Last week, my favorite modistes visited her. Katherine will be out of gray by tonight. A generous man makes sure his mistress is well appointed. I may be pale, but she needs color.
Faithfully, she comes at night to read, always at ten, never early or late.
Katherine seems confused most nights, because I fall asleep as she reads. The woman leaves my chambers mostly untouched.
I feel stronger, but every mirror says I’m not ready for much. In the corridor, I rest in front of the large silver one by the grand stairs. My cheeks seem gaunt. More threads of gray appear in my hair. If I waste away to nothing, I’ll look like an old man.
A sigh comes from the depths of my soul. It’s a dream to become an old man.
Heading to the steps, my energy depletes. The beautiful stairway I carpeted in crimson could be lava from a spewing volcano—the danger of it keeps me from going down.
A little dizzy, I grip the rail—my passion wanes. I won’t go to the lower level to find Katherine or Mr. Steele.
No wonder I’m useless to her.
Everyone must think I’m fragile. How am I to be of any help, if I’m kept in darkness? Steele has provided a list of men, proper candidates. I haven’t the energy to review them myself. This illness robs me of the one role I’m good at, being a protector.
Face in a book, Scarlett enters the grand hall from the corridor leading to the kitchen. She must’ve mixed tonight’s batch of tea.
Lovely in pale green and those faithful dust-free, polished boots, she stops and looks up. “Your Grace, you must be feeling better. You’re up.”
I nod and pretend I’m not dizzy. My fingers clamp harder to the rail and my cane. The marble cap bores into my palm. It has more strength than me.
Switching between reading and eyeing me, she comes up. I count twenty-two steps that her boots touch before standing on the landing. Her eyes search me and detect weakness. “Shall I help you back to your room, Your Grace?”
“Maybe.”
She squints and snaps her notebook shut. “You’re not thinking of going down the steps.”
“Maybe.”
If Scarlett had spectacles, she’d be looking over them, disapproving. “I wouldn’t advise it. Not until you feel as if you can. Do you feel up to this?”
Does every woman but my mistress run my life? “Maybe.”
“Your Grace.” Steam comes out her nostrils like the beautiful, determined dragon she is. “Tumbling down these steps and landing on the marble below will break even your hard head. But you might also break a back or leg, making recovery more difficult, or triggering the sickness.”
“So you’re saying you don’t think I can make it?”
Her burning gaze back at me means she finds no humor in my question.
Scarlett comes closer. “Whatever it is you’re hunting for, it’s not worth it. Not yet.”
“Do you know what’s troubling your sister?”
Before she answers, the maids pass by us. They’re carrying sacks of gray. That must be the remnants of Katherine’s old wardrobe. I smile. “Steele had the modistes do their job. Good riddance to mourning.”
Scarlett extends her arm to me. “If you come with me to your room, I’ll tell you all I know.”
When I take her hand, she slows her gait. “Your Grace, there’s been trouble with Wilcox Coal. The Palmerses are sending a demand letter asking for its ownership, or they’ll cause more scandal.”
Though now I am angry enough to try dashing down the stairs, I keep walking with Scarlett. “Their son almost bankrupted the business, and now they want the restored company. Unbelievable. But why, Scarlett? The Palmerses are part of the ton. They’re not expected to work.”
“It must be to hurt Katherine. They know how much she loves it. They can’t be blind to how hard she’s been trying to grow Father’s company. What better way to make her pay for whatever slight they believe she’s given them?”
“Because she was once married to me.” I drop Scarlett’s arm and swing my cane. “I’m ready to strike down her enemies.”
But my legs are not. I sway.
