by Micki Miller
She and Claude, the Sennett’s cook, had been married for close to ten years. The couple had worked in the household for almost eight. Their loyalty and discretion in regards to the goings on of the home well secured their positions.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to having someone to help me dress,” Rose told her maid. “And I’ve only been up and a short time. I thought I would sleep in today, but I awoke at my usual time and could not drift off again. Tonight, I’m certain sleep will come early for me. I stayed up quite late last night with our guests, and then playing cards with my husband and Lord Da Ville. Are they up yet?”
“The both of them are just heading down to the breakfast room,” Cora said as she opened the wide, rosewood armoire and studied the selection. “What have you planned for this fine day?”
“I’m going down to the foundling home to visit with the children.”
“Ah, how about the blue day dress, then?”
“The muslin? Yes, that will be fine.”
Cora removed the dress and laid it across the foot of the bed, smoothing out the skirt with her broad hands as she spoke. “They’re a fortunate brood, to have a champion like you, they are.”
“I feel like I’m the fortunate one,” Rose said, running the brush through her hair. “I so enjoy spending time with them.”
The maid opened a drawer in the marble-topped dresser and removed stockings, garters, and a simple, white chemise. While laying out the items, Cora said, “You’ll make a fine mother someday.” She spun around then, sudden, sucking in a loud breath as if she could draw the words back with it.
Rose set the brush upon her dressing table, but didn’t move to stand.
“I’m so sorry, milady, I didn’t mean to upset you. I just meant…I was only…”
“It’s all right, Cora,” she said, raising merciful eyes to her maid. “It was a kind thing for you to say.”
Under conventional circumstances, it would of course be a normal thing to say. Although this living situation worked well for everyone involved, it was a far cry from typical.
Cora lived in this house and she was no fool. The woman kept a liberal mind and a closed mouth, respecting both the privacy of her employer as well as her own prudent reputation. Rose liked her very much and she would of course forgive a slip of natural thinking.
Cora helped Rose dress, and then brushed and tied her hair back in a quick, simple chignon. In no time at all she was ready to meet Ashton and Lewis for their morning meal.
“Milady?” Cora said as Rose opened her door to leave.
Rose half-twisted back toward her maid. The apples of Cora’s cheeks were washed a fair beet color over her worry and she fussed with the folds of her skirt. “Yes, Cora?”
“Mayhap I’m out of turn here, but, well, you shouldn’t despair. You’re a young woman. You never know what might happen. The future is ever full of wonderful surprises. You could yet become a mother.”
Rose rotated in full to face her lady’s maid. The woman had shown her kindness from the start and Rose had already come to think of her as a friend.
“Thank you, Cora. The fact is, overall, I’m very happy with the way my life is now. I am more than fortunate to be here, and Ashton and Lewis, I mean, Lord Da Ville, are angels. This marriage has granted me more safety and freedom than I could have ever hoped for. If not bearing a child is the one small sacrifice I have to make, then I will make it without regret.”
Her statement to Cora was rather sugar coated. The sacrifice was more than a small one, but there was no way around it. She kept herself busy so she wouldn’t think on the void of it too much. At least, she tried not to dwell on it. Every so often, though, an ache of longing twisted at her heart. Knowing she would never become a mother was indeed a sacrifice.
She’d considered speaking with Ashton about taking in a child from the foundling home. They had all nestled close to her heart. However, the realities of bringing children into this house, of raising them here in such an uncommon circumstance where they would spend their lives forced to keep secrets, dashed the suggestion before she even made it.
Besides, how could she ever pick a single child from the group to come and live with them, and leave the others hurt, wondering why they were not chosen? No, nothing about the idea would work other than to satisfy her own selfish wants.
Cora accepted her reasoning, though, and nodded until the ruffles of her mobcap bobbed around her face, where her knowing smile had faltered.
****
Rose’s husband, Ashton, and Lord Lewis Da Ville, came to their feet when she entered the sunlit room. Lewis set down the delicate teacup he was holding as he stood.
Paint, the color of vibrant, yellow daffodils, brightened the walls. Ashton told her he’d chosen the color because he wanted the room to look like morning even on the dreariest of days. His concept succeeded, too. No matter the weather, morning in here was always a bright affair.
The round breakfast table, covered with a stiff, white cloth, held one of Ashton’s Meissen teapots in the center. The three place settings included tangerine napkins edged with matching lace, silverware bearing a perfect polish, and three plates covered with shiny silver domes. Steam rose from both the men’s teacups.
“Good morning,” Ashton and Lewis said at the same time. Even if the sunny color of the room didn’t brighten the mood, the happy greeting she received each morning from these two men would.
The two of them were dressed similarly in fawn breeches and blue waistcoats. The cut of Ashton’s ensemble differed but in the slightest and was two shades darker than Lewis’s. Ashton held out her chair to see her seated before the men once again took to their seats.
“Good morning,” Rose answered. “I hope you two haven’t been sitting here hungry waiting for me to come down.”
“Our dishes have just been placed on the table,” Ashton said. “We were only going to wait a minute or two to see if you would to join us. We had a bet as to whether you might sleep in this day and miss breakfast, as we kept you up so late last night.”
She giggled a bit. “And here I believed you were enjoying my company, as well as the challenge of my card playing skills. All the while the two of you were contriving yet another wager.”
“Rose, dear,” Lewis said, retrieving his teacup. “You know we adore your company. The bet was but a fortunate offshoot.”
“And which of the two of you is the winner of this fortunate offshoot of a bet?”
With a bit of chagrin, Lewis scooped a coin from his pocket and slid it across the table to Ashton, who plucked it up and slipped it into his own pocket. The bet was lost and paid with the same good humor with which Rose was certain it had been made.
Ashton and Lewis bet on things all the time. Whether the rain would fall on a particular day. What member of Society would be the next to make the scandal sheets. Why, once they’d made a bet on how long it would take a snail to cross a paving stone. Luncheon had to be delayed by three quarters of an hour while they all waited for the snail to make its trek. If she was in the vicinity, they invited her to join in on the fun. The bet she made on the snail was her first win.
“My apologies, Lewis,” Rose said.
“Ah, no need, love. I’ll get it back. I believe the next rain we get shall leave us with a brilliant rainbow in the eastern sky.”
Both Rose and Ashton chuckled. Ashton said, “I’ll take you up on that bet. I believe I’ll take the western sky for a rainbow’s appearance. Rose, care to place a bet?”
“Hmm. I’ve a feeling the appearance of our next rainbow will be in the southern sky.”
“Wonderful!” Ashton said. “We have a wager.”
“I trust you gentlemen slept well?” Rose said while her husband poured tea into her cup.
“Oh, yes,” Lewis answered.
Lewis was a petite man, just two or three inches taller than Rose, with golden eyes and thick, reddish hair always brushed low on the left side of his forehead to hide the cresce
nt-shaped scar his father had given him.
Ashton set down the teapot and nodded to his butler, Stefon, just three, or maybe four years older than her husband’s twenty-four years, tall and slender as he stood in stoic formation in the corner of the room. At Ashton’s unspoken command, the butler glided to the table.
“Last night was a grand evening, wouldn’t you all say?” Ashton said as Stefon lifted the silver dome from his plate. “Thank you, Stefon.”
“Milord,” the butler answered with a stiff nod.
Pomade flattened Stefon’s dark, slick hair to his head. Comb lines placed each hair in perfect order. His thin lips, ever compressed, gave his narrow face a pinched appearance. Rose had never once seen the man smile.
Stefon took a step toward Lewis and removed the dome from Lord Da Ville’s plate. He then walked past Rose and her domed plate without so much as a glance, and exited the room on quick steps.
“I’ll speak with him again,” Ashton said as he shot an angry glare toward the doorway. Lewis closed his mouth, which had dropped open at the butler’s insolence, and sent a hard, favoring nod to Ashton.
As her husband lifted the silver dome from Rose’s plate and set it aside, he said, “Or perhaps I should let this be Stefon’s final mistake. His treatment of you, my wife, has grown to intolerable.”
“I appreciate your concern, Ashton, and of course, your defense of me,” Rose said. “But I think your butler just needs a little more time to adjust to a woman residing as mistress of this house.”
“His contemptuous behavior is not acceptable, Rose.”
“Ashton is right,” Lewis said. “Regardless of our unique situation, you are mistress here and should be treated, at the very least, with civil regard. Stefon should understand when he shows disrespect to you he is showing disrespect to the master of the house. Also, he ought to appreciate the value of your presence in this house.”
“I don’t want to be responsible for the man losing his position,” Rose said.
“You’re not,” Ashton said. “He is.”
“Allow me a bit more time to win him over, and let this be for now. Please, Ashton.”
Her husband paused a moment before his face softened, just a bit. He tipped her a nod of acquiesce, reluctant, but given. “As you wish, my dear. Stefon had better adjust soon, though. I will not much longer tolerate him snubbing you so, no matter your kind wish.”
“Thank you,” Rose said. “Both of you.” She wondered if her two gentlemen considered the trouble Stefon could make for them should he be dismissed from his position. After all, the man held their secret, and the gossip he could stir would be horrendous.
Perhaps Ashton and Lewis did indeed understand the troubling possibility, and it was the reason they conceded to her wish without more debate. They’d all put forth a great deal of effort to avoid such problems. She would have to double her efforts to win over Stefon’s respect.
As she and the men enjoyed their breakfasts of currant buns, berries, and hot tea, Rose steered the conversation to the weather, to the fresh bloom of crocuses, and a summary of the wonderful turn out for the soiree. Burying Stefon’s rudeness took a bit of effort. Her two special friends were ever protective of her. However, by the time they were halfway through their meal, their good humor had returned.
Sunshine poured through the spotless, mullioned windows and warmed the room with more efficiency than the small fire in the grate. The day would be a glorious one, perfect for the children at the foundling home to be outside playing.
“Yes, Rose, everything played out quite as we’d planned last night,” Ashton said. “And you, my love, were the perfect hostess.”
“Thank you. But you’re the one who arranged everything. All I did was follow your lead.”
Lewis smiled broad enough to reveal the small chip on one of his lower teeth, another gift from his father. Like with Rose, his past was a different life, a grim life, a life before Ashton.
The revealing wash of sunshine made Lewis’s light spray of freckles more pronounced upon his fair skin. Rose always thought they made him appear younger than his twenty-three years. His customary temperament gave the same impression. Most of the time, Lewis was a cheerful soul, kind, accepting, playful as a fun uncle. Most of the time.
On the rare occasions when he indulged in a third brandy, however, Lewis’s past would creep over his mind’s ramparts to haunt his mood. He would become sullen and quiet. It was as if Lewis was once again beaten down by this world’s cruelty against his particular stripe.
Sometimes Rose wondered if Lewis possessed an inner fear, a threatening terror that would have him believe his past was a living thing, one with the strength, will, and the ability to reclaim him. She held the suspicion because on occasion, the same terror invaded her sleep. In her nightmare, Piers came for her, and no one had the power or desire to stop him.
Lewis’s gloomy mood never survived the night, thank goodness. By morning, he had the darkness locked back into its proper place, history. They all thrived in this new life, and any threatening entity would have to fight very, very hard to take it away from them.
To Rose, Lewis said, “Yes, I think the reviews of last night will be stellar. Your addition to this household has made everything much easier. Ashton and I are ever thankful.”
“I am the one who is thankful. I’ve never been happier,” Rose said, though a small ache in her chest reminded her of the one imperfection in this life she now lived. To never have a child of her own to hold, to teach, to raise with love and understanding. The lacking could pick at her should she let it.
How could she complain, though? Ashton and Lewis were dears. The household staff, with the exception of Stefon, treated her like royalty. Outside the occasional nightmare, she didn’t even dwell on her brother-in-law’s attack. For that night, the last night he would ever touch her, Piers had chased her from a dismal life and into one where she no longer knew fear, cold, or despair. She would pay the price and not grieve over the cost.
“I’m going to the foundling home today,” Rose told the men. She couldn’t have a child of her own, but she could still be amongst children, still know a certain degree of fulfillment.
At Ashton’s expression of concern, she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take Big Bart as my driver. I’ll be perfectly safe.” Her husband was in the habit of accompanying her to the foundling home, either he or Lewis, as the structure stood in a part of town where danger thrived. As good fortune would have it, they both enjoyed the children, and the children adored both of them.
After a moment, Ashton said, “Actually, I’d like to go with you. My business will be finished early this day, and it is always great fun seeing the little tykes.”
Rose brightened. “Oh, they’d love that, Ashton. The children so enjoy spending time with you. And, according to Hester, your lessons in proper etiquette are starting to show. The boys love playing gentlemen. Well, when they’re not teasing the girls. Lewis, would you care to join us? You know the children love you, too.”
“I have matters to attend to all day,” Lewis said with a touch of regret as they were finishing their meal. “I’m afraid I won’t return till supper.”
“I should be home before one o’clock,” Ashton told Rose, setting his napkin beside his plate and coming to his feet.
Fifteen minutes later, Rose bid the men farewell, receiving a kiss on her cheek from both of them. She pivoted on the gold-veined, white marble tile of the foyer and made her way down the corridor to Ashton’s study.
Pale green paint on the walls contrasted well with the long, burgundy drapes. The rich fabric color carried over to the square cushions on the two chairs across from Ashton’s varnished, teakwood desk and the round pillow on the dark green settee across the room.
He personally chose the décor here, as he had for all the rooms in the house. He’d surprised her, shortly after their hasty marriage for which he’d obtained a special license, forgoing the usual posting of banns. Lewis had taken
her out for a long day of shopping. Upon their return, her chambers were decorated in full. He told her if she didn’t care for his choices, she was free to make any changes she liked. Ashton’s tastes were exquisite and she hadn’t wanted to change a thing.
At the ordered desk, she opened a drawer and withdrew a piece of foolscap and a stick of graphite. She spent the rest of the morning in Ashton’s study, drawing ideas for the new foundling home, both fortunate and confident her opinions would matter.
It wasn’t until her stomach grumbled and she glanced over at the porcelain-faced clock on the mantel, did she realize how much time had passed. She tucked away her drawing with the notes and returned the graphite stick to its proper place. After washing the marks and dark dust from her hands, Rose made her way to the kitchen.
A big iron kettle sat upon the stovetop. Whatever was in it bubbled and steamed, filling the room with a warm, comforting aroma. At the long, wooden worktable, Cora’s husband, Claude, chopped a row of three thin carrots with a long knife and swift efficiency.
His kitchen whites were clean, except for one green smudge on his apron. His dark curls were damp at his temples. Rose could not identify the tune he whistled, but it was a happy one and Claude bopped his head to the music he made.
Claude rotated toward the stove and stirred the pot, moving well for a man whose size bespoke his love of good food. While returning to his worktable, he spotted Rose standing in the doorway. His middle jiggled a little with his sudden stop.
A smile as broad as his girth split Claude’s steamed-flushed face before he spoke. Deluded a degree or two by a full generation living in London, Claude’s French accent added flavor to his speech without confusion.
“Good afternoon, my lady! Today I have potato pasties fresh from the oven. Where would you like to eat this afternoon?”
Rose smiled back at him and tipped her head, though at this point, his question and her shy response was more a game between the two of them than it was a formality. They both knew where she ate her mid-day meal when both Ashton and Lewis were away.