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)
“Maddie,” I began as I watched her nibble.
“My—I mean Alexander?”
I smiled at her. “Why do you eat so little? Are you still uncomfortable with me?”
She sighed. “I wasn’t allowed much to eat. He—Father—had strict instructions as to what I was allowed and how much. It was always the end bits, the slightly burnt, or the leftovers.”
“You will have only the best. Always. I want you to eat until you are satisfied. And anytime you want something, ask for it,” I said earnestly, leaning toward her. “I never want you hungry. And if there is something you desire, make it known. The servants want to make you happy. I want you to be happy.”
She blinked, turning her head so I would not see the tears in her eyes.
“Your life is different now. You must cease being afraid, for nothing will harm you. I will not allow it. Do you understand?”
She lifted her glorious gaze to mine. “I do. I will try. I wish to please you.”
“Then eat.” I paused. “And remove your gloves.”
“But people will see. I was never allowed to remove my gloves. Father forbade it.”
“Your father is no longer here and never will be. And if they see, let them. Your scars show you survived something. Do not allow your father’s warped transgressions against you to color your decisions going forward. Besides, I have an idea.”
“An idea?”
“There is a healer in the village. She makes things—potions, ointments—like your friend’s mother did. When I burned my hand last year, it was her salve that gave me relief. Even my physician agrees with her methods. I will take you to see her. Perhaps she can help diminish the scars and dull some of the stiffness they cause.”
I had noticed her grimace a few times when using her hands, and I didn’t like it.
“We will go see her tomorrow. But I would like you to try no gloves in my presence. They do not offend me except that the person who inflicted the wounds should be punished. But not you.”
She hesitated, meeting my eyes in a silent plea. I nodded in encouragement. “Trust me, my wife.”
I waited until she peeled off her gloves, shutting her eyes as the warm air drifted over them. She lifted her hands, rolling them gracefully, allowing them to feel the sun and breeze for the first time in what I imagined was a long while. I smiled at the innocent tableau in front of me and marveled at her bravery in doing what I asked.
Then she picked up a jam puff and ate it, allowing herself to enjoy it. A hum of pleasure escaped her mouth, and I wondered what noise she would make when I kissed her.
I wanted to find out.
I moved closer, still holding her hands. “Will you tell me, Maddie? Why your father treated you as he did?”
She lifted her shoulders. “I do not know. He was never a warm or affectionate father. He never spent much time with me except to show me off at gatherings. I spent most of my time with my momma. But I didn’t fear him. They met when she was staying here, having fled Paris. From what she always said, he swept her off her feet, married her, and she stayed here in England. I thought they were happy. I remember balls and parties and Momma looking beautiful.” She paused, as if in thought. “About two weeks after she passed, I was pulled from my room and taken to the servants’ quarters. My clothes were changed, my life thrown into chaos. I was informed I was no longer the daughter of the house. I was a servant and would be treated as such.” She paused, a faraway look in her eyes. “My father punished anyone who tried to help or protect me. The servants did what they could, making sure to teach me everything I needed to know. Shielded me from some of the more difficult tasks when my father wasn’t around. When he was, he was the hardest on me. Any infraction was noted. I was punished often. My rations were always smaller than anyone else’s. At first, they all tried to give me more, but as time wore on and the servants changed, I simply became what he wanted. A servant with no name or dowry. No hope of a better life.” She slipped her hand into mine, the shock of her touch surprising me. “Until you, Alexander.”
I stroked her skin, feeling the scars on her flesh as if they were mine. Hating her story and knowing she wasn’t telling the entire truth. She was still afraid—or perhaps too traumatized by the past.
“Thank you for telling me,” I murmured, touching her cheek. “For trusting me.”
She smiled, the hesitancy of it once again bothering me. I wanted her to be free and open with me. I wanted her smiles, her laughter. With a start, I realized I wanted to give her mine.