Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Where did the liniment come from?” I queried.
“One of the servants had a mother who was a healer. I twisted my foot badly, and she kindly made it up for me. Between that and the bandages, it healed quickly.”
“Ah.” There was a healer in the village by Wheaton whom I consulted with from time to time.
“I had to hide it from my father.”
“The liniment?”
“All of it. The small rags I tore for bandages. The fact that I spoke with people in the stables. Or aided the servants.”
“Your father is the devil,” I stated mildly.
A ghost of a smile graced her lips, but she remained quiet, stroking her fingers gently along the injured area, never hurting, only soothing. She stopped and reached into the bag again, producing some rolled rags. She tied one around my foot so it was tight, but not painful. She handed me a small bundle of linen, and I opened it to find an apple, bread, and cheese nestled inside.
“You did not eat at the inn. I thought perhaps you would need sustenance.”
Something warm cracked inside my chest, leaking throughout my person. She was incredibly kind and caring. Sweet in her thoughts and gestures. Given the situation she had left behind, it was a pleasing surprise to discover that she wasn’t bitter and angry.
“Thank you.”
“Keep your foot relaxed and up,” she encouraged. “I believe that aids the healing as well.”
I munched the apple and ate the bread and cheese. I longed for a whiskey but knew that would have to wait until we reached Wheaton. Madeleine pulled on her gloves, then placed her things back in her bandbox, but as we hit another jarring bump, it fell from her hands, a few items falling to the floor and seat of the carriage. Some small pieces of paper fluttered in the air, and I pulled one down, examining it.
It was a sketch done in pencil. I was amazed at the detail in the small etching. How lifelike the petals and stems were of the flowers. I lifted my gaze, meeting hers.
“Is this your illustration?”
“Y-yes,” she stuttered.
“Have you others?”
She nodded, and I held out my hand. “I would like to see them, if you please.”
She hesitated and then reached into her bag, pushing a few scraps of rag paper into my hand. Each sketch was a delight for the eyes. Flowers, horses, a meadow. One of Lydia, the likeness so clear on the small scrap, it was as if I were staring at a portrait.
“Madeleine, you are talented.”
She didn’t respond.
I held up the minute pile. “Why on such scraps?”
“Only what my father discarded. I didn’t dare take a sheet from his desk. And I had only the very stubs of pencils to use.”
“I do not understand your father’s mind-set. Why you have been treated as a maid.”
“Nor do I, my lord.” She sighed as I handed her the pretty scraps. “Sometimes I wish it were not so. Sometimes…” She trailed off.
“Sometimes?”
Her voice was so low I had to strain to hear it. “There were moments I hated my father. I wished him gone. I prayed he wasn’t my real father, and I would be taken elsewhere to live a different life. I wanted to run, but I had nowhere to go. There were times I wished to spit in his tea. Infest his study with mice, which he loathed, so he would return to the city until they were gone. Add salt peter to his food. My thoughts were wicked, and my father often told me I was wicked as well. As if he knew my thoughts.”
I withheld my laughter at her supposed wickedness.
“My thoughts would have been far darker,” I assured her. “Nor do I believe you to be wicked.”
She shook her head in disbelief, settled her bag back under her skirts, and stared out the window.
The afternoon light accentuated her profile. She would be a great beauty once she was stronger. Healthier. I suspected she had many hidden depths which needed to be encouraged. I imagined her smile would be a wondrous sight.
I was surprised to realize I would like to see that smile.
To have it directed toward me.
I was also astounded to discover that she was quite fascinating.
“Do you have other interests?” I asked.
She frowned. “At one time, I did, my lord. Many.”
“Such as?”
“I played the piano, did needlepoint, had dance lessons, and studied French. My mother taught me to sew and how to garden. She was a different sort of lady, and she loved to cook. She taught me several dishes. I used to love to read and to stroll in the garden. I loved to swim. To play cards. Do figures.”
I gaped at her list of accomplishments. She had been raised as a lady with some interesting twists to her personality.
“Figures?” I asked, curious.
“My grandmother was a little eccentric. When her husband died, she eschewed society. She taught my mother everything she needed, but also many things ladies are not shown. I can use a sword rather well too.”