Almost as out of keeping as I.
How was she ever to step into the role of mistress of this place? She couldn’t even earn the servants’ respect, let alone her husband’s.
Weariness pressed upon her, and she reached for the stair rail. Her limbs had grown heavy—almost as heavy as her heart. Perhaps she ought to have asked for a brandy to soften the pain of inadequacy. But Eleanor had always said that while liquor might tempt one the most when spirits were low, it was a false cure. The temporary numbing of pain brought about the briefest of respites, shortly followed by a greater pain that endured far longer. With no friends, or even companions, to ease her pain, Olivia had only the memory of her sister-in-law to give her comfort.
She ascended the staircase to the gallery. The chandelier was almost at eye level with her now, and looked less sinister now that it had been lit. The flames of the candles flickered and danced as the structure swayed gently to and fro.
Which servant had risked their neck to light it?
She peered over the balustrade. From above, the marble floor looked even more out of place—cold gray against the warm tones of the wood. The candles cast patterns of light across the floor, and she leaned on the rail to get a better look.
A large hand caught her arm and yanked her back. She let out a soft whimper of pain as the hand tightened its grip, and she glanced up into the dark eyes of her husband. Her stomach clenched in fear at the raw intensity she saw there, which seemed to flash with fury—almostas if he were in a trance or suffering some kind of fit.
“Sir!” The valet approached in quick, purposeful strides.
Devereaux blinked, and the dark sheen in his eyes faded. Then he released her, and she stepped back, rubbing her arm. “What have I done, my lord?”
He stared at her.
“John?” She turned to the valet.
“Lord Devereaux was concerned that—” He broke off as Olivia’s husband raised his hand.
“Husband?” She stepped toward him, but he shook his head, then turned and strode along the passageway toward the back of the house.
“What did I do wrong?” she asked John.
“Nothing, my lady,” the valet said. “But I would suggest you take care at the top of the stairs. It’s a long way down.”
“Did he think I was foolish enough to fall over the rail?”
John hesitated, then glanced along the gallery. Devereaux had stopped and stood in the center of the passageway, a silent shadow.
“Good night, my lady.”
Before she could reply, the valet followed his master and the two of them disappeared into a room near the end of the passage.
With a sigh, Olivia returned to her chamber. Shortly after, there was a knock, and she tempered the flare of hope. But it was the young maid with a cup of warm milk.
“Thank you, Susie,” Olivia said.
“No trouble, your ladyship.” The maid colored and stood in the doorway, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Is there something you wish to say?” Olivia asked.
“I don’t know as if I ought, but Nicola, my sister, that is, said you’d be kind enough to consider it, so there’s no harm in askin’.”
“Asking what?”
“Whether you’d consider me as your lady’s maid.”
“Oh, I’ve no need for—”
“I’m a fast learner, honest I am, your ladyship. And I’ll work ever so hard. Nicola says you’re going to be wanting a friend here, seein’ as you know no one, beggin’ your pardon. I know all about how to look after gowns. Ma Lucy said I was as good as any seamstress you might find in London…” Her smile slipped. “God rest her soul. Passed last year, so she did.”
“Your mother died? I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Oh, Ma Lucy wasn’t my mother. My real ma died when I was a baby. I never knew her, though Nicola remembers her. Da married Ma Lucy two years ago. But I have Nicola. She looks after me right and proper and keeps house for Da, though not for long if Jake offers for her. I think…”
