by Diane Darcy
Dismayed, Gillian looked at the ground. Kellen wasn’t hers. Ultimately, he belonged to Edith who might just be a perfectly nice person and well suited to him.
Gillian didn’t like it when Marissa and her friends blamed her for Catherine’s failings. But wasn’t she doing exactly the same thing to Edith? Catherine was bad, therefore so was Edith? Therefore, Gillian could do what she liked?
Gillian felt sick. She’d taken this whole thing too far. She needed to find a way back home before she ruined Kellen’s chance of a good marriage.
She needed to get out of there.
Marissa appraised the forlorn expression on Gillian’s face and barely refrained from rolling her eyes. Enough of this mooning about. “Come then,” she said, clapping her hands. “We’ll not dawdle in the hall all day waiting for the men to return. There is work to be done.”
Turning, she led the way, and her ladies followed. A glance over a shoulder assured that Gillian was slowly climbing the stairs. The girl looked upset. Was it because Kellen had left? Or because of the biting comments made by Yvonne and Vera?
Marissa shook her head. If the latter were the case, the girl needed to grow a backbone if she thought to take her rightful place as lady of the castle. Otherwise, Gillian’s own ladies—when they arrived—would soon disdain to follow her lead.
Marissa climbed the stairs to the solar, and when Gillian finally entered the chamber, Marissa stood patiently beside the head chair and waited to see if Gillian would offer the seat or take it for herself.
Politeness dictated Gillian give up the place-of-honor as Marissa was Kellen’s stepmother, but the girl said nothing at all and simply sat across the way, leaving not only the head chair available, but also the one she should have rightfully claimed next to Marissa. Lady Vera promptly sat therein with a smirk toward Lady Yvonne.
Marissa sank down with a sigh. The girl had much to learn. And learn she would. If Gillian’s mother was such a sad case as to allow her daughter out in the world with so little training, then for Kellen’s sake it was Marissa’s duty to teach the girl.
“Lady Corbett, let us start with castle fare. Know you how to plan a menu?”
Gillian sighed. “Look, Lady Hardbrook, I understand you’re trying to help me, and I appreciate it, I do. But I really have somewhere I need to go. And the sooner the better.” She stood. “So, it’s been really nice to meet you, but—”
“Sit down.”
“Um—”
“Now!”
Gillian sat.
Marissa schooled her expression. She didn’t enjoy raising her voice and didn’t like that this girl had managed to goad her into doing so. “’Tis obvious you’ve been allowed your way too often.” Marissa was proud of her patient-yet-stern tone. “That will change. You have much to learn. I will not have this family disgraced by your laziness.”
A flush rose in Gillian’s cheeks and she crossed her arms.
“I’ve never been called lazy in my entire life.”
“Then ’tis obvious someone thought to spare your feelings.”
The ladies giggled and Gillian’s mouth fell open. Marissa raised a hand. “No more. There is work to be done.”
“But if you’d just let me explain—”
“I’m not interested in excuses.” Marissa cut in. “We will now begin. Let us start with castle fare. Lady Corbett, know you how to plan a menu?”
Leaning back in the chair, arms and legs crossed like a sloven, Gillian shrugged. “Not really. Mostly I’ve just done take out.”
Marissa stared. “You have never planned a menu for an entire keep?”
Gillian shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
This was worse than Marissa had realized. “How many servants had you the responsibility of directing?”
“None. If I wanted something done, I just did it myself. My mom was a big believer in self-sufficiency. We never had a maid or anything. We all just pitched in.”
Marissa stared, appalled. “You’ve not been trained in the instruction of servants?”
“No.”
Marissa’s chest tightened. This was not to be believed. “Do you sew?”
“No.”
“Nay?”
“Well, I sewed an apron once in school, but I sewed the ties on backwards and they wouldn’t reach around my waist. I made a mess of the material trying to unpick the whole thing. My teacher still gave me a C for effort, which I appreciated.”
Marissa knew when she was being mocked and her voice sharpened as she asked. “Do you embroider?”
“No. But I’ve always wanted to learn. I did knit a hot pad once. It was actually supposed to be a scarf, but when I lost interest, my mom used it to protect the table until the yarn unraveled.”
Marissa didn’t even try to hide her disgust. Gillian’s mother should be ashamed of herself and certainly of her daughter. “Can you do nothing womanly?”
Gillian raised a brow.
Lady Yvonne snickered. “It almost seems as if your mother thought to train you for the life of a peasant.”
Lady Vera laughed. “The lowliest of peasants. With your lack of skill, ’tis no wonder you had to wait for your sister to die before you could find yourself a husband.”
That was over-harsh, and Marissa thought to rebuke her ladies, but at Gillian’s unconcerned expression, decided to allow the rudeness. Perhaps their words would shame the girl into a desire to learn.
Lady Yvonne smirked. “Do you possess any skill at all, Lady Corbett?”
“I can draw.”
“You can sketch?” Marissa wasn’t sure she believed her.
“Yes. Very well.”
At the display of confidence, Marissa felt slightly relieved. At last, a womanly accomplishment. But she was skeptical, too. Gillian’s standards might be low and her skill merely adequate.
“Would you like to see?”
Marissa’s mouth half-opened to respond in the affirmative, but the half-smile, the excitement in Gillian’s expression stopped her. Because what Marissa saw was that Gillian truly wanted to sketch.
“Sewing first.” Marissa grabbed up a garment from the top of the pile. “Kellen has torn this sleeve to such an extent as to render the garment useless. You will sew it back together. Later you can demonstrate your skill at sketching.”
After getting Gillian set up with needle and thread, Marissa ignored her for the next ten minutes and listened to the chatter of her ladies. When she finally could stand no more, she checked Gillian’s progress and her heart sank. “This is very poor work, Lady Corbett.”
Looking crushed, Gillian held up the garment. “What do you mean?”
“The stitches are too far apart and uneven. You need to apply yourself.” Marissa took the garment and demonstrated.
Gillian watched carefully, then sighed. “How long is this going to last? When will Kellen be back?”
Marissa tried to check her exasperation. “Do you want your lord to be poorly clothed or to have his garments fallen to shreds? Are you not ashamed at your lack of skill?”
Gillian shrugged.
“I warn you, ’twill be unpleasant if your people think you slothful. The servants won’t respect a lady that refuses to set an example.”
Gillian’s lips tightened.
Marissa sighed. “Lady Corbett, I don’t understand your belligerent attitude. I am trying to aid you.”
Gillian’s face slowly relaxed and she nodded. Finally, the girl straightened in her chair. “I see that. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.”
Marissa resumed her seat and relaxed a little as Gillian seemed to concentrate on her stitching. When Kellen’s daughter wandered in with a maidservant, Gillian beckoned to her. “Come sit by me, Amelia. I’m learning to sew.”
Marissa watched as Gillian situated the child and the two of them took up stitching. Marissa shushed Lady Vera when she loudly whispered that Amelia’s skill might outshine Gillian’s. Gillian seemed determined to make the task fun as they played a game
of who could make their stitches the tiniest.
A few minutes later Marissa checked on Gillian’s progress again. “Better. But try to make your stitches more even, each one the same. And watch that you don’t take too much material into the stitch. It still has to fit his arm when you’re done else you’ll have to take the stitches out and start again.”
Marissa demonstrated once more before resuming her seat. At least the girl improved with direction, so she wasn’t totally hopeless, but Marissa was truly concerned about Gillian’s lack of skill. After Marissa went back home, Gillian would be in charge, but her attention seemed on flighty matters. Mostly she seemed to want to spend time with Kellen. And, Marissa had to admit, Kellen seemed to feel the same about her.
How could one so lacking in skill attract a man? She was pretty, certainly, but beauty didn’t get the work done.
Lady Yvonne smiled sweetly at Gillian. “Lady Corbett, ’tis admirable how well you work with the child. Perhaps ’tis because you seem such a child yourself. Might I ask thy age?”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Lady Vera rolled her eyes. “Thy true age, Lady Corbett. Though you act no more than four.”
“I am twenty-four,” Gillian said, her tone firm.
Lady Vera’s brow crinkled as she lowered sewing to her lap. “Truly?”
“Truly.”
Marissa slowly lowered her own sewing, shocked to realize Gillian told the truth. She was older than Marissa had realized. How awful. “I had thought you younger than thy sister. You’ve never married? You have no children?”
“Nope. Never been married. No children.”
“At thy age?”
Gillian sighed and glanced up. “At twenty-four I’m hardly in my grave yet. My biological clock isn’t even ticking.”
Pity for her burned in Marissa’s chest.
Lady Vera finally took a breath. “You must forgive our shock, but you are so old.”
Lady Yvonne jumped in. “You must feel gratified that Kellen is willing to take you in. Is he aware of thy true age?”
Gillian laughed. “Kellen is five years older than I am. I don’t see the problem. Would you want to marry him off to a child?”
Marissa tried to hold onto her pity, but it was hard to feel sorrow for one who did not regret their own sad plight. Besides, her throat had tightened uncomfortably. Her own husband was twenty-three years older than she. Did he see her as a child? Was that what bred his lack of interest?
Gillian glanced up from her work. “So, what age did you ladies marry?”
Lady Yvonne straightened proudly. “I was but fifteen when I wed. Were my husband still alive, we’d be celebrating our eighteenth year of marriage.”
“Oh. I’m sorry for your loss. Thirty-three is so young to be a widow.”
Marissa’s eyes widened at Gillian’s quick calculation, but she only said, “Lady Vera wed at fourteen, and I married at the age of eighteen, but only because my betrothed had died. It was needful for the king to grant permission for a new match, else I’d have married sooner.”
“So young,” Gillian said.
At least they hadn’t been so old. “By the time I was your age I’d borne two children.”
“You are Kellen’s stepmother, right?”
Stung, Marissa nodded once and resisted lifting a hand to her face to check for wrinkles. “I am barely older than Kellen.”
“So, you must be a lot younger than your husband?”
“Yes.”
Gillian shrugged. “Well, May-December romances work out all the time, right?”
Romances? Again, Marissa felt the sting and grasped for something to say. “There is not much time for romance in a marriage. I take joy in running the household, in doing my duty, and in my two young sons.”
Gillian lowered her stitching, a look of incredulity spreading across her face. “No time for romance in marriage? That’s a sad thing to say. It sounds like the two of you need some time away together. Something certainly needs to change.”
The pity on Gillian’s face offended Marissa and she swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “People do not change.”
“People change all the time. They just have to want to.” Gillian looked around. “Did you say you have two sons? I’ve only seen the one.”
Marissa glanced to where her young son sat on a blanket, playing with a wooden sword, and her heart filled with love and grief. “Quinn, my child of eight, has recently been fostered to Lord Waldegrave.”
Gillian looked shocked. “Fostered? What is it with you people and farming your kids out? Eight is too young for a child to be separated from his parents. Don’t you miss him?”
Miss him? Marissa’s eyes burned as she bent over her sewing. She ached for him, worried for him, and prayed hourly he was being treated with kindness. She could only hope Lady Waldegrave cared for him with the love of a mother.
“I’d never allow anyone to separate me from my children.”
At that, Marissa lifted her head. “You’ll not have a choice.”
“We’ll just see about that, won’t we?”
The challenging words and stubborn tilt of Gillian’s chin had Marissa’s brow drawing together. She wondered if perhaps Gillian would get her way in this. Marissa had no doubt the first thing Kellen would do when he returned was search for Gillian. If he continued his infatuation within their marriage, mayhap he’d indulge her.
How did she do it? Putting vanity aside, Marissa knew she was pretty, yet she couldn’t seem to hold her husband’s attention more than a moment. And this . . . this . . . unskilled . . . well she could hardly be called a girl . . . this woman, so effortlessly received what Marissa would give her eyeteeth to have. Her husband’s caring, his attention, and . . . affection.
Lady Vera lifted her chin and glared at Gillian. “Your education certainly seems to be lacking. You don’t appear to know anything about the way of things.”
“Yes,” Lady Yvonne concurred. “’Tis quite sad, actually.”
Marissa was aware her ladies were responding to her distress over her son, and that she should intervene. But she could not make herself.
Her chest burned, and bitterness crept like acid up her throat. Why should this girl have it all? How did one such as she receive everything, while Marissa, who worked herself to the bone, was barely noticed?
Marissa bore and taught her children, planned food stores, menus, she kept her husband’s home comfortable and well run. She sewed, embroidered beautiful tapestries, and kept herself attractive.
This girl planned outings, field days, and the like. Frivolous activities. She wanted to swim, to see sights, and Marissa had no doubt Kellen would accommodate her. The girl brimmed with an unfounded confidence. Yet, how could she? She did not know the first thing about running a keep. And her speech was strange. A trait Kellen simply seemed to find charming.
And if she had sons, would she have them wrenched from her if she did not desire it? Or would her husband abide her wishes out of his love for her?
Marissa couldn’t sit with Gillian another second. She stood, and startled, her ladies followed suit.
“Are we done?” asked Gillian.
Marissa started toward the door. “You are not. You will sit there until the work is done correctly. Even if that takes the whole night through.”
As she exited the room, she could still see Gillian’s confused face and was dismayed at her own shrewishness and for taking her inadequacies out on the girl. But all the same, she could not stay another moment. She had to get away before she did something stupid and out of character. Like burst into tears.
Chapter 19
Hours later Gillian finished darning a sock, tugged at the stitches to see if they’d hold and, satisfied they would, set it down in the finished pile. She looked at the sewing still to be done and closed her eyes.
She felt like Cinderella but was trying hard not to have a pity party. She didn’t have the time. There was still at least half the clothin
g to be mended. Beatrice had come in and offered to help, but Gillian hadn’t let her. The last thing she wanted was Marissa believing Gillian hadn’t done the work.
Kellen’s stepmom was a certified witch, but regardless, Gillian was determined to prove to the woman that she did not have a lazy bone in her body. This went beyond her reluctance to do Edith’s work. Gillian’s reputation was on the line. She’d finish every bit of the mending and would do an excellent job.
She quickly sewed a small tear on a pair of boys’ hose and held them up to check for more rips. She thought she was getting better and faster, too.
Anyway, it hadn’t been all bad. For the first time since she’d been there, she’d actually had time alone to think and had come to a decision.
She was taking Kellen and Amelia with her.
Yes, she’d only known him a short time, but Edith didn’t know him at all, so Gillian refused to feel guilty for stealing him. She had strong feelings for him and was convinced he did for her, too. She’d be a wonderful mother to his child. They could have a great life together.
So, rather than miss him like crazy, she’d just take him with her. The twenty-first century had a lot to offer.
They could live in the house her parents had left her. It was nothing like his castle, but it was a good-sized home. Once he’d tried the food, the entertainment, the bathroom, he’d be hooked. He could find a job—probably some type of outdoor physical labor—and they’d be happy together. Make more babies. Raise a family.
She tried to picture him living and working in Seattle. Perhaps he could work a job in construction? Or as a police officer or maybe a fireman? A gardener? She sighed when nothing seemed to click.
Here, he was already in his element. A knight-in-shining-armor, running his castle, training his men. She was having a hard time picturing him anywhere else.
Still, technology had a lot to offer. She had a lot to offer. Maybe she could tempt him?
“Gillian?”
Kellen’s voice broke into her thoughts and she glanced up to see him poking his head into the room. When he spotted her, she smiled. “I was just thinking about you.”
