Chapter 8
Veronica was served her wedding dinner in a small dining room, the meal punctuated by a solicitous Mrs. Gardiner, who insisted upon coming back into the room every few minutes.
“Is there anything I can get for you, Lady Fairfax?” she asked again.
Since it was the third time Mrs. Gardiner asked, Veronica realized the housekeeper was not as intent on being of assistance as she was offering her sympathy.
“Everything is wonderful,” she said, forcing a smile to her face. “Thank you for your kindness,” she added, finding it odd to be an object of pity on her wedding night.
Mrs. Gardiner nodded, leaving the room after several backward glances. No doubt the poor woman wanted to make some explanation for Montgomery’s absence but was constrained by loyalty.
Her new husband was nowhere in sight. Nor had he sent word to her as to his whereabouts or intentions.
After the endless meal, she retreated to the room she’d been given, to be greeted by Mrs. Gardiner and a young girl pulled from kitchen duties to act as a lady’s maid.
“I truly don’t need any assistance,” she told the housekeeper. “I’ve never had my own maid, you see.”
“Yes, Your Ladyship, but you’re married, now.”
She didn’t know what part of that comment was more disturbing, the fact she had just noticed that Mrs. Gardiner had been calling her by her new title or that the housekeeper believed her life had changed.
True, marriage had altered her status from poor relation to rich wife. She was Lady Fairfax, whereas she’d been simply Miss MacLeod a day ago. Montgomery, however, didn’t believe in her Gift, which was not an appreciable change in her life. No one had except her parents.
She was as lonely as she’d been for two years.
With the maid’s help, she dressed in the present from Aunt Lilly and her cousins, a lovely peignoir of lemon-colored silk that had been in Anne’s trousseau.
After the girl left, she brushed her hair until it curled around her shoulders, studying her reflection in the mirror and noting the flush on her cheeks.
Would a man consider her beautiful? Would Montgomery? Or would he even see her as she was, avoiding the wedding night as he’d avoided her for the whole of the day?
She was a bride without a bridegroom. A bride, deserted shortly after the ceremony. A bride, left in no doubt of her new husband’s antipathy for her.
One thing her marriage had brought her, however, was the freedom of her emotions. She was growing angrier by the moment.
Was she supposed to sit meekly in her room and wait for her husband? Then welcome him into her bed? She’d perform her duty, but she wasn’t going to like it.
Or him.
Let him mourn the woman he loved.
I don’t love you.
She didn’t love him, either.
Was it too much to wish for love? Was it too foolish to wish that someone watched the door in anticipation of her arrival?
Or listened to his watch to ensure that time, itself, hadn’t caused her delay?
Or to have someone stand at the bottom of the steps looking up, his hand on the banister, his eyes lighting up because he’d just seen her?
Was it so terrible to want something so simple, so fragile?
Montgomery’s eyes wouldn’t light up when she entered a room because he hadn’t chosen her. Of all the women in the world, he’d not singled her out to share his life. He’d no choice in the matter.
Neither had she.
She clenched her fists, then forced herself to relax her hands. The bubble of anger wouldn’t subside. However much she told herself that resentment had no practical purpose, she felt it, nonetheless.
Was she simply to be a leaf blown by a strong wind?
Always acquiescing to everyone’s plans for her?
She’d been a dutiful daughter. However, it had been more difficult to be a dutiful niece, a companionable cousin.
As the months passed, as one year faded into another, she’d found it more and more difficult to remain silent and agreeable.
Now, she was supposed to be a dutiful wife, submitting to her fate, silent when her husband abandoned her not an hour after their wedding.
Her marriage wasn’t going to change her life at all.
Yet in Montgomery’s enchanted mirror, she’d not been lonely. She’d had a family. She’d felt joy for that second, been surrounded by people who loved her.
How much had she really seen? Or had she imagined it all?
She could look again.
For the first time since she’d left Montgomery’s library, her spirit lightened. The mirror was somewhere in the house. Unless, of course, he’d returned it to its rightful owner. Yet Montgomery said he didn’t know to whom it belonged.
She glanced at the mantel clock. Where was he? Had Montgomery left for an evening of carousing? She should have taken advantage of Mrs. Gardiner’s solicitousness and inquired as to her husband’s whereabouts. She’d been too embarrassed, too ashamed to ask.
Removing her wrapper, she replaced it with her worn but sturdier robe, belted it tightly, and left the room, heading for the third floor.
Mrs. Gardiner urged her into her room, after looking both ways down the hall as if afraid the other servants would discover her on the third floor.
“Your Ladyship,” the housekeeper said, wrapping herself in a thick plaid robe, “how may I be of service?”
Once in the room, Veronica didn’t quite know how to ask.
“I’m looking for a mirror,” Veronica said.
Mrs. Gardiner’s lined face furrowed even more. “Is there not a mirror in your chamber?”
“A mirror with diamonds around the edge of the glass,” she said. “And writing across the back. I think it’s Latin.”
The housekeeper’s face smoothed with her smile. “The Scryer’s Mirror,” she said. “You know about the Scryer’s Mirror?” She studied Veronica for a moment. “Was it a bride’s gift, Your Ladyship?”
Lying was wrong. Standing there in the housekeeper’s room was, no doubt, wrong in another way. So was being abandoned by her husband.
Veronica smiled. “Do you know where it is?” Not quite a lie, but definitely not the truth.
“I do,” Mrs. Gardiner said. “Shall I bring it to you, Your Ladyship?”
“I don’t want to trouble you, Mrs. Gardiner. If you’ll tell me where it is, I’ll fetch it myself.”
For a moment she thought the housekeeper wouldn’t agree. A hand went to a curl neatly tied in a strip of white cloth. Evidently, Mrs. Gardiner was not too old for a little vanity. She obviously didn’t want to be seen outside her room prepared for sleep.
“You’ve been so kind to me, Mrs. Gardiner,” she said sincerely. “I truly don’t mind.”
The housekeeper studied her for a moment, a look reminiscent of that very room two nights ago, and how Mrs. Gardiner had sat propped up in bed watching her until she’d fallen asleep. She’d taken her duty seriously and evidently her loyalty as well.
Except Veronica was no longer just some girl to be watched. She was Lady Fairfax.
“It’s in His Lordship’s library,” the housekeeper said. “In the credenza. The third door. I placed it there myself.”
Before leaving Mrs. Gardiner, Veronica folded her hands together tightly, and asked, “Did you see anything in the mirror, Mrs. Gardiner?”
The housekeeper wouldn’t meet her eyes.
“I’m a godly woman, Your Ladyship.”
She nodded.
“Do you think the mirror is magic? Is that why you called it a scryer’s mirror?”
“Some say that magic is not the Lord’s province. It’s the Devil’s.”
Veronica didn’t comment.
“Still, it was a pretty sight I saw. All my nieces and nephews surrounding me, singing.” The housekeeper finally looked at her. “How can something so lovely be evil?”
She didn’t comment, merely thanked the older woman, and made her way back down the stairs.
On the third floor, the staircase was not as ornate, the balusters more simply carved. As she descended to the first floor, however, the carving became more elaborate, the banister mahogany instead of simple pine.
The steps curved at the landing instead of being squared, and as she reached the well-polished wooden floor, the soft glow of an oil lamp on the table beside the front door illuminated her way.
She’d extinguish the lamp on her way back to her room.
The beeswax and lemon polish used to buff the fine mahogany furniture mixed with the sandalwood from the potpourri pots, no doubt placed in strategic locations to offset the odor of the oil lamps.
Light pooled around the hallway table but not enough to illuminate the library. She stood at the doorway, staring into the room. Shadows enveloped the corners, draped over the desk and chairs.
She entered the room and lit the oil lamp on the corner of the desk. The wick caught flame, the glow expanding beyond the glass globe. For a moment, she watched it to ensure it was burning correctly, then looked around her as she’d not had the opportunity to do earlier.
Turning, she faced Montgomery’s desk. A leather-bound blotter sat in the middle of the desk, a pen case slightly to the right. A crystal inkwell rested an inch beyond the blotter. A small, japanned box rested on the left corner of the desk beside a bell.
What kind of work did Montgomery do when he sat there? Did he write letters home? In his next letter, would he mention her? Or would he keep their sudden marriage a secret from those he loved?
She wished she knew more about the man she’d married. Where was he? Or was that even a question she should ask?
Aunt Lilly had always been solicitous of Uncle Bertrand, but she’d never heard her aunt question her husband.
If her uncle volunteered information, Aunt Lilly was content enough.
Not once had she ever said to him, at least within Veronica’s hearing, “What will you be doing today, my dear?” Or, “With whom will you be meeting? Have you any plans?”
At the same time, her aunt was careful to ensure that her husband approved all her outings, including those involving the girls.