Saving Marilee Page 12

  My family sat to eat lunch together, and afterwards I slipped down to the kitchens to thank Emeline myself for the fine meal. She was flushed with excitement and was already planning the evening meal. I kissed her head and left her to her work.

  As I left the kitchen, I heard a knock reverberating through the house. I headed to the entry and found my father greeting a wiry gentleman who clutched a large black folio under one arm.

  My father noticed my approach. "Marilee, good. You're just in time." He waved me closer. "This is Zachary Vaden. He is a highly recommended man of business and I was hoping that the three of us could sit down and have a discussion."

  Surprise lifted my brow, but I was also relieved by the idea. "Of course. Might we sit in the drawing room?"

  I expected my father to direct the conversation, but instead he asked me to give Mr. Vaden some basic information about the estate and then to ask him any and all questions that I had in relation to Damian's business affairs. My lack of knowledge about Damian's affairs didn't seem to be a concern to either of them, and Mr. Vaden had a way of both giving and asking for information that made it clear that he knew his business and would be a tremendous help to me. He was never condescending and always eager to hear my opinion or concerns. I could tell that my father approved, so I hired him at the end of the interview. He thanked me with an awkward bow and followed Beatrice from the room. She would show him to the library so that he could start organizing things right away.

  When he had quit the room, I let out a deep sigh and sank into my chair.

  Father surveyed me with concern. "Are you well, Marilee?"

  "I am...much better." I looked up at him. "Thank you so much, Father. I didn't realize just how much my lack of servants was weighing on me. It's a tremendous relief to have Mr. Vaden ready and willing to take over Damian's business. And I'm certain that Mr. Tennsworth is happy to be relieved of his sense of responsibility where my safety is concerned."

  He sat beside me and I felt the mood shift. I knew what was coming. These would be the questions I'd been waiting for. The questions I dreaded.

  "Why did you not ask for help sooner?"

  "I tried."

  "What do—"

  "I wrote you letters. He wouldn't send them. I tried to leave once. It—" I swallowed and took a deep breath through my nose. "It didn't end well. My reasons for not attending the funeral—they weren't petty. I promise you, they—"

  He pulled me into an embrace. "I believe you. You don't have to justify your decisions."

  I blew out a shaky breath. "Thank you."

  "He didn't allow you to have friends?"

  "No."

  "Then, you've been alone since he died?"

  "Not entirely."

  He pulled back, a question in his eyes.

  "I had my servants. I had Mr. Tennsworth." I hesitated, but continued. "And I had help from my neighbor."

  My father's eyebrows rose in surprise. "A neighbor?"

  I nodded. "Mr. Sutton has been very kind and has been doing all he can to look after me."

  His brows jumped. "Is there a Mrs. Sutton?"

  "No. He's not married."

  "Marilee..." There was a note of caution in his voice.

  "I'm not going to be foolish, Father."

  He sighed, clearly still concerned. "And when will we meet this Mr. Sutton?"

  "As soon as you invite him, I would imagine."

  He let out a chuckle.

  ***

  That evening, as Raina and I were preparing for bed, she presented me with a package.

  "What is this?"

  "Just open it."

  I did and found a beautiful painting of the Dalthian palace and grounds. My home. I fought the moisture clouding my eyes, but the tears escaped. "It's tremendous," I told her as I ran a finger over the painted towers of the castle, the green hedges of the maze.

  "It's not perfect, but I hope you like it."

  "I do. I love it." I gave her a smile and she dipped her head, a frown wrinkling her brow. "Are you unhappy with it?"

  "I just know I could do better, but I seem to have surpassed my instructor in skill. I don't feel I'm improving anymore. I've thought about going away to study, but..."

  "I think that would be good for you."

  "You do?"

  I nodded, turning my attention back to the painting before setting it against the wall so that I could admire it. "I miss it," I admitted as I wandered back to my dressing table and sat before the mirror.

  Raina scooted to the edge of the bed and wrapped her arm around the corner post. "Then why don't you just come home with us?"

  I caught her gaze in the mirror and opened my mouth to respond, but the words were difficult to form.

  "And I'm not trying to pass judgment, but I really do wonder. Isn't there a part of you that just wants to leave this all behind?"

  I closed my eyes and forced myself not to become defensive. It was a fair question. It deserved a sincere answer. But what was my answer? What were my reasons for staying?

  I turned around, resting my arms on the back of my chair. "Do you remember," I asked, "when you told me I'd never be able to take care of myself—that I was too naive?"

  Her face looked stricken. "Marilee. I said that in the middle of a petty argument. I didn't mean it."

  I stood, unable to remain seated. "It doesn't matter if you meant it. You were right." I could hear the dismay in my own voice. "I'm not angry because you said it. I'm frustrated because I realized it's true."

  "That's not—"

  "Yes, it is!" I insisted fiercely. "Naive doesn't begin to describe how inept I am." I poked my finger into the center of my chest so hard it probably left a bruise. "That's what I learned about myself."

  Raina studied me, her forehead scrunched in serious concern. "I've never been one to overlook the faults of others. I believe there are times when it's good for us to try to discover and root out our weaknesses, because we always have flaws. But Marilee, this is not that time. The last thing you need right now is to flog yourself when your husband has spent the last eight months doing that for you."

  I blinked in surprise. To have Lorraina demonstrate such passion on my behalf took me aback. She had never been protective of me, or of anyone. "Do you believe I can take care of myself?" I asked.

  "Yes."

  "Then why do you want me to give up and go home?"

  "It's not giving up. You don't need to prove anything. You don't need to prove that you can be on your own. You don't need to prove your self-sufficiency or bravery. We know that about you already. So if you don't want to be here, then why would you stay?"

  I slumped into my chair again. "I do feel the need to prove myself. I do. But not to you. Not even to Mother and Father. I want to prove it to myself. Going home would be like going backwards. I miss my old self. I really do, but I can't go back. I'm not the same, and the person that I am now—I have earned it. I fought to be who I am now, and I want to see what I can do now that I don't have someone constantly cutting me down."

  "And you have to do that here?"

  "There are things I need to know, questions I need to have answered."

  "Like what?"

  I threw my loose hair behind my shoulder and lifted my chin. "Do you see this scar?"

  She stood slowly and crossed to me, her face a mixture of trepidation and sadness. "I had noticed it before, but didn't realize how bad it was." She reached out and touched it with barely a caress of her fingers. "He did that?"

  "I don't know. That's one of the things I need to find out. I had fainted and Damian refused to tell me how I was hurt when I awoke. But he's gone now and I'm tired of not knowing."

  "Is it even possible now that he's gone?"

  "The old housekeeper, Mrs. Braithwhite, was there when it happened. I'm hoping that she can be convinced to tell me."

  "And you know where she is?"

  "No."

  "How do you expect to find her?"

  A blush
heated my cheeks. "There is a gentleman that—"

  "A gentleman?"

  I turned back to the mirror, picking up my brush again. "Yes. He's a neighbor and he has agreed to help me."

  She didn't respond and I focused on my hair, or tried to, until the silence stretched. I looked up. Lorraina seemed curious, but there was also a deep sadness in her eyes. "He sounds like more than just a neighbor."

  I could have tried to explain my friendship with James, but the sadness I saw in her made me remember something. It had been in one of Lylin's letters, tucked between other letters and other news. I turned from the mirror to face her. "Lylin wrote to me."

  She dropped her gaze, likely sensing where this was going. "And what did she say?"

  "You loved a man? A relation of Lord Fallon?" I asked.

  She shook her head, but I didn't know if she was denying it, or just refusing to talk about it. She traced the pattern of the bedclothes, and I didn't push, hoping that perhaps she would confide in me. She never had before, but it was clear that Raina had changed. Finally she looked up, her face cleared of any sadness, and said with a nonchalance that I didn't believe for a second, "Yes. I did. But he's gone now. And I should never have let myself love him in the first place, but..."

  "Sometimes it doesn't feel like a choice?"

  She nodded before refocusing on me. "So then, what about this neighborly gentleman?"

  I couldn't help the smile that slipped onto my lips. "Mr. Sutton is very kind. He's given me no reason to doubt his motives, but..."

  "But?"

  I shrugged a shoulder. "I do doubt him, and he doesn't deserve that, but the thought of putting my trust in someone again, of being in that vulnerable position, I just—I can't."

  "It's only been a few weeks, Marilee."

  "That's what scares me. I have—feelings—very real feelings for this man. Yet I've known him for less than two weeks. It feels too similar to the way I fell for Damian. I thought what Damian and I had was good and real, but it was horrible, and nothing about him was real."

  "And you lived with that lie for months. No one expects you to go out and be able to trust the first gentleman that shows any interest."

  "But I used to trust everyone! I hate that everything and everyone makes me suspicious. Being around people used to make me so happy. But I've barely left this house since Damian died."

  "Give it time."

  It was good advice, but I didn't want it to take time. I wanted the chance to be the person I used to be, and I didn't want to wait for it. "You know patience is not one of my virtues."

  She lifted a shoulder. "People can change."

  A wave of melancholy settled over me. "That I do know."

  Chapter Twelve

  AT MY FATHER'S urging, an invitation was dispatched to Sutton manor a couple days later, asking that James join us for dinner in two days' time. He replied in the affirmative and I was left to plan a formal dinner that would involve my family, and James as the only guest. It would not be all that impressive since we did not have the staff for anything elaborate, but it would be elegant.

  When my mother commented on the lack of staff, my brusque reply of, "I don't need more servants," ensured that the subject was dropped. Cecily was in heaven, being allowed to wait upon a king and queen, and my family was practical enough that if something needed to be done, they would figure a way.

  I sat down with Cecily, Beatrice and Emeline to plan the evening, but after enduring several minutes of each of them throwing each other meaningful glances, I set my hands on the table and looked at them. "What is it?"

  Emeline and Beatrice looked away, but Cecily spoke up. "Aren't you nervous to have your family meet Mr. Sutton?"

  "No," I lied. "I'm certain everything will be fine. Mr. Sutton has been very kind and I'm certain my father will want to thank him."

  "Once they take a gander at that handsome gentleman, they'll know he's more than a neighbor."

  "He's not more than a neighbor," I said with what I hoped was a stern look.

  She dipped her chin and looked up at me, fighting a smile and clearly not believing my words. "As you say, Highness."

  I forced my attention back to planning and, when it was finished, left with my shoulders square and my chin high. I went in search of Lorraina and found her standing on the back veranda. She was taking in the view and didn't notice my approach until I spoke.

  "Raina?"

  She turned, clearly startled, but a broad smile lifted her lips. "I was just admiring your lands."

  "What do you think of them?"

  Her gaze pivoted back to the surrounding trees. "You're so very secluded."

  "I can't tell if you think that's a good thing or a bad thing."

  She gave a little shake of her head. "I don't know. I suppose it could be both. On the one hand, there is a tremendous relief in not being surrounding by watching eyes."

  I nodded, knowing that she more than any of my sisters had struggled with the constant scrutiny. Though she longed for attention and approval, she was far too critical of herself and thus assumed that everyone was critical of her.

  "However, I can imagine that this much isolation would make things very difficult for someone who enjoys society as much as you do."

  "As much as I did," I corrected.

  "You still would. You have not changed that much."

  I let out a wistful sigh. "I'm afraid I don't yet know how much I've changed. It seems that every day I discover some little thing that stops me in my tracks."

  "You'll find your way back."

  "I hope so."

  She held out a hand. "Come. Let's walk."

  We linked arms and strode out across the lawn, two guards falling into step behind us. I looked over my shoulder, noting how alert the guards seemed.

  "Do they make you nervous?" Raina asked.

  I pulled my eyes forward. "I'm just not used to it any more."

  "Did Damian not have guards?"

  "Damian's guards weren't here to protect me. They were here to keep me in line, to watch my every move, to shut me in my room."

  Raina sucked in a breath.

  I looked at her, realizing what I'd said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

  She shook her head and squeezed my arm. "It just surprised me to hear you speak so bluntly." Her voice shook, but she forced a smile. "It's good. Candor is good."

  I gave her a tight smile, glad for her acceptance. "Just don't tell Mama."

  "I won't, but you should."

  I hedged, unwilling to answer.

  "And you should probably let Mama know what to expect tomorrow evening; otherwise she and Father will jump to conclusions."

  "What kind of conclusions?"

  She cut her eyes over to me. "Romantic conclusions."

  I stopped in my tracks. "My husband has been dead for only four weeks!"

  "And he was a monster!" She shouted with more passion than I had ever seen her exhibit. "You owe him no loyalty. He doesn't deserve a mourning period. He doesn't deserve anything from you." Her arm sliced the air in front of her, as if she could cut Damian out of my life with a gesture. "He didn't deserve you in the first place." Her breathing was quick, her face flushed. "He tore you down, and mother and father blame themselves for letting it happen. So if imagining you with the kind man that's coming to dinner is going to take away some of that guilt..." She trailed off, the fierceness in her eyes leaving to be replaced by sadness. Her gaze dropped away and she closed her eyes. "I'm sorry. This isn't about them." She looked back at me. "Tell them whatever you like, just be honest."

  I gave a nod, stunned by her display. "I will."

  We started walking again, silence settling around us as her words echoed in my mind. We had circled the lawn and were nearly back at the veranda when I spoke again. "Why would they blame themselves?"

  "What?" She seemed confused by the question.

  "For my marriage, for what happened to me. Why would mother and father feel gui
lty?"

  "They approved of the match, even encouraged it."

  "But it was my choice," I pointed out. "I doubt they could have prevented it even if they had tried. I knew what I wanted. I wanted Damian."

  Raina gave a little shrug. "They're our parents. I think guilt is a natural part of that."

  "I don't want them to take the blame. If there is blame to be had, I promise that it belongs on my shoulders and no one else's."

  She rubbed my arm, no doubt seeing my mounting agitation. "Don't think on it any longer. There's no need to place any blame."

  I forced myself to nod, consciously setting aside my agitation.

  "Let's check in with Mama and go over plans for tomorrow evening. Then we should go upstairs and be sure that we have appropriately elegant evening wear."

  I laughed.

  ***

  The next evening had me pacing the floor while trying to appear as if I wasn't pacing the floor. At least I was pacing in a bright and beautiful gown. This would be the first time that James would see me in fine evening wear, and I found myself oddly anxious. I was used to wearing the very best and brightest gowns. Or, I used to be.

  James would be arriving in the next few minutes, and I was waiting with my family in the drawing room.

  "Marilee, you've smoothed your gown quite enough," my mother said from across the room with a lift of her eyebrow. "Especially considering it was never wrinkled in the first place."

  I laced my fingers together in an attempt to keep them still.

  "From what you've told me of your friendship with this gentleman, you really have no reason to be nervous."

  I knew she was right. I rarely had reason to be nervous anymore, but my anxiety had been such a constant for the past several months, born from Damian's iron fist and unwilling to loosen its hold on me. It was difficult to pick my worry apart and identify all its reasons.

  My father's manservant was acting as butler for the evening and opened the drawing room door to announce the arrival of Mr. James Sutton.

  He entered, his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes darting from one person to the next. He looked more uncomfortable than I had ever seen him, and I realized he was likely nervous to meet the king and queen of Dalthia.