"Beige is fine," Delaney said. She didn’t care. She would have worn a sack if it ant she could hide.
Sarah laid the beige dress on the chair. She pulled out a matching shawl.
"Breakfast will be ready in thirty minutes," Sarah spoke. "The family is gathering in the morning room. Lady Farrington has requested poached eggs."
Delaney lowered the glass. Her heart gave a painful thud.
Lady Farrington.
That ant her brother was near.
Delaney asked the question that was burning in her head. She tried to sound casual, but her voice was tight.
"Is Lady Celine’s uncle still here?" she asked. "Lord Hawksley?"
Sarah stopped smoothing the dress. She shook her head.
"He left yesterday," Sarah replied. "Right after tea. He had business in the city. He didn’t stay for dinner."
Delaney let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Her shoulders slumped in relief.
"Oh," she whispered. "Good."
"He said he would be back on the day of the Hamilton ball," Sarah added. "To sign the business contracts he has with His Grace."
The relief faded slightly, replaced by a ticking clock.
Two weeks, Delaney thought. I have two weeks before he returns. Two weeks before the monster cos back to claim his prize.
She could breathe for now. But the danger wasn’t gone; it was just postponed.
Delaney took another sip of water. She needed to ask the other question. The embarrassing one.
"Sarah," Delaney said softly.
"Yes, Miss?"
"Who..." Delaney hesitated. She looked down at her bare arms. "Who changed my clothes? Last night?"
She held her breath, waiting for the answer. If Sarah said "His Grace," Delaney decided she would pack her bags and move to a convent in Spain imdiately.
Sarah smiled kindly.
"I did, Miss," Sarah replied.
Delaney closed her eyes. Thank God.
"His Grace called for ," Sarah explained as she laid out a pair of stockings. "He carried you to the bed. You were fast asleep. He couldn’t wake you."
Sarah paused. She looked at Delaney with a strange expression—a mix of curiosity and respect.
"He was worried yesterday," Sarah said. "He stood outside the door while I changed you. He wouldn’t leave until I told him you were tucked in and comfortable."
Delaney nodded slowly.
He stayed.
He hadn’t just dumped her and left. He had waited. He had ensured she was safe.
A warmth spread through her chest, chasing away the last of the chill from the nightmare.
"Thank you, Sarah," Delaney whispered. "For... for taking care of ."
"It is my job, Miss," Sarah replied. "Now, let’s get you ready. You cannot face the family in your chemise."
Delaney nodded. She set the empty glass on the table.
She slid out of bed. Her legs felt a little wobbly, but they held her.
She walked behind the dressing screen where the wash basin stood. Sarah had already filled it with warm water. Steam rose from the porcelain bowl, slling of rose soap.
"Arms up, Miss," Sarah said gently.
Delaney raised her arms. Sarah untied the ribbons of the chemise. The white cotton slid down, pooling at Delaney’s feet.
Delaney stood naked in the morning light. She shivered, not from cold, but from exposure.
Sarah took a warm, soapy sponge. She began to wash Delaney’s back.
The sponge moved over her shoulders. It was soft.
Then, Sarah’s hand paused.
Delaney tensed. She knew what Sarah was looking at.
On Delaney’s back, running from her left shoulder blade down to her ribcage, was a long, jagged scar. It was white and raised, a roadmap of the day her life had ended. It was the mark left by the tal shard of the carriage twenty years ago.
It was ugly. It was violent.
And below it, there were other marks.
Faint, silvery lines on her ribs. Old bruises that hadn’t healed well. Shadows of malnutrition and hardship.
They were the marks of the years after the accident. The years living with her uncle, who believed that discipline was best taught with a cane. The years of poverty, where she had stayed in an underground shooting ring to earn money for her escape.
Delaney stared at the wall. She waited for the gasp. She waited for the question. What happened to you? Who did this?
But Sarah said nothing.
Even she, as a maid, didn’t have such marks on her. Sarah had grown up in service, working hard, but she had been fed. She had been safe.
Sarah saw the scar. She saw the history of pain written on Miss Kingsley’s skin. She realized that the woman who walked with her head high and gave orders had survived sothing terrible.
But Sarah also knew her place. She knew that it was not in her place to ask.
She simply dipped the sponge back into the water. She squeezed it out.
"The water is nice and warm today," Sarah said softly.
She continued to wash Delaney’s back, her touch lighter now, more careful. She washed over the scar with a gentleness that was almost an apology.
Delaney let out a shaky breath.
"Yes," Delaney whispered. "It is."
She appreciated the silence. She appreciated that Sarah didn’t make her relive the story.
After the bath, Sarah helped her into her undergarnts. She tightened the corset, but not too tight.
"Comfort today," Sarah decided.
She helped Delaney into the beige dress. It was a soft wool. It covered everything. It covered the scar. It covered the bruises. It covered the woman who had broken down.
Delaney looked in the mirror.
The beige dress was simple. With the shawl wrapped around her shoulders, she looked demure. She looked like a cousin. She looked like she belonged in the background.
But her eyes were different.
They were no longer the blank, terrified eyes of last night. They were clear. They were determined.
She adjusted the shawl and turned to Sarah.
"I am ready," Delaney said.
"You look lovely, Miss," Sarah said.
Delaney walked to the door. She placed her hand on the knob.
She thought of Rowan waiting downstairs. She thought of how he had hugged her.
How could she face him?
She squared her shoulders. She lifted her chin.
"I face him the sa way I face everything else," she whispered.
She opened the door and walked out into the hallway.
User Comments
0 comments from readers