by Ranae Rose
What Mrs. Remington did then could only be described as bristling. As a competent and favored maid, Elsie had rarely been on the receiving end of anything other than mild and rare reprimands from her mistress. But that kind woman seemed to be gone, replaced by a glaring force to be reckoned with. Though standing in silent witness to an argument over herself was intensely awkward, Elsie did not envy Damon the necessity of justifying their marriage to his mother. She herself had no idea what she could possibly say to convince Mrs. Remington that she was a worthy wife for his son. After all, she brought nothing to the union besides her body and her love. While those things were enough for Damon, they could hardly be expected to satisfy his parents.
“Elsie, I don’t wish to subject you to this. Go to the kitchen and have the cook make you a cup of that herbal tea for your headache.” Damon was exerting a gentle pressure against her back before she knew it, guiding her from the room. “I’ll come for you in a little while,” he promised, leaving her alone in the corridor.
The thick door blocked all but the lowest of sounds, leaving Elsie with only the dull buzz of heated but indiscernible conversation to keep her company in the empty hall. No doubt the overly sturdy door had been chosen on purpose and had shielded many a secret conversation from servants’ ears. Feeling like a drab housemaid again, she turned and began to drift down the hall. She might as well do as Damon had told her. It seemed that the only place left for her in her home of seven years was where he wanted her to be.
She could have easily made her way to the kitchen with her eyes closed. Instead, she kept them open, wary for any signs of approaching servants. Before, she’d delighted in the fact that the Remingtons kept such a large staff, that there were so many other servants for her to socialize with. Now, she dreaded encountering even one of them. Being with Damon felt right, but being Mrs. Damon Remington felt more wrong each time someone looked at her askance. She dreaded the incredulous stares, the unspoken questions. Fighting a queasy feeling and the remnants of her headache, she had to force herself to enter the kitchen.
It was bustling with activity; even more than usual, it seemed, though perhaps Elsie’s new desire to avoid the staff made it seem as if there were more of them than there should have been. As she stood in the doorway, being greeted by a wave of stifling heat, the servants turned one by one to look at her. At first their expressions were polite. Then recognition flickered in their eyes, and one or two of the younger girls failed to stifle exclamations of shock. “Can I help you?” the cook asked, turning her back on a large ham in need of garnishing.
Instead of inciting Elsie’s hunger, the aroma of glazed meat only made her feel dizzy as she thought how strange it was that she had no appetite for it. “I came for a cup of tea,” she half-sighed. “The herbal brew that Miss Remington uses for her headaches.”
Though the cook looked unsure of how exactly to treat the woman she knew had been a housemaid only a week ago, she took a quick look at Elsie’s fine gown and wedding ring and seemed to decide on extreme caution. Without hesitation, she delegated the task of making the tea to one of the half a dozen younger women who filled the kitchen, leaving Elsie to wait awkwardly by the door while they all worked.
When at last the tea had finished steeping and been handed to her in a generously proportioned porcelain cup, Elsie could stand the tension no longer. Murmuring her thanks for the drink, she slipped quickly from the kitchen and out into the hall again.
The house had never seemed so enormous. Before, she’d always navigated the long halls and large rooms with purpose. Now, she had no idea where to go. When the beginning notes of a lively melody drifted down the corridor to her, it seemed to be a stroke of luck. Cradling the teacup in her palms, she strolled toward the room on the far right that housed the piano, wondering who might be playing it. Lucinda was well known for her love the instrument as well as her talent, but she was back in Hertfordshire.
Like Lucinda, the player was a young woman – or at least, her slender figure seemed to belong to one. Elsie stood in the airy room’s arching entrance, finally taking the first sip of her tea. A few dark red curls tumbled down the pianist’s snow-white neck, artfully excluded from the complicated coiffure that secured the rest of her hair at the top of her head. Her gown was a bold shade of burgundy. Perhaps Elsie had gauged her age wrong – perhaps she was an older, if remarkably trim, matron.
This second notion was quickly dispelled when the woman turned, revealing a pale, diamond-shaped face set with hazel eyes. She looked to be less than five-and-twenty. “’Ello,” she said, stilling her fingers on the ivory keys. “You must be Lucinda.” Her French accent was heavy, almost as if she wished she weren’t speaking English at all. She continued before Elsie could so much as lower her teacup. “I know we ‘avent seen each other for years, but I remember that you play zee piano. What do you think of my new song? I composed it myself.” She began playing again, leaving no chance for Elsie to explain that she was not Lucinda. Several minutes passed before the music stopped.
“Pardon me, but who are you?” Elsie asked. She’d worked in the house for seven years, and she didn’t recall the young French beauty ever paying a visit. What was she doing alone in the music room?
The girl broke into a brief, insincere-sounding titter. “Forgive me. I thought you knew I would be coming. I am Véronique Renard.” The expectant smile she donned as she introduced herself didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Ah,” Elsie said, trying to think of something she could say to hide the fact that the name meant nothing to her. “Will you be visiting for long?”
Véronique smiled again, her eyes glittering in a strange, almost cold way. “Yes, a very long time. I plan to stay here until zee wedding, and afterwards too, of course.”
“The wedding?” Whoever this Véronique Renard was, she certainly seemed better informed on local happenings than Elsie. Hardly any time had passed since she’d put away her housemaid’s apron for good, though it sometimes seemed as if it had been an eternity. Had she really missed out on so much?
“Of course. My family eez eager to become established in London. I will marry your brother as soon as possible, and remain with him ’ere in the city afterward.”
The teacup slipped in Elsie’s suddenly unsteady hands, slopping a little of the scalding liquid over her fingers. She opened her mouth, but it was too dry for speech, and she couldn’t think of what to say anyway. Lucinda had only one brother – Damon.
“You are leaving so soon?” Véronique pouted.
Elsie’s skirts swished around her ankles as she hurried from the room. Droplets of tea sloshed over the sides of her cup and splashed onto the floor, but she hardly cared. All she could think about was escaping, though to where, she didn’t know. Her blind trust in Damon’s word had evaporated in a moment’s time, and with it her place in the Remington household.
****
A knock at the door was the second to last thing Elsie wanted to hear. The very last thing was a female voice dripping with a ridiculously overplayed French accent. Though the voice that sounded from the hall was distinctly English, she couldn’t seem to stop Véronique’s heartbreaking words from repeating over and over again in her mind.
“Is anyone there?” someone called cautiously, knocking again.
Elsie shot the door a baleful glance, as if she could use the sheer force of her will to drive away whoever stood on the other side. It was undoubtedly one of the maids, probably making a round of the third floor with a feather duster. If Elsie didn’t say anything, the maid would enter and find her sulking by the bay window like the fool she was. “This room is occupied,” she called out. “Please go away.”
The door creaked open slowly, admitting a mousy, mobcapped head. “There you are!” the maid exclaimed. “Thank goodness you’re here. I’ve been searching all over the house for you.”
“Thank you Louise, but I’d rather be alone right now,” Elsie said, trying to inject what dignity she could into her voic
e. The fact that she was sitting on the cushioned bench in front of the window with her knees folded against her chest and dried tears glazing her cheeks made it difficult to do. Equally embarrassing were the half a dozen novels strewn on the floor near her. She’d pulled them from a shelf in the empty room and tried fruitlessly to distract herself with the stories. Not even the most fanciful of tales had enabled her to achieve any measure of success. Between Véronique’s revelation and the sunlight, she was still utterly miserable, and while her heart felt much worse for the wear, she welcomed the throbbing headache the sunlight brought as a distraction from the former torture.
“Begging your pardon,” Louise replied, “but I have a message for you from Master Damon, and I daren’t fail to deliver it.”
Elsie hated herself for the way her hope flared at the sound of Damon’s name, even as her heart broke again. How could he have lied to her so blatantly? She’d been a fool to believe him and an even bigger fool to dismiss Jenny’s claim so quickly. Her heart surged with repentant affection as she thought of her friend. It shamed her that she’d imagined such wicked things about her. If she’d only given Jenny’s words more weight, she might have saved herself this agony of betrayal. “What is the message?”
“He says his father insisted that he join him in the city for a business matter. He regrets not speaking with you personally, but will return in a few hours. Meanwhile, I am to prepare you for tonight’s party.”
“Party?” Elsie said the word as if it were as foreign as Damon’s wretched former-fiancé.
Louise nodded, politely banishing Elsie’s ignorance. “The Remingtons are hosting quite the event tonight, and I am to see that you’re prepared in time.” She glanced toward the window, as if checking the position of the sun. “We had better hurry.”
Sunset was far off, but as a former lady’s maid-in-training, Elsie knew that now was the time to begin preparing. Or at least, it would be if she planned to attend. She opened her mouth to refuse, but a sudden thought stopped the words in her throat: Damon would be at the event, and so would Véronique, presumably. She couldn’t fathom why Damon had lied to her, but regardless of how ridiculous she now felt claiming the title, she was his wife. She wasn’t going to sulk in an empty bedroom on the third floor while everyone else carried on as if she didn’t exist – which would probably be better for everyone if it were true.
“Is something the matter?” Louise’s eyes were wide and worried. Elsie cursed her luck for having brought her the sweetest maid in the house. If anyone else had asked the question after discovering her sulking in such a ridiculous state, she would have given them a sharp reply. But Louise hadn’t even gawked at her. In fact, she’d acted as if waiting upon Elsie was the most natural thing in the world.
“No, nothing.” Elsie stood, smoothing her wrinkled skirts, aware that she’d probably ruined Lucinda’s fine dress with her tears. “You’re right – we had better hurry.”
Louise smiled, no doubt relieved by Elsie’s sudden compliance.
The bitter taste in Elsie’s mouth prevented her from returning the smile. She would go along with Damon’s wishes and allow herself to be primped for the party, but only because she couldn’t bring herself to let Véronique go on thinking that Damon was hers. Her heart broke again at the thought as she followed Louise from the room. The betrayal that was causing her heart to ache was worse than what she’d suffered when Lord Wilkes had snubbed her after claiming her virginity – much worse. This time, not only had her hope been betrayed, but her love. And then there was the fact that she was married to the man who had deceived her – bound to him in the eyes of God and Church of England for the rest of her immortal life. A part of her wanted to regret that fact, but it was impossible. After all, she loved him.
Chapter 13
“You look beautiful.”
Elsie gave her reflection a cursory glance. Though the image in the mirror told a different story, she did not feel beautiful. Louise bobbed anxiously at her elbow, surveying her handiwork. She’d done a skilled job of working Elsie’s hair into an elaborate heap of curls, and had enhanced her features with the barest hint of rouge, which did wonders for her ivory vampire’s complexion. The pale yellow gown she’d selected from Lucinda’s large wardrobe had proved to be a fine choice. The color suited Elsie and the low, square neckline was more than flattering. Even as Elsie registered these facts with a sort of detached appreciation, her insides squirmed with a potent mixture of dread and anxiety. The party was about to begin, and for the first time since learning of Damon’s deceit, she would see him.
Would she be able to keep a straight face, to maintain her composure in front of the many guests? It was bad enough that she was basically a housemaid attending a social function for the affluent and successful – trying to keep her wild feelings in check on top of it would surely turn the party into something out of a nightmare. The only worse thing she could imagine was being alone with her misery while Véronique stalked Damon across the dance floor.
“Thank you Louise,” Elsie said, turning toward the door. “You’ve been wonderful.”
Louise actually blushed, as if she’d just received a compliment from someone important. News of Elsie’s wedding to Damon hadn’t spread to the servants yet, had it? Damon and his mother’s conversation had been private. Elsie dared a guilty glance at her wedding ring. Whether or not the servants’ suspicions had been confirmed yet, there would be rumors. Of course, those rumors would be nothing compared to the gossip that would burn its way through London when it was discovered that the Remington heir had eloped with a housemaid. She glanced over her shoulder at the mirror one last time. Did she really look the part, or was she just being stupid?
“Many of the guests have already arrived,” Louise offered a not-so-subtle hint as Elsie continued to linger, doubting herself.
With a sigh of resignation, Elsie turned toward the door once again.
****
The generously sized open room the party was being held in was already bustling. It was no surprise that the event was well attended – Remington functions always were. There was no question that any parties occurring at the Remington household held a certain dark glamour among London society. Not quite formal, and yet not completely devoid of decorum, they unfolded in a sort of twilight state between the rather rigid rules that were expected at less notorious houses and outright abandonment of propriety. The daring and curious often attended, as did those who simply craved a night of release from stricter expectations. All of London was sure to know about the night’s events by the next morning.
As usual, there was a little bit of every sort of entertainment going on. People mingled and conversed, while others danced. A couple groups of card players were gathered around tables in the back. It was an unashamedly social occasion that boasted something for everyone. Except Elsie.
Her stomach fluttered as she entered the room as quietly as possible, and to her disdain, more than a few heads turned in her direction. Disappointingly, none of them were Damon’s. Despite the gaping sense of betrayal that afflicted her, she would have been glad for a sight of him. He would protect her from the crowd of wealthy revelers, would be her lifeline in this sea of confusingly dazzling humanity. And perhaps, just perhaps, he would say something to her that would somehow explain the fact that he had both a wife and a woman who fancied herself his fiancé.
Resigning herself to the fact that he wasn’t there, she turned to the only other possible avenue of socially acceptable escape – the set of double doors that led outside, to a scenic patio at the edge of the garden. There she could ease her whirling mind and knotted stomach with a breath of fresh air while avoiding the crowd. All she had to do was make it all the way across the huge room.
She moved as quickly as she dared, giving the dancing area a wide berth. Heads turned, and some eyes – most of them male – alighted with interest, but she donned her best look of oblivious distraction and glided on, keeping her gaze on the door lest she
become locked in eye contact with someone. At last she reached the doors, sighing in relief that she’d made it to them without incident. The night air greeted her as she stepped outside, cool and refreshing.
The garden was a purple twilight wonderland that froze the breath in her lungs. Only a day had passed, and already she’d forgotten how beautiful the night was to her now. Even her misery couldn’t keep her from admiring the sight. The roses were vivid to her eyes, and the bushes’ shadows failed to completely conceal a discreetly kissing couple. Yesterday, she would have smiled at the sight. Tonight, it brought back memories that were both sweet and painful. She’d believed Damon when he’d pulled her gently to the ground in the rose garden and assured her that he’d had no fiancé. Had she been as big a fool as when she’d been eighteen, when she’d honestly believed that her affair with Lord Wilkes would blossom into a true romance?
“I bought something for you in the city today.” The familiar voice caressed Elsie’s lonely ears like silk, causing her heart to rise with hope even as it broke a little more.
Turning, she faced Damon.
He was a picture of perfection in a midnight blue tailcoat and matching pantaloons, his hair combed to a glossy sheen that was blacker and brighter than a raven’s wing. Smiling, he pressed something into her hand. “Go ahead and open it. I chose it for the roses. I thought you might like them.”
She stared down at the object he’d pressed into her hand – a fan. With trembling fingers, she opened it. At least for a brief moment she could pretend that all was well between them, that he was an honest, loving husband presenting his wife with a gift. “It’s lovely.” Roses had been hand-painted onto the silk fan in remarkable detail, and the soft mauve lace that decorated the edge complimented the petals.
He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered. “It’s for more than just looks, really. You can use it to hide your teeth if you feel tempted to smile or laugh in front of any of the guests. Nighttime social events can be tricky business for our kind.”