Saving Marilee Page 2

  The room they had locked me in each time I became too excitable. "I won't go back to that room." My voice was hollow.

  "I thought as much. I've prepared a different room for you, in the old wing."

  The old wing. The part of the house I actually enjoyed. The part where Damian never went because it didn't have the facade of wealth, perfection, and order.

  "I appreciate that, but I have no desire to lie down right now." I sat up straight and when Beatrice sank down beside me I grabbed her hand, needing to feel the small bit of solace that her warm friendship could offer me.

  "Of course, Mistress. But perhaps you might like to change?"

  I laughed inside my head. "Change into what, exactly?" Another horrid excuse for a dress?

  "I found where your old dresses were stored away." My eyes snapped to her face. I had thought my dresses had been destroyed. "I've put them in your new room."

  I let out a sigh, and a bit of my anxiety went with it. I doubted that Beatrice would ever know just how much I appreciated her. "Thank you, Beatrice. And yes," I said in an attempt to keep my emotions at bay. "I really would like to change."

  She stepped back, allowing me to climb to my feet on my own. She had stopped offering assistance long ago. After months of being escorted here and there against my will 'for my own good,' I had started refusing assistance from those closest to me, those few who still respected my wishes and didn't fall for Damian's lies.

  I nodded for her to lead the way and she gave a curtsey before walking down the hall.

  Cecily joined us, her auburn hair peeking out from beneath her mop cap as she gave a tentative smile. I reached out to squeeze her hand for just a moment. We made our way to the old wing, through doors rarely used and hallways draped in dust. I could see light spilling from a doorway at the end of the corridor. When we entered, I wondered just how long Beatrice had been preparing this room. The dust was gone from every surface. I didn't even see any lingering in the beams of sunlight pouring in the windows. Though the tapestries were old, they were brightly colored, as were the bedclothes and the woven rugs covering the floor.

  It was like walking into a different house altogether.

  Beatrice crossed to the wardrobe and pulled it open.

  My dresses. I choked on the lump in my throat and my eyes burned. It was pathetic that the sight of something as normal as clothing could provoke such a reaction from me. But when they had been taken from me, it was as if a piece of me had been torn away.

  It still made me angry to think of them being taken from me. That incident had been the first time I had been unable to explain away my husband's actions, and I had started to worry that something was very, very wrong. Only I didn't know if it was something wrong with my marriage, or something wrong with me.

  ***

  I walked into my room and was brought up short by the sight of a maid standing at the foot of my bed, my dresses piled in front of her. "What are you doing?"

  The maid looked up, gave me one condescending smile, and then went back to packing up my dresses—all of my dresses. The beautiful dresses that made me smile in spite of the difficulties in my marriage.

  I stepped farther into the room. "I asked what you are doing. Answer me."

  "I'm just putting away a few of your dresses, Lady Mary."

  "Why? I don't want them put away; now put them back." What was happening here? First my horse had been taken from me, and now this. Everything was slipping away—being taken away. This was wrong. Why would he take away my things?

  "Now, now, Lady Mary. The master asked that you be equipped with more appropriate attire."

  "My attire is just fine. I like my attire. Now, put my things back where you found them at once." I thrust my finger in the direction of my wardrobe, my heart in my throat. I had to show this maid that I was in charge, that my wants and needs were just as important as my husband's.

  "I'm sure you'll find your new things to be perfectly lovely."

  Her tone raised my ire. Why did I always feel like a child being reprimanded these days? I was a grown woman; I was the Lady of the house. This was not what my world was supposed to be like.

  "You need to leave." My voice shook despite my desire to sound sure and strong.

  "I'm sure you'll get used to your new things, Lady Mary. The master is only looking out for you."

  "No." I crossed to the bed and snatched the dress from her hand. "I've had enough of this. I am telling you—no, commanding you—to leave."

  "Lady Mary!"

  I spun at the sound of Mrs. Braithwhite's voice. Perhaps she could take this servant in hand. "Please get control of your staff members, Mrs. Braithwhite. This maid is refusing to take orders."

  "But Lady Mary, she's simply doing her job." She wrapped one hand around my arm and the other around my back at my waist, pulling me toward the door. "Now, come along. You can sit down in the parlor with a nice cup of tea and we'll let Winnie get back to her work."

  "I'll do no such thing." I pulled from her grasp and was on the verge of screaming in frustration when Damian appeared at the door.

  "What's happening here? Mary, whatever has you so upset?"

  I resisted the urge to run into his arms, instead pulling my back straight and gathering my dignity. "Your staff is insubordinate. Please tell them to mind my orders and leave my room alone."

  His brow furrowed and he moved to wrap his arms around me. "You're dismissed," he said over my head.

  I listened to the sound of the servants' retreat, grateful that Damian was so willing to listen to me. But there was still something very wrong with the way the staff treated me. My composure slipped and I found my head burrowed into his shoulder. "They're starting to frighten me," I mumbled.

  "What was that?"

  I pulled back so he could hear me. "The staff. They're starting to frighten me."

  "Frighten you? Mary, you have no reason to fear any of my staff members. They are completely loyal and would never do anything to harm you."

  "Then why was she taking my things? Why wouldn't she listen to me when I asked her to stop?"

  "Come here." He took my hand and guided me to a chair. "I can see that my little surprise is not going as planned."

  I sank into the chair, bewildered. "Surprise?"

  "I wanted to surprise you with your new wardrobe. A wardrobe that I selected. I believe you'll be stunning in them, and they will be better suited to your current station as Lady of my house. It will be a grown woman's wardrobe instead of a young lady's. You want to be taken seriously, don't you?" He stroked my cheek, his eyes soft.

  "Of course I do. I just wish you had told me instead of sending a maid to do it all. It was very disconcerting to stumble onto it."

  "And I'm truly sorry for your distress." He kissed both my hands. "Now, have I quieted your fears?"

  He hadn't completely, but I gave a brave smile and nodded.

  I went through the rest of the day, excited to see the sorts of grand gowns that my husband claimed would look stunning on me. He had always appreciated what he called my 'unique beauty,' and the fact that he would take the time to choose clothing that he thought would enhance it was incredibly sweet.

  The next morning I was introduced to my new attire, consisting of simple, neutral colored, high-necked, long-sleeved dresses. My heart sank, but I tried to see things from Damian's point of view, tried to trust that he meant well.

  ***

  I realized later that at least part of the reason for my change in wardrobe had been Damian's insistence that I not attract attention from other men. Damian had allowed me to host one party. All the neighbors had been invited. It would have been a lovely affair if Damian hadn't yanked me away when any man dared to speak more than two words to me. He had acted as though his fits of jealousy were innocent and expected. Nine days later, my new wardrobe had arrived.

  Standing in the brand new bedroom, arranged for me by my sweet servants, I admired the elaborate dresses strewn across the bed, rub
bing the violet fabric of one between my fingers, appreciating the weight and texture. It was sturdy without being stiff. The color was bold and bright, like me—like I used to be.

  Beatrice and Cecily worked in silence, helping me out of the rust-colored cage and into a pale green gown with blue flowers embroidered around the waist and hem. I was surprised that it fit, knowing my figure was much slimmer than the last time I had donned it. Beatrice must have taken it in at some point. Cecily fussed with my dress while Beatrice took my hair down, brushing out the golden waves before pinning it in a loose chignon. She planted a kiss on the top of my head before smoothing the last strands into place.

  I squeezed her hand in appreciation and thanked them both—though the words felt inadequate—before stepping into the hall.

  "You chose the furthest room," I noted.

  "We thought you'd want to be as far removed as possible," Beatrice said in quiet tones.

  How well they knew me.

  "Do you need help in the study?" Cecily asked, the curiosity flashing in her green eyes making her seem even younger than her twenty-four years.

  "No, thank you. I prefer to work alone for the time being."

  I made the trek back to Damian's study. The fire was still lit, though only just. I breathed in the smoky air, letting it give me courage. I noticed that the pile of furniture to be burned had already diminished in size. Good. I grabbed two decanters and strode through the house, satisfied with the lack of hustle and bustle around me. The servants had departed more hastily than I would have expected, and it was a relief to have rid myself of them—of all those whom my husband had used to mold my life. It was time to rid myself of even more reminders. I pushed through the front doors and breathed in the chilled air.

  Mr. Tennsworth tipped his hat to me as I strode across the lawn. "Afternoon, Miss Marilee. Fine day for a bonfire."

  Reaching the pile, I set one glittering bottle at my feet and pulled the stopper from the other, taking an inordinate amount of pleasure in upending it and using the contents to soak the chairs, desk, and even my favorite little table. I picked up the second bottle and circled the pile, allowing the liquor to splash over each plush cushion and carved surface.

  Mr. Tennsworth handed me a lamp. He likely intended for me to simply light the pile of furniture with the flame it provided. Instead, I tossed it on top and let the flame catch and race around the pile. Then I stepped back and watched.

  Mr. Tennsworth left at some point, but I remained, staring into the fire, watching as it devoured drawer and seat back, chair leg and desktop. My muscles relaxed as the luxurious fabric blackened and the wood charred. I breathed a little easier each time the mound collapsed in on itself, sending sparks dancing into the air.

  Once the tension was gone, once I was able to breathe, the tears came. They bled down my cheeks, silent but relentless. I welcomed them, allowing them to fall one after the other as the fire seared my face.

  When the blaze died down, I stepped away and walked toward the house. The sun had set. Standing in the shadows, Mr. Tennsworth asked if I'd like him to burn the rest for me.

  "No," I muttered. "I'll do it myself tomorrow. Thank you." I would have done it right then, but I was wrung out.

  Cecily was waiting just inside the entry hall. She fell into step behind me, following me to my new room and assisting me in my nightly routine. It was odd having help again, but wonderful.

  Later, I sat at my dressing table, alone. Cecily had brushed out my hair, then braided it into one thick rope that I pulled in front of my left shoulder. I had excused her, and now I just stared into the looking glass. I should have crawled into bed and sought the sleep I needed, but I was worried that closing my eyes and surrendering to unconsciousness would leave me vulnerable. All of the memories I had stuffed away, all of the fears I had locked up would be given free reign. Would they overwhelm me as they had so many times before, or would my new room act as a barrier against them?

  I stood and crossed to the window, pushing the curtain aside to gaze into the deep black of night. I used to fear darkness, but not anymore. Letting the curtain fall back into place, I turned to look at my new surroundings, so different from my rooms in the new wing.

  Cecily had closed the door when she'd left. I stared at it for a moment before crossing the room and opening it. I could not abide closed doors just now.

  I stood there, appreciating how easily it had opened, then returned to my bed and climbed in. Sleep did not come quickly, but I found that I didn't mind, because instead of seeking sleep as a refuge from the fear, I sought it simply for rest—and eventually found it.

  Chapter Two

  THE NEXT MORNING, I awoke with a start, worried that I had overslept and would anger Damian. I glanced about the room, momentarily disoriented, but then my heart slowed as my new room came into focus, making sense of my reality. Damian really was gone.

  I fell back on my pillows, breathing deeply, awash with relief.

  What would I do with my day? I could do...anything. I could prove that I could take responsibility for myself, that I wasn't a thoughtless ninny. There was so much that needed to be done, but first I would ready myself for the day. I would dress in my own gowns and maybe even add ribbons to my hair.

  I slipped from bed and went to my wardrobe. As I pulled out a lavender and gold dress, Cecily came in. I suppressed a smile, wondering if she had been waiting to hear me stir. She helped me into the gown, then braided and coiled my hair at the back of my head.

  Emeline brought breakfast to my room so that I could avoid the cavernous dining hall. Mr. Tennsworth showed up while I was eating and informed me that the cleric had taken possession of Damian's body. He promised to arrange conveyance to Damian's parents at Winberg Castle. Good riddance. However, it was left to me to inform his family. I begged Mr. Tennsworth to do it, but he just laughed, saying that even if he could write, the duke and duchess would never open a letter from such a one as him. I turned to Beatrice next. She said nothing, but set a piece of parchment and quill in front of me before returning to her seat and resuming her needlework.

  I refused to pick up the quill for a solid ten minutes before giving in. If the missive came from anyone but me, it would be suspicious.

  I had met Damian's family only a handful of times. His title had been one of the best things about him. His family ruled a sovereign duchy. It was Dalthia's neighbor but only a quarter of the size, sharing a small portion of its border with my own kingdom. Damian was the second son, and as such he would never have to rule. I would never have to rule. For all my love of being part of the royal family, responsibility had never been my strength or my ambition.

  Staring at the parchment, I tried to draw some scrap of compassion from deep within. I attempted to picture the duke and duchess's faces, trying to meld my memories of them with their painted likeness that hung in the gallery of this house. This house sat at one end of the narrow strip of land that comprised the Winberg duchy, while the castle sat at the other end, at the foot of Mount Winters.

  It had all sounded very quaint when Damian had extolled its virtues.

  My married life at Bridgefield had been anything but quaint.

  I shook my head and took up the quill. As much as I would have liked to write a simple, "Your son is dead. Best of luck with the funeral," I knew that their grief at his passing would be real and I must respect that.

  I managed to pen a letter full of compassionate words and regret. It was all a horrible lie, but I wrote the words anyway.

  The moment my signature was affixed to the bottom, I shoved the letter away and turned my back on it to leave the room. I stopped at the door to address Beatrice, though I didn't turn to look at her.

  "Please see that the letter is given to the cleric so that he can send it along with the body to Winberg castle."

  "Of course, Mistress," was her soft reply.

  I returned to Damian's study to find a fire already lit. Mr. Tennsworth had moved the rest of the furnit
ure out to the lawn but had left the remainder of the books as well as the bottles of alcohol. I resumed the business of plucking books from the shelf and tossing them into the fire. Mr. Tennsworth had asked if I'd like him to cart all the books out to the bonfire, but I couldn't just dispose of the whole lot. I had to look in each one, because I was fairly certain that the letters from my family were not the only thing that Damian had hidden from me.

  At first I enjoyed the process of ripping pages from their binding and watching them wither as the flames claimed them. But as noon approached, I was anxious to just be done. The fire could no longer keep up with my pace, and it was filling up with ashes anyway. I started a pile in the middle of the room and instead of ripping pages out, I simply sorted through them. I pulled the cover of each book wide and shook out the pages.

  My eyes had glazed over with the tedious task by the time a single piece of parchment fluttered from the pages of a simple brown leather volume.

  I froze with my arms stuck out in front of me, clutching the book, and stared as the parchment settled with a whisper on the stone floor.

  The book slammed to the floor and I dropped to my knees to snatch up the parchment. It was a letter, written in Damian's hand and addressed to his brother.

  Edmund,

  While I appreciate your concern, I assure you that I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own affairs. I don't need you looking out for me anymore. I don't need you covering up my messes or taking my punishments from father. I may conduct my business in a different manner than you do, but my methods have served me well.

  As for my marriage, perhaps I did rush into it, but would you have done anything differently? She's a member of a powerful royal family. She's adorable and naive and she is absolutely smitten with me. I would have been a fool of the worst kind to pass up such an alliance. Thanks to me, you can now claim a relation to the throne of Dalthia. You could at least acknowledge that. But no. You never see my accomplishments for what they are, you are never satisfied with my efforts. Just once you could