Saving Marilee Read online

  "I don't care about being presentable. I have no need to impress anyone."

  "I know, Mistress." She ran her fingers through one braid, taking it out. "But if he's here to see if the rumors are true, then don't you think we should try to set the record straight?"

  I spun to look at her, pulling my hair from her grasp. "Rumors? What, you think he's here to see the mad widow so he can take the news back to his friends?"

  Her eyebrows were pinched together. "I hope not, but—"

  I pushed her hands away as she tried to get a hold of my loose tresses and stormed into the entry hall, one side of my hair in a disheveled braid, the other side hanging free.

  I flung the doors wide open and swept into the room, startling the man who stood by the window, silhouetted in sunlight.

  "Good day, Sir. Come to gather fuel for the rumor mill?"

  "I—"

  "What do you think?" I spread my arms wide. "Am I as mad as they say? Do you rejoice in my situation because it gives you something to talk about?"

  The light at his back made it difficult to see his expression, but he was very still. I opened my mouth again, but a dog whined.

  A dog?

  I looked to the sound and saw a mountain hound lying at the man's feet, his head resting on his paws as he gazed up at me.

  "I only came to ask after your welfare," the man said, pulling my eyes from the perplexing puzzle of the dog. "I'm Mr. James Sutton, your neighbor." He stepped forward out of the sunlight and gave a bow. When he straightened I could see his features. He had a youngish face with full lips and bright blue eyes. They were lovely eyes, quite striking. "I had heard you'd dismissed all of your guards, so I thought you could use a dog in the house."

  I looked from him to the dog and back again. "You're giving me a dog?"

  He dropped his eyes and cleared his throat. "I've, uh, spoken with your man, Mr. Tennsworth, and he says he'd be happy to look after him, keep him out of trouble." He smiled down at the dog, who gazed up at him with adoring eyes. "He's not much more than a pup, but he's good tempered and a good judge of character."

  I blinked. "A good judge of character?"

  "If he growls at a visitor, it would be best to ask that person to leave."

  "I—" I didn't know how to respond to such a gesture. His manners bordered on shy, but it was clear that this was an authentic gift, an act of kindness.

  A lump stuck in my throat as I took in the unsure, hopeful expression on Mr. Sutton's face. "Does he have a name?"

  The corner of his mouth twitched. "Rogue."

  A reluctant smile crossed my lips. "That's just the sort of name I would pick."

  He seemed pleased by my admission, but didn't respond. As I sought for something to say, his eyes left my face and I realized he was looking at my hair.

  I pulled the ribbon from the end of my one remaining braid, quickly unraveling my hair before gathering it together over one shoulder and securing it with the ribbon. I wasn't sure why I did it. I hadn't cared about my appearance when I had stormed into the room.

  I focused on the dog, gesturing to him. "May I?"

  "Of course. He'll come if you call."

  I sat down and patted my knees. "Here, Rogue."

  The dog stood and trotted over. I put a hand out to greet him, but instead of stopping at my feet, he leapt onto the seat beside me and then lay across my lap.

  I gave a startled laugh and Mr. Sutton stepped forward.

  "Rogue. Down."

  "No," I objected, putting my arms around the dog. "He's fine where he is."

  Mr. Sutton raised an eyebrow at me. "He's not exactly a lap dog."

  "No," I said as Rogue picked up his head and laid it on my chest, panting on my neck. "But he doesn't seem to know that, and I don't mind."

  I was surprised that I didn't mind. We had hunting dogs at the palace, but I had never had one as a pet. His weight and warmth lifted a bit of my burden. His sweet eyes made it clear that he loved me unconditionally. Not thirty seconds and he had broken down my defenses.

  "I'm going to turn into one of those crazy women who let their pets eat off their plate, aren't I?"

  Mr. Sutton snorted, reminding me that he was in the room. He coughed to try to cover the sound, then met my eyes. "Speaking of crazy women..."

  I sighed as I scratched beneath Rogue's chin. "I apologize for the way I greeted you."

  "I think you should know that while there are rumors of the mad widow, they are mostly perpetrated by persons that I and those I associate with do not trust."

  I let this revelation sink in as I stroked Rogue. I knew that all of Damian's associates would be fanning the flame of my ill reputation. Perhaps Mr. Sutton was more familiar with my husband's true nature than I could have guessed. He had also mentioned those he associated with. There was a chance I was not entirely alone.

  Mr. Sutton cleared his throat. He still stood there, waiting to be acknowledged or dismissed, and I had been woolgathering.

  "Down, Rogue," I commanded, and he jumped from my lap and sat at my feet, awaiting my next command. I stood and brushed off my dress. "He's very well trained," I commented, impressed.

  "He is. I wouldn't give you an animal that was likely to cause you grief. I think he'll do well for you, and if he doesn't, you can always return him."

  Rogue slumped his weight against my legs. I scratched his head. "I'm sure we'll get along very well." I glanced at Mr. Sutton, who had his hands clasped behind his back, standing tall and steady. "I thank you for your thoughtful gift. I think he'll do his job honorably."

  He bowed his head. "You're most welcome, Highness."

  I expected him to take his leave, but he seemed to be waiting for something more.

  "I also thank you for the vegetables you sent over. That was most kind of you."

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement, but still made no move to leave, so I offered to walk him out. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and followed behind me. I crossed the entry hall and reached to open the great front doors (since I had no footmen), but his hand beat me there.

  "Allow me."

  I jumped a little, not having realized he was so close, and skirted to the side, avoiding any contact.

  We stepped out onto the front steps and Rogue took up his place at my side. "Thank you again for the dog."

  "It's my pleasure."

  He still didn't leave.

  "Would you like to walk in the garden for a moment?"

  He looked surprised, though if he hadn't been hoping for an invitation, then I didn't know what he had been waiting for. He nodded and we stepped down onto a path.

  I brushed my hand over the few blooms that were still out, breathing the fragrant air. "You seem hesitant to leave, Mr. Sutton. Was there another reason you came?"

  He cleared his throat. "I wanted to offer my assistance. I'm close at hand and wish you to know that anything you might need, any aid I might offer—I am at your disposal. Whatever it may be."

  "Thank you." I fidgeted with the ribbon hanging from my hair, then forced myself to stop and pushed it behind my shoulder. "Your offer is very kind and I will—"

  "Have you been hurt?" His alarm was obvious as he stopped in his tracks and touched my arm. I flinched away and stepped back. His eyes were fixed on my neck. My hair had hidden my scar until I'd pushed it behind me. My hand flew to cover the slash across the left side of my neck as the memories washed over me.

  ***

  I clutched at the long hem of my sleeve, staring at the door to Damian's study. He had been gone for more than two months and had returned last evening. I had spent the night sleeping by his side and clinging to him, too afraid to open my mouth and ask my questions for fear of the answers. But I could ignore them no longer.

  I pulled my shoulders back and opened the door.

  His eyes flicked up, then back to his work. "Hello, Darling."

  I forced my legs to take two more steps. "I need to speak with you about the way the staff he
re handle themselves."

  "Is something amiss?"

  "Were you aware that I was confined to my room on multiple occasions while you were gone?"

  His focus remained on his work. "Whatever are you speaking of?"

  I took a step forward, my face heating. "I was locked in my room against my will several times while you were away. The staff claim they are only looking after my welfare, taking care of me the way that you would wish them to, but I have a difficult time believing it. Which is why I am asking, did you know?"

  He finally looked up at me, his forehead creased, his mouth pressed in a patient line. My heart sank. That little bit of optimism I'd been hoarding blew away. He pushed out of his chair and circled until he could perch on the edge of his desk. "Mary, I know it might seem unfair, and it might not be what you want, but the staff truly have your best interest at heart."

  I sucked in a breath as my anger blossomed, sifting through my body and leaving a quivering knot in my chest as he continued.

  "You know how worked up you can get about things. You become irrational, and I fear you will do yourself a harm. I have to protect you, Mary. Please let me do that."

  I was shaking with frustration, but I bit my tongue, refusing to release the torrent of fury building inside. I would act rationally. I would be calm. "In what way have I ever demonstrated an ability to do myself a harm? Where did you get this idea that I am someone who needs to be confined for my own good? Please help me understand, Damian. What have I ever done to warrant this kind of treatment?"

  He gave a sigh. "I knew when we married that you were demanding, that you were high-spirited and accustomed to getting your own way. I thought that a calmer country life would settle your wilder tendencies. But that hasn't been the case. You seem to have no comprehension of the responsibilities on my shoulders and the people that rely on me. You continue to demand a great deal of attention and flattery, and when you don't get your way, you throw fits. I'm sorry, my dear, but I must maintain order in my household. I adore your sweetness, but you must learn to temper your insatiable need for attention. I had hoped that some solitary time to reflect on your actions might provide that, so I asked the staff to allow you your solitude whenever you became too much for them to handle."

  The edges of my vision quaked and blurred with each maddening phrase that left his mouth. My indignation rose until I could no longer contain it.

  "High-spirited?" I asked in a fierce whisper. "You speak of me as if I were a horse that needed to be tamed."

  He shrugged. "I understand that it can be difficult to see your own faults, but the truth of the matter—"

  "You're right, it can be difficult, so allow me to help you to see your faults." His eyebrows shot up, but I barreled on. "What gives you the right to marry me with the intent of changing me? What makes you think that your version of what I should be is any better than who I am? It's insufferable! How dare you decide that my love for life is something that must be stamped out of me. I am not a horse you need to break. I am not a child who needs to be schooled in the ways of maturity. And I will not stand for it a moment longer." I spun away from him and stalked to the door, but he grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides. "Let go of me, Damian! I won't tolerate this anymore!" I strained, trying to jerk free, but his arms were inescapable.

  "If this is how you react to something as benign as my helpful suggestions, then it just proves my point."

  How could his voice be so calm?! How could he act as though I were the one being unreasonable?

  "Horace," he called in his even tones as I clawed at his arms. The guard stepped into view, his face impassive. "Help me assist Lady Mary to her room before she hurts herself."

  I screamed and pounded on my door for ten minutes. It was the first time I had let myself truly rail against the injustice of it. Each time the servants had confined me to my room, I had breathed deep and lied to myself about how Damian would fix this just as soon as he returned. Damian would be as outraged as I. Damian would save me.

  But with that hope gone, I let loose the torrent of outrage, significantly damaging the door. If he was going to accuse me of throwing a temper tantrum, then I might as well earn it. I paced in my cage, stripping down to my chemise, unwilling to stay bound in my hideous dress on top of everything else. I pulled my hair down and shook it out, trying to regain some sense of freedom.

  Two hours later, Mrs. Braithwhite arrived to check on me, along with a maid. I screamed at them and tried to force my way out of the room.

  That was how I managed to solidify my reputation as a madwoman. Damian had planted the idea before we ever married, nurturing it at every opportunity after I arrived at his home. But that display, that moment I had tried to storm out of my corral, my hair wild from running my hands through it in frustration, my dress absent—he couldn't have asked for a better exhibit.

  The next few days were the worst of my life, as they continued to insist on my madness and I fought to prove otherwise. But arguing with them only reinforced their belief, and my frustration mounted as a helpless vulnerability set in. On the second day I fought them with such fury that I fainted. This too played into Damian's story because, just as he had always "feared," I did do myself a harm. I still don't know exactly how, but when I awoke, there was a bandage on my neck.

  It was the fifth day when I stopped fighting. The sixth day I quietly stayed in my room and thanked anyone who came to check on me. The seventh day, I awoke, dressed myself and went about my day with the utmost calm. I didn't care if they insisted I was mad. I knew the truth, deep inside myself, and that was where I lived from then on.

  ***

  Pushing the recollection away, I forced an answer past my lips. "No. I'm not hurt. It's—" my composure started to slip— "an old injury."

  "But it looks—"

  I turned back toward the house, the horror on his face crumbling my defenses. "I'm sorry, but I have to...you have to leave. Good day."

  His footsteps followed after me. "Lady Mary—"

  I spun on him. "Don't call me that!" I shrieked before clamping my hand over my mouth. He stumbled back and I reached out an apologetic hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't— It's not your—I'm sorry, that was not what I meant to...say. I just—"

  "What name would you like to be called by?" His question was so quiet I barely heard him.

  The inquiry made my heart hurt, and I blinked in rapid succession and forced a deep breath. After a moment I was able to answer, "Anything but that. My name is Marilee. Not Mary, not Lady Mary. Marilee."

  "A fitting name indeed."

  I swallowed and plowed on, refusing to acknowledge the compassion in his eyes. "Highness, Princess Marilee, or just plain Marilee would all be lovely."

  "Very well, Highness. Might I walk you inside?"

  I shook my head. "I don't need looking after."

  "I—" He shut his mouth. "I will allow Rogue the honor, then. Good day, Princess Marilee."

  "Good day," I murmured before fleeing to the house.

  I didn't need looking after. I didn't need anything. That's what I had learned to tell myself. Damian insisted I was too demanding. So after I quit fighting, I had stopped asking for anything. I didn't need help dressing or lighting my fire. I figured it out on my own. I didn't request any favorite dishes; I would accept whatever was set in front of me. I didn't need my husband to spend time with me. That was more true than any of the others. I tolerated him, but never sought his company and avoided him if at all possible. I would answer if he asked me a question, but otherwise remained silent. Heaven forbid he think I required too much of his time.

  I was invisible. I was no one.

  They had allowed me to fend for myself. Part of me reveled in my success, but it was only a very small part. Most of me died hour by hour, bit by bit. Until Beatrice started bringing me my meals.

  ***

  I noticed right away that she was different. She walked through the door and sought me out with her eyes. Most would
stare at the floor as they scurried to the table, dumped the tray and scuttled back out. Not Beatrice. She looked me in the eye, standing tall as she held the tray, her curly mop of hair framing her delicately wrinkled face. She deposited her burden on my table without even a hint of scurry in her step. I blinked, taken aback by the oddity. Then she spoke, rendering me speechless.

  "Can I get you anything else, Highness?"

  I opened my mouth, wanting to respond, but unable. I had not been addressed that way for some months. My jaw worked, trying to form the words, trying to remember how to make conversation, how to respond when I was treated like a person. She just waited, her hands clasped at her back, her eyes wide, an inquiry lining her forehead. I gave up and shook my head, willing the tears that burned my eyes to stay put until she left. I didn't want it reported back that I had flown into hysterics.

  She sighed, releasing her hands and walking toward me. Her movements didn't make sense. Every servant that came into my room left at the first possible moment. But this servant sat in the chair beside me and grabbed my hand, squeezing it in her own. I stared at our hands, and though I tried to remain detached and invisible and no one, I couldn't keep my hand from squeezing hers in return. When was the last time anyone had shown me kindness?

  My tears fell.

  I wept over our clasped hands, and after several moments, Beatrice leaned forward, whispering. "You're not mad."

  I crumpled into her lap.

  ***

  She had told me later that despite everyone's insistence about my state of mind, she simply couldn't reconcile the rumors with what she had seen of me. Beatrice was quiet and observant. She had witnessed many of the altercations between me and the staff before I had given up, and always saw things the way I saw them. I was not the irrational one.

  As much as I tried to believe that I would have maintained my lucidity despite my circumstances, I can't claim it with any confidence. Beatrice saved me. She preserved my sanity simply by acknowledging my sanity. She converted Cecily and Emeline to her cause and discovered that Mr. Tennsworth was already a believer in my mental health. I had passed him nearly every morning when I walked in the gardens. And though I had not taken notice of him, he had become quite an expert on me. He had seen the way Damian crushed and molded me with his domineering hand, until I had curled in on myself, folding into unnatural creases to accommodate his expectations.