Saving Marilee Page 6

  "Mistress?"

  The sound of Beatrice's voice startled me and I turned to look at her. "Yes? What is it?"

  She gave the room a worried perusal. "Mr. Sutton has arrived and wishes to speak to you."

  "You can show him here." I resumed my search, pulling out an ornamental box with handles on each side that looked promising, only to find an intricately carved pair of crystal goblets inside. A noise of disgust escaped my throat and I tossed it aside, producing quite a crash as the box hit the stone floor, splintering the wood and shattering the crystal.

  "Mistress." Her voice was tentative and I looked up at her. "It wouldn't be seemly to have Mr. Sutton meet you here, and I think you know that."

  I huffed a laugh devoid of humor as I turned to the chest once more. "I do know that. And I am knowingly ignoring it." I would have to reacquaint myself with social niceties eventually, but I didn't have the patience for them now.

  "I'm certain he wouldn't take up but a few moments. Surely you could spare the time."

  "I am occupied, Beatrice. I do not mean to be rude, but if it is so important that Mr. Sutton speak to me, he can attend me here, or he is more than welcome to come back at a later time." I hoped he would come back later. After our rather embarrassing encounter, I was not anxious to meet him again.

  "Mistress." Her voice was anxious now, but I kept my back to the doorway.

  "Please just relay the message. He can decide what to do."

  "As it happens," came a male voice from behind me.

  I whipped my head around to see that Mr. Sutton had found us on his own and now stood just outside the doorway. I shut my eyes and turned back to the chest to hide my flaming face.

  "I'd be happy to speak with you here." His voice was amiable, not disapproving or condescending. "I apologize for the intrusion, but I heard a rather disturbing crash and worried someone might have been hurt."

  I faced him, forcing a smile to grace my lips. "Thank you for your concern. It was only that box and no one was hurt."

  He took a step into the room, surveying the mess. "Redecorating? Or looking for something?"

  "Looking," I admitted. "There was something you wished to discuss?"

  "There was, but this looks to be more pressing. Might I help you in your search?"

  My mouth opened to decline, but his expression was so earnest that I reconsidered. Perhaps he, as a man, would have insight as to where my husband would have hidden a key.

  I shut my mouth, taken aback by my inclination to let him help when I hadn't allowed the servants to help. I knew so little about this man, but he had treated me with kindness and respect thus far. I looked to Rogue, who had his eyes fixed on Mr. Sutton, panting happily. He was glad to see his old master. Perhaps I could trust that recommendation.

  I sucked in a breath of courage. "I would appreciate your help. Thank you."

  That seemed to be all the permission he needed. He stepped forward and sank to his knees right beside me. "So," he said, perusing the contents. "What is it that we're looking for?"

  "A key."

  He raised an eyebrow. "A key to what?"

  I stood and leaned over the chest to retrieve the box from the bed, then sank down again. "To this."

  He took it from me and studied it for a moment. "Clever, that. What does it hold? Do you know?"

  "Letters."

  "And you've misplaced the key?"

  I shook my head. "The box and the key were both hidden from me."

  His chin pulled back and his eyes narrowed before he schooled his features and said simply, "Ah. I see." He returned his focus to the box, examining the lock for several moments before giving a sigh. "It's small. It could be anywhere."

  "You need not feel obligated to assist me."

  "Not at all. I'm intrigued. And it would make me happy to be of assistance to somebody."

  A lump formed in my throat, catching me off guard. My excessive emotion was not because of his words, but because I believed them. I cleared my throat and blinked quickly when the trunk's contents blurred before me. "Well then..." I distracted myself from my inept response by reaching for a bundle tucked in one corner of the chest.

  We worked steadily, pulling items from the trunk until I was met with nothing but the bottom of it. I sat back on my heels, blowing out a frustrated breath, my nails digging into the wood at the edge of the trunk.

  "Might it be anywhere else?" Mr. Sutton's low voice soothed and frustrated me at the same time.

  I shook my head, looking around at the mess strewn around me. My lips twitched as I felt a wicked sense of satisfaction at the destruction I had wrought on my husband's chamber. Then the frustration settled over me and my shoulders fell. "It could be anywhere in this house. If it's not in this room, I don't know that I will ever find it."

  He got to his feet and stepped over several piles before picking up the box. He turned it over several times as I searched my mind for any clue as to where Damian might have hidden something he wished to keep from me.

  "Is the box important?"

  "Pardon?"

  "Do you care for this box, or is it only the contents you wish to preserve?"

  "I don't care for the box at all."

  "I could open it without the key." He walked to the corner and pulled a sword from where it rested, unsheathing it with one fluid motion.

  I sprang to my feet, backing away from the blade until my back hit a wall.

  He turned to me, sword in hand. "I could use this to—" His voice trailed off when he saw me.

  My reaction didn't make sense. I knew Mr. Sutton wasn't threatening me. The fact that Damian had brandished it at me once or twice when he was out of his head with wine should not be intruding with heart-pounding fury into my mind at this moment. It wasn't the same. And Damian had never even hurt me with it; he had only yelled and swung it about.

  Still my nerves remained taut as I tried to convince my heart that it needn't try so hard to escape my chest.

  Mr. Sutton had paused, looking from me to the sword and back again before his face paled. He carefully set the sword on the bed and took several steps away from it. "Highness?" His voice held an unexpected tenderness that made my throat ache.

  "I'm sorry," I managed in a rough voice. "I am not usually so skittish. I don't know what came over me."

  He studied me for a moment. "I was going to use the sword to pry the box open, but if you object, I'm sure we can figure out another way to get your letters."

  Now that the sword lay still and I knew his reasons for picking it up, my heart slowed and I gathered myself back together, even managing to step away from the security of the wall. "That's a brilliant idea. Please go ahead." I almost sounded normal, though my fingers were so tightly woven together that they were losing feeling.

  He gave me a reassuring smile, then gathered the box and the sword and took them to the corner farthest from me. I braced myself, thinking he would swing the sword in a broad arc and bring it crashing down on the box. The truth wasn't nearly so dramatic. He set the box on its spine, wedged the tip of the blade into the seam beside the lock, and gave a sharp twist. The box popped open with minimal splintering.

  I rushed forward and fell to my knees in front of my liberated letters. I had only ever been able to retrieve the one during Damian's lifetime.

  ***

  It wasn't until the next day that I dared retrieve the letter which I had pilfered from Damian's study. Beatrice kept watch while I crouched by my bedroom window, hidden by the drapes, and opened the letter that was clearly written in Lylin's hand.

  Dear Marilee,

  I'm worried for you. I know we've never been very consistent in our letter writing, but it's been a month and a half since our last correspondence. I appreciate hearing updates of your life from the letters that your husband sends to Father, but it's not the same. He says you're too busy planning your latest party or enjoying the society of friends. I hope that is true. But still, I wish to hear your news. Your last letter i
ndicated that married life had been more challenging than you expected. I hope that you have found more contentment since then and that you've found a way to communicate your needs to your husband.

  Please remember that selflessness is a virtue, but letting anyone trample you is not. Perhaps I am speaking entirely out of turn, but I cannot help the worry I feel.

  She went on to tell me about her most recent argument with Lorraina, trying to lighten the mood of the letter, but I was stuck on her admonition to not let anyone trample me.

  Damian was trampling me.

  ***

  I drank in the sight of my correspondence. Yearning for these missives from my family had filled me for so long, but now I could only stare at them, steeling myself against whatever they might contain. My mind slowly registered the names visible on some of them. They weren't just letters from my family. Some bore my sisters' names and my mother's name in my handwriting. Damian hadn't sent them.

  I wanted to read the letters strewn before me. I did. Or at least part of me did. The other part of me worried that reading these letters, no doubt filled with love and acceptance, might hurt me more. I'd be reminded further of what Damian had stripped from me. I'd be reminded of the last missive I had received from my parents, expressing their disapproval.

  My hands fluttered above them, uncertain, until Mr. Sutton knelt beside me. He moved the box aside but did not touch any of the folded parchment. "Shall I leave you to discover their contents? I'm sure you're anxious to open them."

  I glanced up, my gaze meeting his, and saw that the compassion in his voice was tempered by worry in his eyes. His concern made my feelings all the more difficult to decipher. I still had not decided if I wanted to read them or not. I also didn't know if I wanted Mr. Sutton to leave.

  "I think," I started picking them up with trembling hands, "I will read them later. I am...unprepared right now."

  With my hands full of letters, I tried to climb to my feet, but stumbled. Mr. Sutton was there with a hand at my elbow, helping me gain my balance. I stiffened, but managed not to yank my arm away.

  "But I will see you out, of course. I'm certain I've taken up enough of your time."

  Before leaving the room, I had to forfeit my letters, giving them over to Beatrice's care, with special instructions on where to put them in my room.

  Though I didn't wish for Mr. Sutton to leave, I could think of no reason to ask him to stay. So I wandered through the house, aware of Mr. Sutton walking close to my side, and wished for something to say to prolong the moment of his departure. Now that I was somewhat accustomed to his presence, I was reluctant to let him go, feeling that once he departed, the darkness that I had kept at bay since his arrival would swoop in to overwhelm me.

  He opened the door for me and I stepped out into the overcast day. I waited, not knowing where to put my hands or where to rest my gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Sutton fidgeting with his hat, looking unsure.

  I should say something. I should ask him for help with...anything.

  He spoke first. "Might we walk in the gardens again?"

  I clutched my hands together to keep them from fluttering about and gave a relieved nod.

  He offered his hand to help me down the steps. I stared at it for a moment, willing my muscles to remember how to accept a gentleman's hand. My hand trembled as I placed it in his. The warmth of his fingers helped me to find my voice. "Forgive me. I was so preoccupied when you arrived that I entirely forgot that you came here for a purpose." I dropped his hand the moment we stepped off the stairs.

  He looked out at the landscape, gathering his thoughts, and as we entered the garden, I stooped to pick a flower, twirling it in my fingers.

  "I realized after I left the other day that I had been remiss. I never offered my condolences—"

  My jaw tightened. I had no wish to receive condolences.

  "But then," he continued, "after meeting you and gaining an inkling of understanding about what your situation might have been, it occurred to me that condolences might not be appropriate."

  I wanted to agree, but feared that voicing such thoughts would make me seem ungrateful and hard-hearted.

  "Was I wrong to make such an assumption?"

  "I—" What could I say that would be both honest and appropriate? "I should not speak ill of the dead."

  I startled when Mr. Sutton reached for my hand. He pried my fingers open and removed the flower from my fist. It was crushed beyond recognition. He brushed the remnants from my hand, then turned his attention to my face, studying it. I couldn't read his expression.

  "The way that you flinched away when I picked up the sword." He looked at me, no doubt searching for an explanation for that behavior. "The fact that your own letters were hidden from you."

  I swallowed, unnerved as he listed the evidence.

  "And then there is the scar."

  My face warmed. I had been so caught up in my search for my letters that I had forgotten about the way our last meeting had ended. I reached up, fingering the rough line of skin on my neck, trying not to slip away in the memories.

  "The way you reacted to my mentioning it before...I have no wish to upset you now, but might I ask how such an injury occurred?"

  "I don't remember," I answered in a rough whisper.

  His chin pulled back. "You don't remember?"

  "I fainted. When I awoke, I had this cut. No one would tell me what happened."

  The horror that crossed his face was too much for me to take in. To have someone who obviously thought that my treatment was not just wrong, but horrifying—

  I stepped away from him, my head shaking. I had no desire to have this conversation. I didn't want him to know of my humiliation. His pity did not interest me; his judgment I would not be able to bear. "I—have to go. I bid you good day." I turned toward the house, but he followed after.

  "Please, Highness, don't go. If I have hurt you in some way—"

  I spun to face him and he pulled up short. "It's not you, it's—" my husband. But I couldn't say it out loud. "It's not you." I tried to reassure him before turning away again.

  "I hope you will let me be a friend to you."

  His words stopped me in my tracks and I turned slowly to study him. "I don't know what that means." I hadn't meant to say it, but I was so taken aback by his offer of friendship that the words slipped from my lips.

  "It means I would like your permission to call on you, to assist you, to reassure myself of your wellbeing on a regular basis. And perhaps if you ever felt inclined, you could call on me as well, for whatever reason."

  Could gentlemen and ladies have friendships in such a fashion? It seemed a very strange idea. But then I realized that Ella had had such a friendship with Gavin before they married, and she had even befriended William before he married Kalina. But friendship with gentlemen had never been an ambition of mine. I'd always only seen the men in my life as flirtatious partners, potential suitors. I had no desire for a suitor now.

  Looking at the sincerity evident in his eyes, I couldn't help hoping that a friendship could really be possible. "Well then, as my friend, will you please call me Marilee?"

  The smile that blossomed across his face made me want to smile in return. How could such a small thing bring him such joy?

  "Then you will call me James?"

  The nervous flurry in my chest kept me from speaking, but I nodded and even managed a glimpse of a smile.

  Then I fled into the house.

  ***

  I was curled up on my bed, the letters from my family strewn about me as I drank them in, one by one. They were cheerful and informative. I smiled at the news of Lylin's upcoming marriage. I would be able to go without asking permission of anybody.

  I was halfway through the pile when a knock sounded at my door.

  Cecily entered with a letter, bearing the royal seal of my family.

  I took it, anxious to know if this letter would be as disheartening as the last. I broke the seal
and unfolded the single page.

  My dear Marilee,

  Forgive me for my earlier letter. After having time to think over the situation, as well as speaking with Lylin about the things you confided to her months ago, your mother and I recognize that we misjudged you. We realized how very out of character it is for you to be so unaffected by the death of someone close to you. I cannot imagine that the Marilee we know could be so angry as to refuse to go to a funeral. So I have to conclude that there have been drastic circumstances in your marriage to have pushed you to such an extreme. It's true you loved parties, but that was always because of your love of people. You love everyone, see the good in everyone, despite any faults.

  I am left with an ache in my heart, wondering what your husband must have done to lose not only your affection, which you always gave so freely, but your respect as well.

  Whatever it was, I am sorry you have endured it. We wish to help, to be a comfort to you. Do you wish to come home? Do you wish us to come to you? What can we do?

  Lovingly, Your Father.

  I hadn't realized I had a knot in my chest until it relaxed all at once and I breathed easier. My father's words soothed a part of my heart that had been steadily throbbing for months. I wasn't being overly dramatic. I wasn't being "typical Marilee."

  I wasn't crazy.

  Chapter Six

  IT HAD BEEN two days since I had read through the months of neglected letters from my family that Damian had hidden from me. I had spent a good portion of the previous day responding to my parents, Ella, and Lylin. Today I was determined to take on the task of writing to Mia, Jensa, Kalina, and Lorraina. It was time-consuming and emotionally draining to recount over and over the life that I had been living—the lie that I had been living. But it was also made easier by the fact that some of the tale could be told through my old letters. I didn't reread them before sending them on because I was ready to let the truth speak for itself, ready for everything to be laid out for observation and scrutiny. At least that's what I told myself.