IT WAS ALLtoo much. Day by day, even hour by hour, Ella’s life was changing.
She started this symposium with the goal of discrediting phrenology and proving herself worthy of leading a girls school. How had everything become so convoluted? Now her best friend would barely look in her direction. She had a suitor she did not want. Even more concerning was that her heart yearned for a man whom she was not entirely sure she could trust.
She needed peace.
Clarity.
Ella made her way to the conservatory. On her way, she decided to gather more of her mother’s journals, which were stored in her mother’s old study in the basement.
With a candle lamp in her hand and a shawl about her shoulders, Ella made her way down an ancient stone staircase just off the conservatory. The candlelight flickered off the rough stone walls and cast long, odd shadows on the uneven steps. As she moved from the last stair to the basement’s stone floor, a noise caught her attention.
Was that a giggle?
Curious, she inched toward the cellar—the source of the sound. She drew closer and rounded a corner, stopping just in front of the cellar door.
Whoever was in there should not be there at this hour. With so many additional servants in the house, she was concerned that something inappropriate might be afoot. But as Ella pushed the door open with her fingertips, she gasped.
Phoebe and Mr. Bauer were locked in an embrace, engaged in a passionate kiss.
“Phoebe!” Ella cried.
Phoebe jumped back and covered her mouth with her hands. “Ella! I—I—”
Ella’s glare shot to the unaffected Mr. Bauer, whose smug expression derailed her. She stomped toward her friend. “You shouldn’t be here. What are you thinking!”
“W-we were just talking,” blurted Phoebe, unblinking.
Mr. Bauer stepped between them, his towering posture intimidating. “This is not your concern, Miss Wilde.”
Ella forced all her attention on Mr. Bauer. “It certainlyismy concern. This is my house! Phoebe, you need to go upstairs. At once.”
Phoebe made no argument. She sniffed, angled her shoulders to brush past Ella, and disappeared down the corridor.
Ella whirled back to Mr. Bauer, aware that she was, for the moment, alone with him. Her father’s plea for her to keep her composure raced through her mind, but what did that matter now?
She stepped toward him and said through gritted teeth, “You will consider her reputation.”
“Or what?” he snipped dismissively. “You’ll tell your father? Her father?”
Ella’s hands shook with the fiery indignation coursing through her. “You may think I don’t have a lot of influence, but donotunderestimate me.”
“Trust me, Miss Wilde. I don’t underestimate you. I don’t overestimate you. In fact, I don’t think of you at all. What you think of me—or what you say of me—is of little consequence. The only thing I want is for you to simply stay out of my way, or believe me, I have ways to make things very difficult for you and for this little school of yours. After all, who is Miss Wilde?” His domineering words hung arrogantly in the thick cellar air. “Now, if you’ll excuse me—” He brushed past her, and his elbow clipped her arm and knocked her back against the cellar’s stone wall.
She steadied herself, but when she spun to address him, he was gone. Heat flamed in her cheeks, and tears of pure frustration gathered.
How dare he speak to her that way?
How dare he endanger Phoebe’s reputation so recklessly?
But he was right on one count. Who was she to do anything? As much as Ella admired her mother, she was not Leonora Wilde. She was Ella Wilde. Small, relatively unimportant Ella Wilde.
She brushed off a bit of dirt that had clung to her sleeve when she’d fallen against the wall and adjusted her grip on her candle. She could not give in to self-pity. Not now. Not when everything was tilting and so many life changes loomed before her.
Suddenly aware of the darkness and silence around her, she drew a shuddery breath. What did one do after such an exchange? Should she go find Phoebe? But Ella’s heart was racing. Whatcounsel would she give? She certainly could not condone the behavior, and Phoebe would likely be embarrassed.
No, Ella needed to gain control of her own composure before attempting any sort of conversation.
Remembering her original intent to gather more journals, she brushed her hair from her face, gripped her candle tighter, and made her way down the narrow corridor before arriving at the study. During the daylight hours the northern light flooded the space from the small, high windows, or a fire lit the grate, but now it was completely dark. She lifted her candle, and the light illuminated the full shelves of journals, shells and rocks, small statues and sculptures.
