by Karen Ranney
Removing her wrapper, she replaced it with her worn but sturdier robe, belted it tightly, and left the room, heading for the third floor.
Mrs. Gardiner urged her into her room, after looking both ways down the hall as if afraid the other servants would discover her on the third floor.
“Your Ladyship,” the housekeeper said, wrapping herself in a thick plaid robe, “how may I be of service?”
Once in the room, Veronica didn’t quite know how to ask.
“I’m looking for a mirror,” Veronica said.
Mrs. Gardiner’s lined face furrowed even more. “Is there not a mirror in your chamber?”
“A mirror with diamonds around the edge of the glass,” she said. “And writing across the back. I think it’s Latin.”
The housekeeper’s face smoothed with her smile. “The Scryer’s Mirror,” she said. “You know about the Scryer’s Mirror?” She studied Veronica for a moment. “Was it a bride’s gift, Your Ladyship?”
Lying was wrong. Standing there in the housekeeper’s room was, no doubt, wrong in another way. So was being abandoned by her husband.
Veronica smiled. “Do you know where it is?” Not quite a lie, but definitely not the truth.
“I do,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Shall I bring it to you, Your Ladyship?”
“I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Gardiner. If you’ll tell me where it is, I’ll fetch it myself.”
For a moment she thought the housekeeper wouldn’t agree. A hand went to a curl neatly tied in a strip of white cloth. Evidently, Mrs. Gardiner was not too old for a little vanity. She obviously didn’t want to be seen outside her room prepared for sleep.
“You’ve been so kind to me, Mrs. Gardiner,” she said sincerely. “I truly don’t mind.”
The housekeeper studied her for a moment, a look reminiscent of that very room two nights ago, and how Mrs. Gardiner had sat propped up in bed watching her until she’d fallen asleep. She’d taken her duty seriously and evidently her loyalty as well.
Except Veronica was no longer just some girl to be watched. She was Lady Fairfax.
“It’s in His Lordship’s library,” the housekeeper said. “In the credenza. The third door. I placed it there myself.”
Before leaving Mrs. Gardiner, Veronica folded her hands together tightly, and asked, “Did you see anything in the mirror, Mrs. Gardiner?”
The housekeeper wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m a godly woman, Your Ladyship.”
She nodded.
“Do you think the mirror is magic? Is that why you called it a scryer’s mirror?”
“Some say that magic is not the Lord’s province. It’s the Devil’s.”
Veronica didn’t comment.
“Still, it was a pretty sight I saw. All my nieces and nephews surrounding me, singing.” The housekeeper finally looked at her. “How can something so lovely be evil?”
She didn’t comment, merely thanked the older woman, and made her way back down the stairs.
On the third floor, the staircase was not as ornate, the balusters more simply carved. As she descended to the first floor, however, the carving became more elaborate, the banister mahogany instead of simple pine.
The steps curved at the landing instead of being squared, and as she reached the well-polished wooden floor, the soft glow of an oil lamp on the table beside the front door illuminated her way.
She’d extinguish the lamp on her way back to her room.
The beeswax and lemon polish used to buff the fine mahogany furniture mixed with the sandalwood from the potpourri pots, no doubt placed in strategic locations to offset the odor of the oil lamps.
Light pooled around the hallway table but not enough to illuminate the library. She stood at the doorway, staring into the room. Shadows enveloped the corners, draped over the desk and chairs.
She entered the room and lit the oil lamp on the corner of the desk. The wick caught flame, the glow expanding beyond the glass globe. For a moment, she watched it to ensure it was burning correctly, then looked around her as she’d not had the opportunity to do earlier.
Turning, she faced Montgomery’s desk. A leather-bound blotter sat in the middle of the desk, a pen case slightly to the right. A crystal inkwell rested an inch beyond the blotter. A small, japanned box rested on the left corner of the desk beside a bell.
What kind of work did Montgomery do when he sat there? Did he write letters home? In his next letter, would he mention her? Or would he keep their sudden marriage a secret from those he loved?
She wished she knew more about the man she’d married. Where was he? Or was that even a question she should ask?
Aunt Lilly had always been solicitous of Uncle Bertrand, but she’d never heard her aunt question her husband. If her uncle volunteered information, Aunt Lilly was content enough. Not once had she ever said to him, at least within Veronica’s hearing, “What will you be doing today, my dear?” Or, “With whom will you be meeting? Have you any plans?”
At the same time, her aunt was careful to ensure that her husband approved all her outings, including those involving the girls.
Her parents’ relationship had been different. Each morning, they’d discussed their plans for the day. Her mother had neither sought approval for her actions, nor had her father granted it.
How did she create a marriage like that, especially when she knew so little about the man she’d married?
She pushed thoughts of her new husband aside for another task, that of locating the mirror.
A series of bookshelves occupied the far wall, filled with leather-bound books. On the wall beneath the windows sat a long credenza.
The third cabinet, Mrs. Gardiner had said. The light from the lamp didn’t extend to the corner, so she was forced to bend down to peer inside but could see nothing. She knelt and stretched out her arm to reach into the back of the credenza. Her fingers felt fabric and she pulled it out. Sitting back on her heels, she opened the heavy drawstring bag and withdrew the mirror.
She laid the mirror facedown, stroking her fingers over the cool surface of the gold. One by one, her fingers measured each diamond positioned around the edge.
Perhaps it would be wiser not to look into the mirror again. What if she’d been wrong? Mrs. Gardiner had seen something, however, so her vision couldn’t be an aberration.
Slowly, she raised the mirror, pressing the glass against her chest, holding it there, before bowing her head and saying a short but earnest prayer.
Please, let me see something. Something hopeful.
Would God decree her a sinner if she wanted to see something better than the life she was living now? Was it wrong to want to be happy instead of lonely?
The lamp sputtered. Perhaps that was an answer.
She looked into the mirror. The glass was brown, flecked with spots, indicating its age. When nothing happened, disappointment surged through her. She was in the process of lowering the mirror when the color lightened. Hands trembling, she gripped the handle of the mirror and raised it so she was staring directly into her reflection.
She was surrounded by people, their faces too blurry to recognize. Her own face was clear enough, her expression filled with such joy and animation, she stared at herself in wonder. She was laughing, the image so real she could almost feel joy bubbling up in the middle of her chest.
“Another example of your intellectual inquiry?” a voice asked from behind her.
Startled, she pressed the mirror against her chest and glanced over her shoulder at Montgomery. He was standing in the doorway, leaning back against the frame, his arms folded over his chest. His hair looked tousled as if the wind had played with it. Raindrops glittered on his shoulders, dampened his clothing.
He glanced at the lamp she’d lit.
“At least you didn’t attempt to hide your activity, Veronica. Perhaps that’s a credit to your favor. Theft, however, is not.”
“I wasn’t stealing it,” she said. “I was just looking.”
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br /> She slipped the mirror back into the drawstring bag and replaced it in the credenza before standing. His gaze dropped. Her robe had come open, revealing the silk of her nightgown.
“You’ve seen me naked before,” she said.
“The last time I saw you naked, you looked rather pitiable. You don’t now.”
Oh.
She pressed her lips together, then forced herself to relax. Her heart, however, was beating so quickly she felt breathless with it. She stared at the carpet before, annoyed at her cowardice, she forced herself to look at him.
“Were you outside?”
“I felt the need to take some air,” he said. An excuse so like the one she’d devised a few nights ago that she smiled.
“Do I amuse you, Veronica?”
He had a way of looking at her intently, as if he wished to peer behind her eyes to see the soul of her.
Perhaps it was the intensity of his look or her irritation at his desertion that sparked her answer. Instead of demurring, instead of saying something polite and noncommittal, or instead of simply excusing herself and leaving the room, she gave him the truth.
“No,” she said. “No, Montgomery, you fascinate me. You confuse me. You worry me. However, I wouldn’t say the emotion I feel in your presence is amusement.”
She stored away his startled look to enjoy at another time.
“Go to bed, Veronica,” he said, stepping out of the doorway so she could pass. “Now.”
She stood, clasped her hands together, and walked toward the doorway. As she passed him, she looked up. A muscle in his jaw clenched. She almost raised her hand and cupped her palm around his jaw.
He looked as if he would flinch if she touched him, but that wasn’t what she was feeling from him. He was angry and disturbed, but something else was there, something dark and powerful, an emotion she’d never felt.
Perhaps this moment was not unlike the night at the Society of the Mercaii. She felt as if she were drugged, subdued and silent, her surroundings swirling around her.
“Good night, Veronica,” he said, his accent coating the words with honey.
The look in his eyes, measuring, and a little dangerous, didn’t make her afraid. Instead, she felt warmth spread through her body.
“Will you come to me tonight?” she asked, congratulating herself for her courage in asking.
The seconds ticked by, and he said nothing. Evidently, the absence of an answer was an answer.
“You won’t forget to extinguish the lamp?”
He frowned but still didn’t speak. After a moment, he nodded.
She walked down the hall, only too conscious of his gaze. At the base of the stairs, she stopped and looked back at him. How handsome he was and how mysterious.
Montgomery grieved with such ferocity that the emotion was almost a living thing, hunkered down on all fours between them like a creature from a nightmare. He stood silent and alone, embraced by shadows.
She wanted to draw his head down so it could rest on her shoulder, enfold him in her arms and hold him, and tell him that grief had a way of becoming more bearable each day. She’d never forgotten her parents. They were always with her, their loss like a wound leaving an ugly scar. She would never be without the scar, but the wound was beginning to heal.
Montgomery, however, would not allow her to comfort him. She knew because he turned and entered the study, closing the door softly behind him, a repudiation without words.
Very well, he wouldn’t come to her tonight.
What a fool she was to be disappointed.
She was an innocent yesterday; she would be an innocent tomorrow. For how long? The length of Montgomery’s grief?
How long would that last?
Chapter 9
Edmund Kerr sat at the desk and withdrew a sheaf of papers from his leather folder. He’d been empowered to discuss something with Lady Fairfax, a task he found objectionable. That duty should have been performed by Lord Fairfax. Instead, it had been delegated to him. Edmund picked up the bell, rang it twice, then placed it back on the top of the desk, inwardly counting how many seconds passed before his summons was obeyed.
Not only had it been something of a shock to realize that the 11th Lord Fairfax was an American, but Edmund had had to travel to that country to tell the man of his good fortune. He’d also been forced to use the power of his persuasion to convince Montgomery Fairfax to take up the title.
He’d found Montgomery without too much difficulty. The man had been a decorated war hero, and the government of the United States, however much in disarray they might have been after their civil war, was diligent about keeping track of their war heroes.
All in all, it hadn’t been that distressing a journey. He’d seen the devastation, of course, but since he knew no one in America, the ruins he’d passed had been more like viewing a daguerreotype than witnessing something personally affecting.
In the first few weeks, he’d thought Montgomery Fairfax would turn his back on his inheritance, refuse it, and go about his business in America. He’d had to cajole the man to England and through the process of being recognized as the 11th Lord Fairfax. Now the man was married, another shock. With marriage came heirs, and it was inevitable that the Fairfax clan would increase in numbers soon.
A depressing thought, but then, he hadn’t been appreciably cheerful since discovering that an American would take up the title.
A maid came to the door, finally, a great many minutes after she should have arrived, looking surprised to see him sitting there instead of Montgomery.
“Will you summon your mistress?” he asked.
At her look of confusion, he added. “Lady Fairfax.”
She nodded and disappeared, all without a word spoken.
He shook his head and arranged the papers Lady Fairfax would need to sign in front of him. Sitting back, he took a deep breath and prepared himself for the confrontation.
Veronica’s breakfast was eaten in solitude, an odd event after living for two years in the cacophony of her uncle’s home. Not having to make a concerted attempt to ignore her cousins made for a better mood to start the day.
Her first full day of being a wife. In the previous day, she’d seen her husband for a total of two hours, at the most. She was mulling on how to correct that situation when Mrs. Gardiner entered the room.
“Your Ladyship,” the housekeeper said, smiling, “Mr. Kerr would like to visit with you if you’ve a moment.”
“Mr. Kerr?”
“Lord Fairfax’s solicitor, Your Ladyship.”
“Oh yes,” Veronica said. “What could he want with me? Isn’t it Montgomery he needs?”
“His Lordship has taken himself off to the import warehouse,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “He’s buying more silk. Mr. Kerr specifically asked for you, Your Ladyship.”
Why on earth was Montgomery buying silk? Why was the solicitor requesting her presence? Just two more questions to add to the pile of them she’d accumulated since her wedding.
As she stood and left the dining room for Montgomery’s library, she pushed back her dread. Had Montgomery requested an annulment? She was certainly not underage, but did he think her mentally incompetent? They shared no relationship of any sort. What other grounds could he use?
Dear God, what would she do if he annulled their marriage? Where would she go? Uncle Bertrand would not take her in, that was certain. An annulled wife was almost as shocking as an unmarried girl who’d been ruined. She would really have to take the last of her father’s funds and travel to Scotland alone.
But what would she do, once there?
Fear is a wasteful emotion, my dear child. How much better it is to confront an issue than to be frightened into inaction. Her father’s words. He would have cautioned her to wait until she’d heard from the solicitor himself before imagining different scenarios. Never borrow from the future more than you can handle today, he’d always said.
She stood at the door to Montgomery’s library and wait
ed until the solicitor noticed her.
“Your Ladyship,” Edmund Kerr said, standing at her entrance.
Mr. Kerr waved her to a straight-back chair in front of the desk.
She took her seat, arranging her full skirts with the dexterity born of years of practice. Finally, Mr. Kerr sat, stacked his papers in front of him, and gave her a toothy smile.
The solicitor’s face was long and narrow, his forehead broad, his nose a petite nub. His beard was closely trimmed to his face and extended to his sideburns as if calling attention to his large brown eyes. His ears were narrow, pointed, and lay flat against his head.
Regrettably, Mr. Kerr reminded her of an earnest squirrel, a resemblance accentuated by his habit of tapping his papers with the edges of his palms as if the stack of papers was a nut he’d found.
What she felt from him, however, was not as amusing.
An odd darkness surrounded him, as if he were angry and attempting to hide it. She bent her head, ostensibly arranging her skirts while she concentrated on Mr. Kerr’s emotions. Regret? Sorrow? There was something about him that was oddly off-putting.
“Lord Fairfax has instructed me to tell you about the marriage settlement he’s made for you, Lady Fairfax. Although this arrangement is normally made prior to the actual nuptials, His Lordship did not want to involve your uncle.”
“A marriage settlement?”
“Yes,” he said, and named an amount that had her staring at him in shock.
“That’s very generous,” she said. More than generous. She could live the whole of her life comfortably on that amount.
“Why, Mr. Kerr?” she asked, pressing her damp palms against her skirts.
“Why, Lady Fairfax?” Mr. Kerr’s mouth turned down, making him look like an angry squirrel. “I agree, Your Ladyship, it is odd. However, His Lordship was adamant you have enough funds to enable you to live well on your own.”
A ball of ice formed in her stomach. “Does he not anticipate being with me, Mr. Kerr?” she forced herself to ask. “Is he annulling the marriage?”