs. Her throat felt raw, as if she’d been screaming, and her lashes were moist with tears. With a sigh, she fell back onto her pillow. Hopefully, Myles had been undisturbed. Otherwise, she might have to move into the attic itself.
She reached for her bottle of laudanum and let a few drops fall onto her tongue. The bottle was nearly dry, so she’d have to ask Mrs. Mason for another one soon.
Chapter Five
Pedestal
ON THE DRIVE TO NEWCASTLE with Nell the following morning, Larken’s feeling of anticipation was muted by a stab of anxiety about her scars.
“I won’t be required to disrobe, will I?”
“Measurements will be taken, but you won’t have to disrobe completely. Even if you did, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.” Nell gave Larken a smile of encouragement. “Please don’t worry. Most ladies enjoy shopping.”
Along the way, Nell told her a little of Newcastle’s history, which Larken found fascinating. Originally a Roman settlement, it was named for an eleventh century castle built by the son of William the Conqueror. Larken took delight in viewing the various landmarks Nell pointed out, and by the time the carriage arrived at the exclusive shop, called Bower-on-Tyne, Larken was already enjoying her outing.
When the salesclerks saw Larken’s unfashionable and somewhat shabby gown, her reception wasn’t particularly warm. Their attitudes changed, however, when Nell introduced her as Mrs. Brandon King of Graceling Hall. Although Larken was slightly bewildered at the array of garments she was shown, Nell proved to be very helpful in selecting her new wardrobe. In addition to what was available at the shop, she was shown fashion plates from which she could choose all manner of custom-made ball gowns and evening wear, in a dizzying assortment of fabrics. Despite Larken’s reluctance to select a ball gown, Nell insisted she include several in her order, to be delivered to the house when they were ready in a month’s time.
While the clerks busied themselves boxing up the day’s purchases, Larken and Nell chatted quietly near the window display.
“I hate to incur the expense of gowns that will likely never be worn,” Larken murmured.
“Several Newcastle families can be counted upon to give balls in December, and you don’t want to be caught unprepared.”
“Nobody in the neighborhood knows Mr. King has married, so we won’t receive invitations.”
“Make no mistake, once we leave here, these clerks will make sure to tell everyone who comes into the store about you. The London Season is ending in a few days, and after hunting season, families will return. They’ll be curious about Mr. King’s new bride, and I suspect you and he will thereafter receive a multitude of invitations.”
Larken had no wish to refute Nell’s assertion, but she had ample reason to believe the unsociable Mr. King—Brandon—would refuse any and all invitations. If not, she would be faced with another challenge; she didn’t know how to dance.
As the carriage rolled up the drive toward Graceling Hall, the pounding of a horse’s hooves on the lawn outside drew Larken’s attention. She watched through the window as Mr. King, astride his stallion, galloped across the lawn, cleared a hedge, and came down on the far side in a smooth motion that demonstrated his skill.
“Mr. King is quite the horseman,” Larken said, impressed. “I probably would have fallen off during that jump and broken my neck.”
“Some people are born to it,” Nell said. “Now that you have a riding habit, you can ride too.”
Larken grimaced. “I used to enjoy riding, but I haven’t been on a horse since the train accident.”
“The groomsmen at the stables will be happy to give you a lesson, any time at all.”
Brandon circled around and met the carriage at the entrance. Nell and James busied themselves with the packages while Brandon dismounted and escorted Larken into the house.
“From the number of boxes strapped to the back of the carriage, I see the shopping expedition was a success?”
“Yes, I believe it was.”
“Will you have dinner with me this evening?”
Larken was confused for a moment until she realized he must be planning a family evening. “Oh…certainly. I’ll make sure Myles is suitably dressed.”
“Myles can come another time. Tonight, I’d like to dine alone with my wife.”
She made no attempt to disguise her consternation. “Why?”
He chuckled. “I have a little surprise for you. Dinner is at seven.”
Astonished, she watched him stride off. During yesterday’s terse conversation in the garden, she’d made it clear she’d accepted his aloofness. She could refuse to dine with him, of course, but such behavior would be exceptionally rude in the face of the horrendous amount of money she’d just spent. In all likelihood, Mr. King probably wished to discuss Myles and how he was settling in. The surprise he referred to might be a new pony, toy, or outing for the lad. Since Myles was a delightful child whose every interest and activity fascinated her, Larken relaxed. If pressed, she could talk about him all night long.
Larken ascended the stairs and made her way to Myles’ playroom. The boy was fixated on the new zoetrope Mr. King had given him—the image of a horse seemingly galloping along as the drum sped around and around.
“That’s so beautiful!” she exclaimed.
Myles glanced up. “Did you buy pretty dresses?”
“I bought so many dresses I’m not sure how I’ll ever wear them all! Tonight I’m going to wear one of my new gowns to dine downstairs with Mr. King.”
“That’s good. When he sees how pretty you are, he’ll want to dine with you every night.”
Larken rumpled the boy’s hair. “I daresay he just wants to talk about you.”
That evening as Larken prepared to dress for dinner, she decided to examine the scars on her lower back. When they were fresh, the scars had been red and puffy, like fat, angry caterpillars. Ever since Mrs. Howley had pointed out how disgusting they were, she’d taken pains not to look. With her door locked, Larken removed her clothes in front of her vanity mirror, steeled herself, and glanced over her shoulder at her reflection. To her intense relief, the redness had faded away, and the marks almost blended into her ivory skin color. She ran her fingertips across the smattering of white welts, which were all about an inch long. The scars had been disfiguring at one time, but only the most critical person would consider them repulsive now. To a man who loved her, of course, it shouldn’t matter. Satisfied she wouldn’t have to shy away from dressmakers or mirrors any longer, Larken reached for a dressing gown and unlocked her door.
When Nell arrived to help her dress, Larken selected a grayish blue silk evening gown the same hue as her eyes. The skirt was more elaborately trimmed than any dress she’d ever worn before, and the fabric made a luxurious swishing sound when she walked. The bustle was also fuller than she was used to, and she had to practice getting in and out of a chair in a graceful manner. Nell arranged her hair in a cascading display of shining spirals. When Larken e
xamined the effect in the mirror, she giggled.
“My mama used to curl my hair this way,” she said. “It always made me feel like a princess.”
“You’re a beautiful lady now,” Nell said. “I’m sure your mother would be proud of the way you’ve turned out.”
After Larken fastened her mother’s locket around her neck, she was ready. She stopped in Myles’ playroom on the way downstairs, to show him her dress. His eyes widened and his mouth formed an O.
“Have I your approval?” she asked.
“When I grow up, I want to marry a girl just like you.”
“I’m sure your wife will be much prettier and far more amiable.” She gave him a hug. “You’ll be dining with one of the maids tonight. Don’t let her sit on Lord Topper.”
Myles was laughing when she left the room. Her skirt was so full, she was obliged to take the stairs slowly lest she trip on the fabric. Halfway down, she glanced around to make sure she was unobserved…and then she became a princess in a foreign land, descending the steps as her adoring subjects cheered. Her chin lifted and she gave the crowd a beaming smile and a cheery wave.
When she entered the drawing room, Mr. King was nowhere to be found, but a clean-shaven and terribly handsome man was standing next to the fireplace. Her husband hadn’t told her they were expecting a guest, but perhaps this was the surprise he’d mentioned. Could this be Theo King, her brother-in-law?
“Good evening.” She curtsied.
The man came forward, and she extended her hand. Instead of a handshake, however, he bent over and brushed the back of her hand with his lips. When he straightened, his likeness to the painting over her fireplace hit her with an almost physical blow. Lord Apollo!
“Thank you for coming,” he said.
Confused, she peered at him more closely. She’d heard that voice before, and his eyes looked familiar. With a shock, she realized the man standing before her was Brandon King.
“Your whiskers are gone!”
A laugh. “I was given to understand Myles didn’t like my beard, so I decided to shave it off.” He stepped back to admire her dress. “You look quite transformed.”
Her mind was reeling. It was as if she’d somehow become Alice in the Lewis Carroll novel she read recently, entitled, Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There. Fortunately, Mr. King didn’t appear to notice—or perhaps he was used to women staring at his exceptional good looks. He moved over to a sideboard and lifted a decanter of wine.
“Would you care for a glass of sherry?”
“I-I don’t know. I’ve never had sherry before.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Well, let tonight be the first.”
He poured two glasses and handed one to her. She sniffed the liquid a moment before draining the glass. A shudder shook her body.
“That’s horrible!”
Mr. King smirked in a cocky manner as he refilled her glass. “It’s meant to be sipped.”
Larken’s face burned with humiliation. Why hadn’t he told her so instead of letting her embarrass herself? Furthermore, he’d seen his portrait in her sitting room and said nothing when she referred to him as Lord Apollo. He’d been laughing at her the entire time, just as he was laughing at her now. The anger she’d repressed since the wedding came to a boil.
“Forgive me, sir, but this evening isn’t going well.” She set her glass down. “Perhaps we’ll try again some other time.”
“Wait! What did I say?”
“I’m just a stupid backwater country girl from Rugby, but even stupid country girls don’t like to be made fools of—Lord Apollo.”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m sorry about that, but if I’d told you the portrait was mine, I didn’t think you would believe it.”
“You didn’t say anything because you enjoy feeling smug and superior.”
“What?”
“Mail-order brides aren’t actual people, after all, so there’s no harm done—isn’t that what you really think, Mr. King? Perhaps my financial circumstances would impress few, but I am a gentleman’s daughter and worthy of respect. Honestly, what sort of arrogant, heartless man are you to have devised this sort of soulless marriage?”
Brandon stood with his arms akimbo. “What kind of woman are you to have accepted it?”
“I didn’t want to! My foster parents answered your advertisement, and I wasn’t given a choice. If I hadn’t agreed, I’d have been out on the streets!”
“I rather doubt it.”
“You don’t know a thing about the Howleys or about me.”
“Nor do I care to.”
His rejoinder stung. “You’ve made that entirely obvious.”
From the man’s cold expression, she realized she might as well be speaking to his portrait. The man was like a Meissen porcelain figurine—gorgeous on the outside, but empty at the core. He seemed to lack any capacity for tender feelings or empathy, and she was wasting her time venting her spleen. With a great effort, Larken got her temper under control.
“Please accept my apologies for speaking out of turn.” She was carefully polite. “Truly, I’m grateful just to have clothes, shelter, and food to eat. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to the sitting room with Myles. Tending to him is what you brought me here to do, after all.”
To her horror, her eyes filled with tears. Mortified, she fled from the drawing room. Poor Myles would be devastated to see her unhappy, and she couldn’t bear to disappoint him. So instead of mounting the stairs, she left the house and let the darkness render her sorrow invisible to everything but the stars. Feeling lost and alone, she wandered through the garden and found a secluded bench where she could have a good cry. What she’d told Mr. King was sincere; she was grateful to have her physical needs met. In her few months at the London orphanage, she’d witnessed poverty up close, and knew it to be a cruel, harsh, and demoralizing existence. In fact, she had no right to complain—none—except she couldn’t seem to let go of the life she could have had if her parents hadn’t perished. That life, and her chance for a loving marriage, had fallen into the gorge along with the train and could never be retrieved. Her body had survived the accident, but her soul had been marked forever. Perhaps that’s why she had nightmares and probably always would.
After her emotions were wrung out, she stayed in the garden long enough to ensure Myles had gone to bed. Then she returned to her sitting room, took down the portrait over the mantle, and replaced it with a wreath of dried flowers. First thing tomorrow, the portrait would be returned to the attic. Never again would she put any man on a pedestal like she had “Lord Apollo.” Being struck from such a lofty distance hurt too much.
Myles greeted Larken at breakfast with eager anticipation. “Did you enjoy dinner last night with Mr. King?”
She feigned enthusiasm. “It was wonderful at first, but then I developed a headache. We agreed to do it some other time.”
Myles’ face fell slightly. “Did he at least like your dress?”
“Very much! He pronounced me transformed.”
The boy seemed satisfied…until he noticed the painting over the fireplace had been removed and was now leaning against the wall.
“What happened to Lord Apollo?”
“Well, that’s the best surprise of all. Mr. King shaved off his whiskers because he suspected you didn’t like them, and can you guess? He is Lord Apollo.” Larken was somewhat amazed she hadn’t choked on the words.
“No!”
“Yes. And since it seems silly to have Lord Apollo on the wall when he’s here in person, I decided to return his portrait to the attic.”
“I can’t wait to see the way Mr. King looks. Isn’t it funny? You said you wanted to be married to Lord Apollo, and now you are!”
“Yes, it’s very funny indeed.” She smiled through gritted teeth.
When Myles began to shovel his food into his mouth, Larken stopped him.
“What on Earth are you doing?”
“I have a riding lesson this m
orning.”
“If you eat too fast, your food will come up again when you’re sitting on your poor pony, and the groom will have to comb it from his mane.”
Myles burst into laughter at the image, but finally got himself under control. “That would be horrible! I couldn’t do that to Boots.”
“Boots?”
“My pony.”
After Myles finally dashed off to the stables, Larken carried Brandon’s portrait to the attic. While she was there, she discovered a box of old schoolroom primers, scrawled essays, and letters belonging to the King brothers. She sat down to sort through the primers, and to her delight found a book about dancing, with explanations and diagrams. Although the binding was cracked and some of the pages were loose, the information contained therein was still pertinent.
She took the primers and dance manual to the schoolroom and spent a frustrating morning trying to familiarize herself with the steps of the basic waltz. Unfortunately, she couldn’t begin to master the dance without a partner.
When Myles joined her in the sitting room before lunch, he found her perched in the window seat with the manual in her hands.
“What’s that?”
She showed him. “I’d like to learn to dance.”
His brow furrowed as he examined the diagrams. “It’s too hard!”
She sighed. “It is hard, but maybe I can get some help.”
When Nell brought in their lunch, Larken asked if she knew of any dance masters in Newcastle who might be willing to tutor her.
“All the best families in the county use Lord Jensen Rowe and his sister, Lady Clarissa.”
“A lord and a lady earning a living?”
“The family had financial difficulties several years ago, but they’re still quite respectable.”
“I’ll send off an inquiry, then, if Mr. King approves. Speaking of lessons, Myles, I found several excellent primers in the attic.”
He groaned.