by Asha Lemmie
I am married to the Duke of Norfolk’s only son. When my father-in-law dies, which can’t be very long from now, for he is ancient if he is a day, I will be the premier duchess in all of England.
It is the best marriage I could have possibly hoped for. As fortune would have it, when I turned up, George was in need of a wife and my past was delightfully forgotten.
He has never asked me about my time in “finishing school,” and I have never asked him how much money my father gave him to marry me.
We have two girls: Charlotte, who is five, and Matilda, who is two.
Charlotte takes after her father. She is brawny, brown-haired, brown-eyed, and clever. But God forgive me for thinking it, she will never win any beauty pageants. They will write no poems about her looks.
Matilda is my little doll; she looks like me, and actually, I think she will be a greater beauty than I ever was. My husband adores them both, and though he has no passion for me, he is respectful and kind.
But we still need a boy. Such is the world.
I am still young, amen, with at least a decade of fertile years ahead of me. But I have a secret fear.
I dress in a hurry and go down to the kitchen, where a maid is already serving my breakfast. I always eat breakfast alone.
While my husband sleeps, while my children are upstairs in their nursery, I can be the selfish woman I was always meant to be for a few short moments in the day.
The light pours in from the bay windows I had installed last spring.
It is April again.
She was supposed to come to me in April. I was expecting her, there was a letter sent ahead by the maid, but she never arrived.
She did not come the next year either, or the year after that.
And so here I am, seven Aprils later, and still waiting for the girl I loved like a sister.
She is probably dead. As much as it pains me, I can see my sweet, melancholy girl tying stones around her waist and walking into the ocean.
She adored her brother, with a fervor I did not understand until I had my own children. If anything happened to them, I think my heart would seize in my chest. I would simply cease to be.
I feel the tears coming and I push them back. I miss her. Even after all these years, even though I am exactly where I need to be, in the place I was born to be, I still miss her.
She had the softest touch and this deceptive fragility—I thought she needed protecting, but it was she, all along, who protected me.
She told me once that she was born under a mercurial star.
It has taken me all of these long years to believe her.
The commotion on the stairs tells me that the children are up. Charlotte comes flying down the steps in her new blue dress, and the nanny comes down behind her with Matilda still groggy in her arms.
I hug them both close to me, and I breathe in the scent of their innocence and their joy.
* * *
—
My husband finds me in our garden. I never used to favor the gardens, but now I do. Yet another gift she gave me.
He sits on the bench beside me, and I try not to be irritated by the sight of him. He is a good man, to do him justice, but he is terribly plain and boring, so boring. I am confident I’ve met more interesting silverware.
“Any word from the doctor?”
The hope in his voice is like a child’s.
I turn to him and try to smile. “Yes. I am expecting after all.”
He turns the color of a strawberry and then kisses me on the lips, as clumsy as always.
I endure our lovemaking with the patience of a saint, part of my duty as his wife. I don’t expect to ever feel the rush of passion again; I don’t expect to be feverish with desire the way that I was long ago, with that beautiful, beautiful traitor.
But the last few sessions I have tolerated have done their work. I am fourteen weeks now.
“I was thinking of going shopping today. I’ll take the girls.”
He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Of course, of course. Take however much money you need.”
He’s a good man. Not for the first time, I wish that were enough for me.
I load the girls into the pram and off we go. I want to keep my mind off of the child growing in my belly. I am full of fear, and I don’t want my fear to poison him—or at least, I am hoping it to be a him.
I have a secret. I have a sin. And all these years, I have evaded punishment for it. But it is always there, beneath the glittering surface of my charmed life.
I buy two stuffed bears for the girls and stop for lunch at a little café that has just been opened by an Indian fellow.
London is changing. We have all kinds here now. I quite enjoy it. I have always been mystified by how one person can judge another based solely on the color of their skin.
There are so many better things to judge others on. Really.
After lunch I buy the girls spiced peanuts and take them to the park to play.
I hope that they will stay close as they grow up. I never loved my sisters and they never loved me. I found my true sister on the other side of the world.
I wait until dark to take the children home. They are both exhausted, and I pass them off to their nanny and sink into an armchair to rest.
“Bess,” I say, “bring me some tea, will you please?”
My maid appears from the other room and her face is flushed.
“Your cousin is here, my lady.”
I push myself up and stare at her blankly. “What?”
“Your cousin Lord Stafford is here.”
“You mean William?”
“Yes, my lady.”
I am so angry I could spit. Who does he think he is to come calling on me at this hour? The years have done nothing to erase the tension between us. I cannot forgive him for the way he lorded his authority over me when I was at my lowest point. We see each other only when required.
“Send him away,” I say pompously, and I feel a twinge of pleasure.
Will pushes past her and barges into the room. “Bit late for that.”
I jump to my feet. “You’ve got some nerve.”
He smirks. He is handsome as ever, with all of his arrogance and devilish charm.
“I am sorry, dear cousin, but I have news that can’t wait.”
I feel my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. “What?”
“I think I saw her.”
The world beneath my feet rocks. I sink back into my chair, speechless.
Every other year or so he will torment me with a sighting. But it’s never her and I am always left feeling as if someone has burned a hole in me.
“Don’t start,” I say wearily.
“I swear I saw her in Paris,” he protests. “I am sure this time, I’ve sent someone to look into it.”
“Enough already,” I mumble. “Just enough.”
Will has been consumed with finding her ever since word of Akira’s death reached us. It was, to this day, the only time I have ever seen him cry.
I can’t bear even to try. I know her better than he does, though he would never accept it. I know if she wanted to be found, we would have found her.
I have never told him about the letter.
“But I am certain—” he starts up.
“You were certain in Rome,” I snap. “And in Vienna, where you were sure she’d go chasing a ghost. You have been certain in every city your music has taken you to, and she is never there. Because she is gone, and I am so sick of your ridiculous quest to soothe your ego, to rescue her and make her fall in love with you at long last. Let it go.”
He turns a mottled shade of purple. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know exactly what I’m talking about. This has never been about her, and it’s certainly n
ot about me. It’s about you being unable to accept that you’ve lost.”
He rips off his suit jacket. “Oh, shut up, Alice.”
I gesture towards the door. “Good night, William. I look forward to your next delusion.”
Actually, I don’t. These conversations take away chunks of me. He storms out grumbling, and when I hear the front door shut, I put a hand to my mouth.
“Bess,” I whisper.
She is at my side in an instant. “Madam?”
“Take me upstairs. I need to rest. I’m tired. I’m very, very tired.”
* * *
—
I sleep for hours. In the morning, I take a long hot bath and try to release the weariness in my bones.
I hate April. It truly is the cruelest month.
I wrap myself up in a towel and sit on the side of the tub for an hour before I have the strength to dress.
The girls are playing outside with Bess, and George is—somewhere. Lunch club, maybe. I can never keep track.
I peer out from one of the many windows. The clouds are dark and thick, threatening rain. How original.
I walk down the stairs and only make it halfway down before I curl up on the landing.
I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the next five months.
The doorbell rings.
I sigh and wait for one of the servants to get it. It’s probably my sister Jane come to raid my closet, as if I have anything that will fit her.
Nobody comes. I look around irritably, wondering what I pay these people for.
The doorbell rings again.
I haul myself up and go slowly down each step.
The doorbell rings for a third time.
I make my way to the door, and a strange feeling comes over me. I am here, but I am not here. I am in the past, in the future, in a place I cannot even name.
Somehow, I know.
I open the door and there she is.
She is exactly the same. Her face is still round, with a deep dimple in each cheek. Her hair is black as a raven’s wing and as curly as ever. She has cut it short so that it falls just below her chin.
She doesn’t look twenty-three—she appears both too young and too old. She doesn’t look noble, for she is dressed in nothing but a simple blue dress.
But she is alive.
Nori smiles shyly at me. “I’m sorry,” she says simply.
I hear a roaring in my ears and then all the lights wink out.
* * *
—
I wake up in my bed.
Nori is sitting on the edge beside me, looking guilty.
I blink at her. “Bess,” I rasp, and she is there at once.
“My lady?”
“Leave us now. And don’t let anyone in the room until I say.”
She nods and goes out.
Nori fidgets. “I see you have a very grand life, my dear. Just like we used to talk about.”
I gape at her. “You . . . you’re here.”
She smiles and nods. “I am.”
I feel a deep pulse of rage. “Where have you been?”
She looks away. Clearly, she was expecting this. “It’s complicated.”
“You could have written me,” I say furiously. “You just dropped off the face of the earth for seven bloody years. I thought you were dead. You let me think you were dead.”
She bows her head. “I’m sorry. If you want me to leave . . .”
I snatch her hand and hold it tight.
“Nonsense, I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
She laughs. “Oh, Alice. I have missed you.”
“And did they tell you I have children?” I blurt out. “Two girls. Charlotte and Matilda.”
“I saw them,” she says warmly. “They are beautiful, my dear. I cannot wait to meet them properly.”
“I’m expecting now too,” I say, and I find that I am shy about it.
She kisses my flushed cheeks. “How wonderful.”
I fix my eyes on her. She has grown into her looks. She’s a lovely girl, even with the corners of her mouth turned down. She looks so sad.
“And what about you, Nori?”
She hesitates. “It’s really not that interesting of a story.”
“I want to hear it anyway,” I insist.
Nori goes very still.
And then she tells me. She tells me, and I can see at once how lonely she has been, and how much she believes that she deserved it. My anger vanishes.
She has been martyring herself all this time. That she is here now means she is ready to stop.
“Why didn’t you come to me in the beginning?” I wail. “I would’ve taken care of you. We would have been like sisters!”
The color drains from her face. “I didn’t want to be near you. Or, rather, I didn’t want you to be near me. I was no good for anyone, Alice. I was convinced that I was . . .”
I look into her eyes. “What?”
She nips her lower lip. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m here now.”
I am not satisfied by this, but I know better than to press her. She is like a frightened filly; if I push her too hard, she will bolt. All I need to do is look at the way she holds herself to know that she is a hairsbreadth away from shattering.
I’ll try again tomorrow when she has gathered her strength. I know she will. She just needs time.
I sit up and wrap my arms around her. We cling to each other like frightened children.
“You will move your things in today,” I tell her. “You will stay here with me. You will be an aunt to my girls and godmother to my boy when he comes. That is how it will be, Nori.”
She makes that little sound she always made when she was trying not to cry. “It’s not safe,” she says.
I have no idea what she’s talking about. All I know is that I need her desperately, I have always needed her, and now I have her back.
I was never supposed to meet her.
But I would not change a single thing.
“Safe be damned. You’re staying.”
Nori pulls back to look at me. She gives me a tiny smile, and at least for the moment, her eyes are clear.
“I’m staying.”
* * *
—
She settles in remarkably well, as I knew that she would. The last seven years have not been wasted on her—she has grown into a sophisticated, cultured young woman, with a woman’s painfully acquired knowledge that there is more, always more, that can be put on our shoulders. And that we cannot show it.
My husband adores her. She talks to him about her travels, and they play chess together sometimes in the evenings. She is able to cook his favorite roast duck, and he tells me that she can stay as long as she likes.
The girls both fall easily under her spell, as I knew they would. They demand that she watch them play, and she puts on puppet shows for them and reads them to sleep.
She is gracious to the staff, and they all go out of their way to do little things for her.
So all in all, her introduction to my household has been a great success. But I cannot help but want her all to myself. I even hire a music teacher for the girls, just to give them something to do during the day so that I can be alone with her.
I take her all around the city—well, the good parts of the city—and buy her every pretty thing I can think of. I so enjoy dressing her up; she is still my little doll.
I notice the stares, of course. I am sure she notices them too, but she never flinches. Sometimes she will turn and nod gently, and the offender will blush and scurry away.
We both know it won’t be long until my cousin realizes that he was right, and that he really did see her in Paris. We don’t discuss it. We just know.
Now that I have childre
n, I can read her so much better, for she communicates much like a child. She doesn’t say much, but her eyes and the slight motions in her body tell me what she is feeling.
I don’t ask, but I know that she is afraid. She carries her fear with her like a second shadow.
I slide my hand in hers as we sit on my favorite park bench and watch the orange sun dip below the clouds. Today I helped her put in the paperwork for her to stay in London for good. I feel a warm sensation in my belly, and I drape my other hand over it, feeling the hard curve. I know that my son is happy too.
“We really must make a formal introduction for you.”
She laughs. “Don’t be silly.”
“I am quite serious,” I tell her. “The vultures won’t dissipate until they’ve had their fill of gossip. Half the city knows you are living with me; the rumors grow more ridiculous every day. Wouldn’t it be better to be in control of the narrative? Get a grip on things?”
She sighs. “I don’t care what they say about me.”
“They stare,” I point out, and she snorts.
“Yes, I’ve noticed. They must think I’m terribly ugly.”
I roll my eyes because she really believes this. I swear, I don’t know what they told her in that attic, but it lives in the very marrow of her bones.
But then, I am also to blame. I’ve always been shallow. I’ve always happily fed into a hierarchy based on looks. It was the only way I thought I could win anything. But now I see how it cuts. And I am ashamed of myself.
“We can throw a party,” I prompt. “Something small. Intimate.”
Nori withdraws her hand. “I’d rather not.”
“My dear, it’s really quite normal. All young women of marrying age have a debutante ball.”
She turns to look at me, slowly. I see her smile twitch.
“Alice,” she says gently, “I’m no lady. And there’s no need for this. I am content to live quietly with you and your children.”
But that’s just the problem. I am not content, and I feel an inexplicable sense of irritation with her. She doesn’t understand that it’s always better to be the center of attention on your own terms. For God knows they will talk about you anyway. I know this, and I know it’s true because I’ve learned that I’m not nearly as stupid as everyone has always tried to make me believe.
