The Lady and Her Secret Lover

by Jenn LeBlanc

  Did Louisa still dream of it? Or had she shut out even that small piece of her when she’d gone? She needed to talk to Hugh and she hadn’t heard from him yet. Nobody had rung the bell. No messages had been brought to her. No hope delivered.

  She closed her eyes and remembered last night, the earlier part before the latter part. She’d never felt so much in her life and hadn’t felt as much since. She hadn’t even been able to bring herself off the way Louisa had, and it shocked and saddened her. She wanted that abandon, that pure joy, the release and absolute surrender, but she couldn’t find it.

  She closed her eyes, her breath steadying as she remembered the water wash over her. The smell of roses heavy on the air. And Louisa’s kisses of sweetened lemon and spice. She wanted, how very much did she want.

  She could go to the house, could wander by. She couldn’t wait here for Ender to make up his mind and make something happen. She stood, intending to hunt him down. Again. He didn’t seem to understand how important this was. She stood and rang the bell for her ladies maid.

  Louisa

  Louisa entered the hall through the servants and went toward the front entry to find Amelia. The parlor door was closed but she could hear voices inside. Louisa went to the back of the house and up to her room to change, then to Amelia’s room to ready for her. Hopefully everything had gone well and Amelia was still sound. Amelia was dedicated and beautiful, but different. Her mind would spin on things, and Amelia seemed unable to stop the torrent of it without someone to anchor her. Louisa was ever wary of the next thing to set her off.

  Louisa opened Amelia’s wardrobe. She would need to change into a day dress from her carriage dress. She turned when she heard footsteps running toward the room. “Oh, no,” Louisa said to no one. The door burst open.

  “Louisa?” was all she said.

  “Amelia,” Louisa replied, but when she looked, she knew. Amelia was not going to come back from the edge this time. Louisa rushed forward, and Amelia fell into her arms halfway across the room.

  “Louisa, I don’t— I cannot— I’m so—” She was pulling at her clothes, and Louisa tried to help her from her shirtwaist so she could get to the corset and loosen the binding.

  “Hush now, Amelia. Come here, let’s get you changed, let’s get you—”

  Amelia’s words were confused and incoherent, Louisa tried to keep up with the conversation but she was spinning and all Louisa could do was hold on and hope for the best at this point, until Amelia screamed in frustration and Louisa knew any minute it would all come crashing down.

  “Amelia!” Her mother’s screech rent the hallway, and Amelia turned.

  “No,” was all she said and it a whisper of a breath more than anything, but the shudder that wracked Amelia’s body spoke much louder than her voice. Amelia collapsed, pulling Louisa with her to the floor in a pile of skirts.

  “Amelia! Get up and get dressed. It isn’t the thing to be half made at this time of day.” The voice made Louisa cringe. Couldn’t this ridiculous woman see? Couldn’t she see what she did to her daughter? She steeled herself, prepared to go head to head with the woman for once, but her attention was taken by the tall, dark, brooding man who stood in the doorway behind her.

  Striking, he was terrified and concerned and calm at once. It had to be Castleberry, and in that moment she doubted Lady Pembroke knew he’d followed. She wondered if he were a decent man, because right now she needed his help.

  She caught his eye and pleaded with her gaze before turning her attention to Amelia’s mother. “My lady, I beg you, leave her to me. I can manage,” Louisa said.

  “Don’t speak to me in such a tone, Louisa.”

  Louisa glanced up to her, mere moments from letting her have her mind, but instead forced her concentration back to Amelia. “Come, Amelia, my lady. Come sit by the fire.” Louisa managed to coax her from the floor, even as distant as she was. She set her in her favorite chair and loosed her fingers from her skirt. Louisa swept her favorite quilt around her shoulders, wrapping it tight.

  “Do you ignore me, girl?” Lady Pembroke said.

  “I beg pardon, my lady. I only meant that I could take care of Amelia for you. You needn’t trouble yourself at all. She’ll be right as rain soon enough.” While in her head, she cursed the woman for her careless behavior.

  Lady Pembroke rushed forward and grabbed Amelia’s shoulder. “Amelia, Amelia, quit this act immediately and get up. Get up!”

  “Lady Pembroke, this won’t help. She needs quiet—”

  “Do you pretend to think I do not know my own daughter?”

  “Of course, my lady. I only meant—”

  “You act as if I don’t know my own daughter!” Another shriek, another cringe, and Amelia leaned into her, away from her mother. Because you don’t. She needed to get the woman out. The man straightened, as if he’d grown several inches in standing there, as if he hadn’t already been large and enough of a terror.

  His countenance shifted from concern to resolve. “Lady Pembroke. A word?” The man’s voice had a slight tremor to it, and he cleared his throat. “Now.” The power of his carriage sent a trill of something through Louisa, and the room went still.

  Silent.

  The expression on her mother’s face was something Louisa would carry with her for the rest of her life. A remembrance that nobody could escape a deserved comeuppance. She stood straight then turned, so smooth you’d think her a mechanical toy, as her entire demeanor shifted and she regained her composure. “Your Grace, I had no idea you—”

  “If we might speak. With Pembroke as well. I have some questions.”

  So this man was the Duke, and he’d cut Lady Pembroke off without a care.

  “Of course, Your Grace. I… Well, I should see to my—” Her hand fell gently open toward Amelia.

  “Now would be best. I’m quite certain she’ll be fine, yes? There isn’t anything terribly wrong with her…is there?” She was a mouse in a trap, and he was the cat playing with her. Lady Pembroke could not admit to any sort of illness, and he knew it. Even so, her gratitude was tinged at the edge with empathy for a woman who had no power in her life either.

  He smiled at Louisa as he waited for Lady Pembroke to lead him away. Louisa may come to like this man. Someday. Lady Pembroke moved from the room, and Louisa went back to Amelia and pulled her into a tight embrace. Amelia relaxed into her, then reached out of her cocoon of a quilt and took Louisa’s arm. Castleberry pulled the door closed behind him, but he paused and caught her eye.

  “Thank you,” Louisa said, sotto voce.

  Louisa held her for a while then as Amelia relaxed, she helped her to stand, stripped her of her clothes, and moved her to the bed. All she needed now was rest. Once she was gone, once she went that far, there was nothing to be done but to wait it out. She tucked Amelia in to rest then sat in Amelia’s favorite chair to watch over her. It wasn’t necessary. She wasn’t watching over Amelia at all. She was keeping watch for her mother.

  She stared at the door that had been filled by the man Amelia was contracted to marry. He was…large. Even if he didn’t fill the doorway, his presence did. His eyes were dark and his demeanor darker, and yet he’d helped her to help Amelia. Had taken Lady Pembroke away from them so Amelia could rest. She’d thought men of his stature, men with his power, had all been the same, those upper echelons, the highest of the high, mightiest of the mighty.

  She’d believed they never looked down from their broad shoulders to see what they trampled. Though Hugh had proven that thought wrong years ago when he’d rescued her. He was a mere baron, though, not a viscount or even an earl…and this man was duke, second only to the Crown.

  Still.

  It had taken time for her to trust Hugh as well, even though she’d known him before. Now she trusted him with everything she was. She’d had to.

  She shuddered to think of where she might be if it weren’t for him. She was tired of being beholden to men, but if ever she were to choose a man, Hug
h would be it.

  “Louisa?”

  “My lady. Well, it's good to see you,” Louisa replied. She’d fallen asleep in Amelia’s chair and dreamt of Ellie. But she needed to put that aside.

  “Have I missed supper? Tell me I’ve missed supper.”

  “Yes, quite, but not to worry. I requested a tray sent up. I’m rather surprised your mother hasn’t—”

  “Oh, my mother.” Amelia’s head fell to her hands. Then she looked up. “Castleberry?”

  “He’s gone, but not for long. I believe he hasn’t been entirely frightened off. Not to worry.” Louisa gave her a warm smile.

  “Oh, Louisa, I truly thought I’d destroyed any hope of—”

  “Tsch tsch tsch, now, don’t be so cruel to yourself. You know if he were frightened off, as you say, he wasn’t so worthy of you to begin with. And there’s always Lord Endsleigh.” Hugh. He loved Amelia and would go to the ends of the earth for her. If only he were allowed. He wasn’t supposed to come around Amelia now that she’d come out and the Duke had come to claim his bride. It still hurt, because Louisa knew how good of a man Hugh was and how desperately he loved Amelia. She’d watched them the last three years and knew them to be the best of friends, and even if she held herself back from more, Louisa could see the possibility. It frightened her, as did the specter of Castleberry.

  “Yes, he and I can retire as spinsters together, taking my mother and living in his modest estate on his moderate income. He would just adore that. No doubt, he’d take up knitting. Or needlepoint.”

  Louisa laughed, remembering their own discussion about that very thing, once upon a time in a ballroom long ago. Hugh had promised himself as her very own spinster husband, should she not find someone suitable. She supposed that was off the table at this point. Regardless, she would never relegate Hugh to such a marriage. “He would, because he loves you,” Louisa said. “And you know he’d create beautiful pillows that all the ladies would be jealous of.”

  “But he deserves so much more than me.”

  “Now here we go again. Must we always go round and round like this? Must we? If Ender were to spend the balance of his days with you, not only would he be the luckiest man alive, but to have you in his life would be more than he deserves. And you as well. The two of you are well suited. Except for that one, small issue.”

  “That issue being that he’s not good enough for me in my father’s eyes? A baron only? For shame…I should only be so lucky.”

  “Your dear father has only your interests at heart. He wants the very best life for you. He doesn’t know—”

  “That I’m impaired? Oh, but he does, Louisa. He does. Don’t let him make a fool of you as well. I think this to be his greatest farce—to marry his unacceptable daughter to one of the most powerful of peers. As for Castleberry, he certainly understands that I’m not well at this point.”

  Louisa stood before she became too frustrated. She understood the problem. She understood that Amelia was contracted to Castleberry and wasn’t allowed to marry Hugh. But what she understood better than any of this was how quickly life could change and destroy everything you understood. But then, it wasn’t her place to shatter Amelia, not at all. She was here to support her, and Hugh wished beyond everything else that Louisa was to be here for Amelia, solely for Amelia. She’d been disallowed from even swaying Amelia to Hugh. He would be furious if he knew she did even if she thought him suited to her. But then, the Duke…he’d managed her mother quite well, and that was quite the attribute in itself. Louisa’s greatest frustration lay in the fact she was unable to speak her mind. She was a ladies maid. She was to have no opinion. A ladies maid with an opinion would find herself without said position. She wondered what Amelia would think if she knew the truth of it.

  Louisa fussed about the room in her annoyance, then realized the supper tray hadn’t yet been sent up, so she turned for the hallway. She’d get it herself. No doubt Amelia’s mother had intercepted it or some nonsense to get her point across. And honestly, what the hell good would that do? The woman was horrid. If her mother— But she’d never had a mother, and the woman who’d taken the place of her mother had stood aside as her father had beat her senseless after finding her with Ellie. Louisa was struck by the fact that she believed mothers to be inherently good when she’d been faced with nothing but the opposite, in fact. Even Ellie’s mother—

  Louisa swayed on her feet and reached out to steady herself at the wall.

  Ellie. Just the thought of her name made her weak. Perhaps she could send a message to Hugh, have him find out how she was. Louisa continued down the hall. All she ever wanted was for Ellie to be safe.

  Louisa wondered if her father had ever come looking for her at the Magdalen Asylum…but of course he hadn’t. He’d written her off. She no longer existed. He’d put her in her place and expected that she would stay there. Louisa stopped and rested her hands at her knees. Good God, she needed to stop thinking or she would never make it to the kitchens for Amelia’s supper, and the girl needed to eat.

  She stood tall and took a deep breath and headed for the servants’ stair. Dark and steep, hidden behind a wall, as servants always should be. She and Ellie had made use of many servants’ staircases that first week. Oh, that first night, when Ellie had stolen her breath. She’d no idea there would be so many staircases, so many dark corners. That first night…that night had been filled with nothing but possibility.

  Ellie

  It was all to no avail. Hugh had yet to speak with Louisa and he was frustrated that she would search him out at his home. She understood that he wished to protect them all, but Ellie was too impatient.

  She returned home and refused to attend that evening’s ball. Instead, since her parents would be away, she called for a bath in the guest room. A room she hadn’t entered since that night three years before. She stripped with the help of Abigail, then wrapped up in a silk robe and slippers. She followed her through the halls to the guest suite, her breath stilling when they entered.

  She’d had the fire warmed and stoked in the grate to chase the chill away. It was much warmer than the cool hall behind her and yet she stood at the threshold, trying to breathe through the memories that assailed her. The dressing and undressing, the stolen kisses and private touches. She wished she had anything, anything at all, to remember her by. She reached to her neck, but had removed the necklace in her room to keep it safe.

  She searched the wardrobe for any small thing that could have been left behind, but there was nothing. No pins, no pieces of fabric, no jewels. She stood at the window and stared down to the street below where Louisa had tossed her things, and her heart broke all over again.

  She twisted her hands, thinking about the way she’d handled that night—which is to say she hadn’t handled it at all. She should have been strong. Brave. She should have been the brave woman Louisa believed her to be, and perhaps that was why Louisa had left so swiftly. She’d needed more, and Ellie hadn’t given it.

  But it wasn’t her. Louisa had said so the next day. Louisa had forgiven her failings. How naïve Ellie had been. How patient Louisa had been with Ellie’s ingenue behavior—in every way.

  Ellie turned and walked to the bath, the steam greeting her at the door like a hug.

  Abigail stood. “It’s ready, miss, though be careful. It’s still a bit hot.”

  “Thank you, Abigail.” She took the maid’s hand and squeezed it, looking in her eyes and wondering for the first time if she had someone to love. Louisa was in the same position in another household. Did they care for her as a person beyond their needs of her? “Abigail, the water is clear. Do you remember the last time we were here? It wasn’t like this.”

  “Oh yes, miss. I prepared a milk bath. Would you like one tonight as well?”

  “Do you mind?” she asked, and Abigail was clearly confused. Ellie supposed she’d never asked her opinion on whether or not she could do something for her.

  “Not at all, miss. I’ll come straigh
t back.”

  The door shut, and Ellie reached for the tray of oils and herbs, opening and smelling them until she found the rosehips she remembered. She dribbled a small amount on the surface then stirred it as Louisa had done. She ran her hands along the curl at the edge of the tub, the hard, cool weight of it such a stunning comparison to the skin of her love. So unforgiving where Louisa had been so soft and supple. Rigid where Louisa had been pliable, unmovable where Louisa had been so very moveable.

  When Abigail returned with a pitcher. Ellie stood aside. “Sorry it took a bit longer. I had cook warm the milk so your bath wouldn’t be cooled too quickly.”

  “Thank you, Abigail,” Ellie said then watched as Abigail poured the contents of the pitcher into the bath and swirled the water, the scent of roses on vanilla blooming around her. “Oh this is lovely,” Ellie said, and Abigail smiled and nodded.

  “If you need anything more, miss, please ring the bell.”

  “Thank you, again, Abigail,” Ellie said then watched as she closed the door behind her.

  She dropped the silk robe she’d worn and sank into the forbidden bath, leaning back against the furled edge of the tub as she wished, oh how she wished, that everything could be different. That Louisa was working as a ladies maid in service to a woman like her was…inconceivable. Louisa had been the epitome of proper society. In public anyway. Her manners and behavior had been perfection. Ellie had mimicked her at times, trying so hard to be as mesmerizing as she’d been.

  Ellie closed her eyes and lifted one hand out of the water, effecting that perfect hand, the soft wrist held just so, the way she could turn it and motion to others. She’d moved so gentle and seamless like a cloud on the breeze, with nary a twitch or jerk.

  She watched her hand; the disconnect from her own body because of the milky water mesmerized and enchanted Ellie as she slid a bit lower, then pulled the chilled hand to her breast, gasping into the steam as she arched her back against the sudden chill. She touched herself with her fingertips at first, as though she were that window, in the dark of night.