Chapter 10
Ten
The dress Alex chose fits as if it were made for me.
Its graceful neckline sweeps across my shoulders, exposing their freckled tops before falling into subtle ruffles that cover my upper arms. The fabric is embroidered with vines along the edges of the Basque waist and layered, bell-shaped skirt.
I recall seeing samples of this fabric in one of Papa’s swatch books.
Chinese silk taffeta, in a rare shade of periwinkle blue.
Fine and very, very expensive. This dress must have been Lucrezia’s.
One her modiste made from the same fabric I helped Papa choose years ago, when I was but a girl.
Even though Rebecca was the fashionable one, Papa always trusted my instincts when choosing our inventory for his mercantile.
How strange for my old life to intersect with my new one.
I take it as a sign. A hopeful one. I think Papa would approve of Alex.
Perhaps, in some small way, this is his way of guiding my future, and giving me his blessing, from beyond the grave.
I glance at myself in the mirror above my dressing table, pinching my cheeks.
The color of the fabric enhances the violet tone of my eyes, and livens my sallow skin.
I step into the hall. Candlelight streams through the open library doors, beckoning me.
Inside, Alex has laid the table with china and crystal, sparkling in the light of a multiarmed candelabra, fitted with sperm oil candles.
No smoking tallow at Angel’s Rest. A roast sits on the table, surrounded by carrots and potatoes.
The smell is so delicious it makes my head spin.
“Miss Jones,” Alex says, rising as I enter. He looks even more handsome than usual, dressed in formal dinner clothes, a silk cravat tied at his throat. His dark waves gleam. The candlelight etches shadows beneath his high cheekbones, accenting the lift of his smile. “I see the dress fits.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, gesturing to the layered skirt.
“This fabric. My fa—” I bite my tongue, cursing myself for my near, careless slip.
I’ve decided to tell Alex my father was a soldier, not a merchant, if he ever asks about my family.
I long to be truthful with him about my former life, but I cannot.
The stakes are much too high. “The dress is very fine. Thank you.”
“Well, it seems a shame to let it go unworn. Beautiful things deserve to be enjoyed. Please, will you join me?”
I sit next to him, and he pours wine into the crystal goblet nearest me. I raise it to my lips and drink. It’s rich and dark, with an underlying peppery tone.
“Zinfandel,” Alex says with a smile. “A newer wine variety. Have you ever tasted anything like it?”
“I can’t say that I have.” It’s been so many years since I’ve enjoyed a proper, seated dinner, much less wine. Papa preferred ale and cider with supper, although Mother would insist upon French wine for formal occasions. “It’s delightful.”
Alex carves the roast and serves it to me, ladling sauce over the meat.
I dredge the meat in the sauce and lift my fork to my mouth.
A moan of pleasure escapes my lips. It’s so tender it melts on my tongue.
After years of near starvation in prison and in the marsh, and nothing but broth and soup during my recovery, this meal feels worthy of a queen.
It makes me curious about Alex’s financial standing, and how he can afford such sumptuous food.
“Is it good?” he asks, his eyes sparkling.
“Heavens, yes,” I say, laughing. I carve another piece with my knife, savoring the taste more slowly this time.
“Perhaps in a day or so, we might try the stairs, and have supper together in the dining room,” Alex says. “I’m pleased with how your recovery is progressing, but you still need to build your strength.”
I thrill at the thought of more dinners with Alex. Not just because of the decadent food, but his company. “Meals like this will certainly help, I think. I already feel quite restored.”
He takes a drink of his wine, the liquid staining his lips berry dark. I imagine the feel of those lips against my throat, and press a hand against my face to cool it.
“I think it might be best for you to remain here, after your recovery, Miss Jones. Have you heard any news from Charleston?”
I still. Lift my wineglass again, my mind going in a thousand directions at once. “No, I haven’t,” I lie.
“Two young women have been found murdered in the city. Very unusual circumstances. Exsanguination.”
“I don’t know what that means.” I compose my face and concentrate on carving my roast into orderly squares.
“It means their bodies were drained completely of blood. It’s extraordinary.”
“How terribly gruesome.”
“Yes. It is. The first was a prostitute. The other a planter’s daughter, a young woman out on an evening walk alone.” Alex leans forward in his chair, studying me. “I think it’s very unsafe for a woman to be alone, don’t you?”
“It seems so.”
“I’m glad Ruby brought you here, Mary. Brought you to me. There are far too many monsters in this world.”
Alex’s fingers brush my hand. I shiver, a tingle of delicious longing trembling through me at the sound of my new Christian name on his lips.
If he believes me to have any part in these murders, it doesn’t show.
There’s only concern, and a disarming warmth in his eyes.
I take a deep breath, my other hand unclenching beneath the table. “I’m glad of it, too.”
After we finish our meal, Alex escorts me to my room and turns down my bed. “Tomorrow, after your lessons with Ruby, let’s walk the upstairs hall to build your endurance. And the day after, we’ll try the stairs.”
“I’d like that,” I say. “Thank you.”
“Good night, Mary. Sleep well.”
After he leaves, I undress down to my shift, folding the beautiful dress and placing it in one of the bureau drawers.
A faint hint of Lucrezia’s perfume lingers in the fabric.
Something earthy and exotic, like incense from the Orient.
I wonder what she looked like. What made Alex fall in love with her.
Whatever it could have been, I hope that in some small way, I might inspire the same affection, given enough time.
If tonight’s conversation is any indication, Alex wants me to stay here, with him, at Angel’s Rest. Perhaps, as Mary Jones the orphaned young governess, I might have a new chance at life—and love—yet.