Saving Marilee Page 11

  "And the gentlemen?"

  "The gentlemen were..." My bright memories clouded as I started to view my recollections in a different light. Aside from the fleeting frivolity, I tried to remember what I had found so appealing about the men. Their flattering words, the way their eyes would fill with admiration. The way they would grin when I graced them with one of my most dazzling smiles. I had always been proud of myself for that. "They were..." The way they would pay me the same compliment that they had given my sister a moment before. The way they congratulated one another after dancing with me or one of my sisters. The way their eyes would linger for just a moment too long. "They were nothing to speak of." I crossed to the settee that I had pushed to the side and sank into it.

  "Highness?"

  I looked up into the concerned faces of my sweet friends and forced a smile in return. "I suppose I've grown out of such fanciful thoughts."

  They each looked to the other and I regretted spoiling the mood.

  "We should get back to our duties," Beatrice stated, tugging on Cecily's arm until she followed. "Just ring for us when you need a hand, Mistress."

  I nodded, distracted by the sudden shift in my thoughts.

  I wanted to reclaim all the brilliant memories of golden evenings spent dancing late into the night. But each time I tried to recall such a memory, it came back filtered through my new perspective. Each look, every compliment I had received suddenly seemed insincere, manipulative and dangerous. I pulled my knees up and wrapped my arms around them, examining the dusty chandelier, the curtains hanging limp and heavy, and the chairs now scattered in disarray. Just one more piece of my life that Damian had tainted.

  "Highness?"

  I lifted my head from where it rested on the settee's curved back. James stood just inside the door, looking unsure of his welcome.

  A smile lifted my mouth. "James. I didn't hear you arrive."

  "Is this a bad time?" he asked.

  "No. Not at all. Come in."

  His steps were hesitant as he closed the distance between us.

  "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

  "I'm not sure you'll consider it a pleasure. I was hoping to gain a better idea of how to find your former housekeeper."

  The excitement of his visit blew away and I sank back. "Oh."

  He looked around at the dim room, the light filtering in from the one window that I had opened. "What have you been doing this afternoon?"

  I followed his gaze, noticing the dust motes floating through the sunlight. "I had the idea to hold my very own, very small ball. I suppose I was hoping to recapture some of the gaiety of my youth."

  He sat, with one arm resting along the back of the settee so that he could face me. "Have you given up?" His hand was close enough to my head that I felt him tug on a lock of my hair. I tried to ignore the way my heart constricted at the gesture.

  "No. I just realized it wasn't going to work."

  "Why is that?"

  "I'm not sure. Perhaps I've simply lived too much life since then."

  "I disagree."

  I raised my eyebrows at him. "Do you?"

  He stood and gave a formal bow, his hand outstretched toward me. "I think you just need a partner."

  I examined his countenance, to be sure he wasn't in jest. His smiling eyes told me that he was not only serious, but also looking forward to it. I hesitated for only a moment, then slid my hand into his and let him pull me up. He turned on his heel and, with his other hand behind his back, led me to the center of the room. He pulled me around, going so far as to lead me into a full turn before stepping close and taking my other hand.

  A smile tugged at my lips at his serious expression. "We have no music."

  He cleared his throat theatrically and started humming. The notes weren't perfect, but he was clearly familiar with the tune. After a few bars, he moved toward me and I matched his step, moving back, then to the side, then a turn.

  His leading was confident without being overbearing. His hands were gentle as they guided me from one move into another, my pulse throbbing with exertion and...something else. It was that something else that held me captive. All I could compare it to were the feelings I had had for Damian when we first met, except that those feelings were like a shadow compared to the energy and pull now coursing through me.

  We dipped and swayed to the cadence of his humming, swirling around the cavernous room. His hand at my back warmed my skin. His eyes were fixed on my face, and I sought for the confidence to return his gaze, but couldn't quite hold it. Neither could I keep from glancing at him time and again, wondering what he was thinking and whether or not he was affected as deeply as I by the connection of our hands.

  I couldn't help but admire the rough but gentle quality of his hand holding mine. He lived a life of privilege, but was clearly well acquainted with hard work and physical labor. There was something incredibly appealing about such a prospect. Damian had felt no inclination toward laboring with his own hands.

  I shook my head, trying to dislodge thoughts of Damian and instead fixed my eyes on James's strong shoulder at the level of my eyes, forcing myself to enjoy the moment, to breathe in the contentment that came with his proximity.

  Eventually the tempo of his humming as well as our dancing slowed, the tune morphing into a simple, sedate melody. He pulled me just a little bit closer and rested his chin at my temple. Our dancing became less of a dance and more of an easy sway back and forth. James's breath rustled my hair and I let out a sigh. I closed my eyes, wondering how I would ever be able to think clearly again as the simple tune changed again into no tune at all. Just notes breathed into the air without any clear direction.

  Eventually our feet stilled and the notes stopped. James didn't pull away, so I remained still, in no hurry to move as the silence rested for a moment and then thickened between us. Finally James's hand slid from my shoulder blade and he moved back, letting out a sigh. He took both of my hands in his, staring at them as he cleared his throat. He rubbed his thumbs over my knuckles, then looked up with a smile. "Will your family be arriving soon?"

  I breathed in, my heart more relaxed than it had been in months, and realized that he made me anxious and calm at the same time. "Yes. I received a note this morning. I expect they'll arrive the day after tomorrow."

  "Good." He looked up and as our eyes met, we seemed to both realize just how close we still were. I sucked in a breath and he took a step back, dropping my hands. "Good." He tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves.

  I pulled on a lock of hair, threading it through my fingers, and cleared my throat, trying to refocus my thoughts as I crossed back to the sofa. "You asked me something when you arrived, but I can't recall what it was."

  "Yes." He sat at the opposite end of the couch, his back straight and his face serious. "I was hoping to glean more information about your old housekeeper."

  I tensed at the mention of her, but it had to be faced. "What would you like to know?"

  "How long had she worked for your husband?"

  "I really don't know. She seemed to have things well in hand when I arrived, so I assume she'd been here for some time."

  "Any idea where she came from? Where her relations were?"

  I shook my head. "Mrs. Braithwhite didn't speak of personal matters. I never got the sense that she had any family. She was fully devoted to Damian."

  "Did Lord Rockwell keep records of the servants he employed?"

  "I assume so, but I was not involved in any such affairs. However, all of Damian's records were turned over to me after he died. We can look if you would like."

  He motioned for me to lead the way and followed me as I padded down the corridor to the library. I opened the door and stood aside.

  "After you," he said.

  I entered and crossed to the table that bore the contents of Damian's study that I had kept, as well as all the records that Mr. Nutley had given me. "I believe you will find the documents you are looking for here." I pointed to a box.
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  He scanned the row of crates and ledgers and then cut his eyes over to me, worry written all over his face, but he said nothing.

  "I've asked for my father's assistance with this as well."

  He visibly relaxed before crossing to the box I had indicated. He searched through the contents as I circled the room, waiting for him to find the information he sought. The room was tidy, having been recently dusted in anticipation of my parents' arrival, and I hoped that my father would be comfortable using this space when he came.

  It didn't take James long to find what he sought. Damian had kept meticulous records. James copied down some information and bid me farewell, with a promise that he would call on me when he had something to report.

  I wanted to tell him that he could call on me at any time, but reminded myself that I barely knew the man and I'd do well to remember as much. He took his leave, seeming anxious to be gone, and I was left to wonder what had just happened.

  Chapter Eleven

  I SPENT THE night fretting over James, and his hands, and his smile. Then I spent the next day fretting over my family's arrival, nervous about the state of the manor and fearful that something would prevent their coming.

  By midafternoon the next day, I was pacing the front hall and twisting my hair. What if they didn't come? What if my parents didn't approve of my home—or of me? I checked the window again, fully expecting to see nothing at all. Instead I spotted an unmistakable glimpse of Dalthian banners. I rushed to the door and onto the front steps.

  The sight of my family arriving dispelled all of my anxiety, leaving nothing but pure excitement. The banners flying high, held by the foremost knights, buoyed my heart and an undeniable sense of security flowed through me at the sight of so many men from my own country. They were trusted and loyal.

  The Milandaro coat of arms winked at me from between the trees before the carriage rolled into full view. I pressed a hand to my heart as gratitude washed over me. When the carriage was halfway down the lane, the curtains parted and Lorraina leaned out, waving frantically.

  I put a hand to my mouth to stifle a laugh, surprised but also touched that Lorraina would be so indecorous just to greet me. I raised my hand in return, then ran down the steps, unable to stand waiting at my front door. I flew across the drive and raced down the lane toward my family, picking up my skirts as I picked up speed, desperate to reach them at the soonest possible moment, despite the fact that they were still a ways off. As I closed the distance, the entire entourage slowed and halted, allowing me to weave through mounted knights, reaching the carriage just as Lorraina jumped down and threw her arms around me.

  My breath hitched but I bit back my emotion. I didn't want to cry, not when I was so happy. My mother's arms joined my sister's and I reached out with my own to pull her into my circle. They both felt so familiar, and the only name I could put to it was love.

  "Come, my dears," my father's voice beckoned, and I was slowly extricated from their arms, only to be swept into my father's. I don't believe that I could ever adequately describe the feelings of security that I found in my father's embrace. There was none of the disapproval that had tainted the first letter I had received from him, only concern and acceptance. He was so solid, so reliable.

  Finally he released me. "Climb inside now and you can show us your home."

  He handed me into the carriage and we rumbled on our way. Mother wrapped an arm around me, squeezing my shoulder, and Lorraina tried to smile.

  My armor started to weaken.

  We pulled to a stop and my Father and Lorraina climbed out. I turned to my mother, intending to invite her to climb down first, but the way she looked at me bound my tongue. Her eyes were wide with open, honest inquiry, as if simply waiting for me to speak, to tell her something; to tell her anything; to tell her everything.

  My composure slipped and I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but my breath caught on my vulnerability.

  She gave a little nod, whispering, "It's all right."

  My defenses crumbled to dust. My breath caught again, this time on a sob. I heaved, and gasped, and steadily fell to pieces. I reached out, grasping the side of the carriage with one hand while the other was caught by my mother. She rubbed my back and kissed my head and never once tried to shush me, just kept telling me, "It will be all right."

  I don't know how long I sat there, with my father and Lorraina just outside the carriage, and a dozen soldiers listening in as my facade of well-being blew away like smoke. So much for being an adult.

  Once I'd regained my composure, or part of it, I climbed from the carriage. Rogue greeted me with a whine and I patted his head and looked at nothing but the ground until I was safely inside my sitting room.

  My family did an admirable job of ignoring my red face and swollen eyes, commenting on the lovely furnishings and asking about the new and old wing. We spoke of trivialities until I forgot my embarrassment and found myself laughing at Lorraina's diatribe about a serving maid who couldn't seem to attend the royal family without some sort of drastic accident. My father made a quick friend in Rogue, who settled at his feet once I had relaxed. I kept expecting my parents to ask about Damian or my marriage, but we passed the evening either reminiscing or catching up on the news of Dalthia. It was comfortable and calm. It was familiar. It was love.

  When we all retired, Lorraina asked that I show her to her room. I eagerly obliged, but wondered when she had started seeking the company of others. She had always been solitary, largely due to her critical nature. She was more content in front of an easel, paints in hand, than she was at a social gathering.

  We reached her room and she thanked me and then looked around, as if at a loss for what to do next.

  My brow furrowed at the empty room. "Did you not bring your maid?"

  "I did, but I told her she could retire." There was an uncertain edge in her voice. "I was thinking we could help each other."

  I was taken aback, but nodded, at a loss for words as she directed me to sit in a chair and proceeded to take my hair down. Raina was only two years older than me, and while we had never clashed in the way that she and Ella clashed, we had never been close either. She simply wasn't close to any of us, having never sought our confidence, or even our approval.

  And now she was brushing through my hair.

  "I'm sorry we didn't come before." Her voice was small.

  I looked at her reflection in the mirror and saw her fighting back her emotions. "You didn't know."

  "Still. I should have visited. I didn't even write you a letter."

  "He wouldn't have given it to me anyway."

  She bit the inside of her lips. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

  My shoulders lifted in a sad shrug, knowing there was little that I could say that would make her feel better. Instead I closed my eyes as her fingers ran through my hair.

  "Did he hurt you?" Her voice shook as she asked.

  I opened my eyes and saw the trepidation in her own. She wanted my honesty, even though she knew it would hurt her. "Yes."

  The brush slowed as she pulled it through my hair. "How often?"

  "It only happened a few times. But I never knew why or what would provoke him, and so I always feared him." I could hear the shame in my voice, despite my attempt to be strong.

  Her lip trembled and she swallowed several times. "Were you able to stay away from him?"

  I nodded, a knot in my throat as I watched her being brave for me. "I stayed out of his way a lot of the time. He liked his space."

  She forced a smile, but her eyes were wet. "Well, I'm glad he's gone." She gave a little shake of her head, then held the brush over my shoulder. "It's your turn."

  I chuckled as the tension broke and we switched places, slipping into easier conversation. I asked about each of my sisters and she helped me to catch up on all that had happened to my family in the eight months I had been married.

  We talked late into the night and I fell asleep on her bed, surro
unded by a strange and yet oddly familiar contentment.

  ***

  The next morning, I had the chance to meet and interview the guards that my father had brought with him. There were twelve, but half of them would be returning with my family. It was up to me to choose whom I wanted to stay.

  "Will any of them mind being sent from Dalthia?"

  My father shook his head. "Each of these men was more than willing to offer his service for your safety. None will resent the assignment."

  Good. The last thing I wanted was to uproot someone, and as the interviews continued, it was obvious that my father's words were true. I didn't sense any hesitance. I was happy to see that Falstone was among those who had come. He had been my personal guard for nearly two years before I had married. Relief swept through me as we met again and I still felt the absolute trust that I had placed in him when he had cared for me before. He would be among those whom I chose to stay. There was only one that I chose to employ whom I didn't already know. His name was Marcus and he was by far the youngest, being two years younger than myself. He was focused and had an obvious maturity that I appreciated. Falstone recommended him and my father agreed.

  My six guards were sent off to find Mr. Tennsworth. He would give them a tour of the manor and orient them to their duties. I chuckled a little when I thought of the old stableman giving them directions. I trusted that they were all humble enough to take it in stride.