Chapter 15- Daisy
E ven marriages of convenience involve compromise.
This morning, I missed having breakfast with my husband yet again. I’ll need to set an alarm to catch the early bird during his run. “Follow me, Goldilocks,” he says, appearing just as I’ve finished my meal.
Though he’s very dashing in his business suits, I’m disappointed to see it. Not just because I like catching him in his running shorts but because it means he’ll be heading to work soon. But, I dutifully follow him down the hall past the portraits on the wall.
“So many Barclays on the wall. Who are those three ladies?” They are strikingly severe looking women despite their Shirley Temple curls and lacy collars.
“Three of my grandfather's sisters when they were around twenty. They’re triplets.”
“Triplets! That’s very unusual, isn’t it? Especially as I’m a twin.”
“If she’s anything like you, I imagine your sister is much more pleasant than they are.”
“Oh.” Come to think of it, he didn’t sound too pleased when Lincoln mentioned their great aunts. “Have you ever considered taking down the portraits?”
He shrugs. “They have been here since before I was born.”
“So, you like them there?”
“I didn’t say that.”
Walking on, he leads me to the mostly closed-off third floor. I’ve not seen much of this part of the house but it’s been cleaned recently, thanks to the large crew Mr. Radcliffe had hired the day I arrived.
With a self-conscious glance my way, Grant opens the door to a large bedroom suite. It’s a bit dreary with the dark wood paneling and limited lighting. The most interesting parts of the room are the portrait of a baby hanging on the wall and the fact that the windows face the hedge maze. I can see its design if I stand on my tiptoes and there’s a tree far off that must be inside the maze which I hadn’t noticed from ground level.
“Who’s the cute baby?” I ask about the painting. Whoever it is, they’re too young for me to accurately guess the gender.
Grant stares at the painting for a moment before answering. “He wasn’t a Barclay.”
“I thought not. They’re actually smiling.”
“Very true.”
Something about his enigmatic smirk makes me want to ask more but I soon realize what Grant has in mind by showing me this room. All my art supplies have been brought up here while I’ve enjoyed my morning visit with the ducks. There are heavy drop cloths covering the floor and what little furniture is up here.
“Is this for me?” I ask, mustering a smile.
“Yes, I thought it might make a suitable studio. Quieter, and you needn’t worry over the mess so much.”
I had made a big mess the other day and, though Mrs. Keating and the new maid Angelica had tried valiantly to help me, it hadn’t been cleaned up before Grant had arrived. He’d studied my latest piece, a very large canvas of ‘finger painting,’ and scowled at the puddle where my paint bottle had tipped over.
He means to be kind, I think, but this gesture makes me feel like the proverbial flower in the attic, shoved out of sight and locked out of mind. Does he hate my art?
I tell myself that’s unfair of me, that Grant hasn’t really said anything unkind about my painting and he doesn’t understand lighting with an artist’s eye or what it’s like to have strangers make you feel like your very existence offends them.
“This will work nicely, thanks,” I say, stepping up to kiss his cheek.
“Yes, well…” His jaw clenches from the peck but I catch the flash of a half smile before he schools his expression once more. “You have plans today.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
Tabitha Culver and Callie Anderson, two of the ladies from Golden Gate, are going dress shopping with me today for the charity ball. I suspect Grant had something to do with that but I look forward to seeing them again, particularly Callie who was the first person to befriend me there when I was just the new cleaning girl and she caught me snarfing down a stray sandwich from some catered meeting.
I plan to visit Mimi while I’m in the city as well. I’ll just need to get Anders off my tail for a short while.
“I’ve hired a stylist to meet you in the city before you meet up with Callie and Tabitha.”
I look up from my array of art supplies. “You what?”
“You need more than a gown for the ball, Daisy. You need a suitable wardrobe for everyday. These clothes will do for painting and visiting ducks but they’re not something you can wear when we go out. Especially when we travel to Vancouver. I figured a stylist could help you select the right things and look the part.”
“Look the part. Right.” It’s harder to muster a smile this time as I glance down at my dark denim overalls. I’d picked them up at the second hand shop across from the art supply store a few days ago.
Casting about the room, eager to look anywhere but at him, I see my reflection in the window pane. I look ridiculous beside him dressed like this. Was he embarrassed being with me in the city on Saturday? What else about me doesn’t look the part? That hateful voice I bury deep inside me whispers, “Everything.”
“Daisy?”
“Hmm?”
He steps up to me, turning me to face him with his long fingers caressing the thick golden braid I’d put my hair in this morning as he gently pulls it over my shoulder. “I find your overalls adorably you. I don’t wish to change that. It’s just… the people in my world, people like Lincoln, can be very unpleasant when they think-”
“That I don’t belong. I understand.” It’s another reminder, even if it’s kindly meant, that I don’t fit into his world and never will.
You don’t want that anyway, do you?
I told myself I didn’t.
“That’s not it, Daisy, I swear. It’s that I never wish for you to feel ill-at-ease when you’re by my side,” he murmurs. Then, he kisses my forehead and strides away, leaving my heart all achy and unsure.