“My dear girl,” Edgar turned and tucked his arms behind his back. “My hope is that you will find comfort here. You’ll want for nothing.”

But why? she wondered. Why marry me? What about Ben?

It was the question she couldn’t ask aloud, as though asking would cross a line that laid bare at her feet. Edgar tapped her lightly on the shoulder and went back to his desk, returning to the papers he’d been studying earlier.

By leaving her there, conversation abandoned for busy work, he made it clear that their wedding night would be nontraditional. He would not touch her or share a bed with her. Though it relieved Remi, she felt utterly alone. Meeting the painted eyes of the woman above the mantelpiece, Remi stared long into their depths and wondered what it was like to be so loved, even in death.

“Feel free to visit my study whenever you like,” he said as she wandered to the door. “I have plenty of books for you to read if you’re interested. Borrow as many as you want.”

Remi nodded. “Thank you.”

“Goodnight,” he said.

Remi left, suddenly tired, as she found herself back in her new bed. That night, curled in the warm duvet, she dreamt of moths and weddings and ghostly faces watching her from the portraits on the walls.

EDGAR’S FUNERAL

REMI

MAY, 1898

Remi tugged at her collar, tracing a light touch over the line of buttons down the front of her mourning gown. The lace on the cuffs of her sleeves stuck to the crushed velvet bodice of the dress, and she recoiled her fingers. Crushed velvet made her skin crawl, but every piece of cold-weather clothing she’d inherited from her cousin was made with it. She was not surprised that, when her cousin offered to have her dress made, it was in a fashion that suited Elise’s tastes.

“I really shouldn’t complain,” Remi whispered under her breath as she appraised herself in the mirror. After all, it was the first dress she had ever commissioned for her body.

There have been many firsts lately, she thought solemnly, eyeing the locket at the base of her throat, polished gold against her black fabric collar. First husband, first funeral, first love—all contained within one place. It felt appropriate to wear Edgar’s gift now, even if she wasn’t supposed to wear jewelry.

“It’s a tribute to his memory,” she said aloud.

A moment later, just as she was pinning her hair, a loud knock came from the other side of her door. She hastened to open it, expecting it to be Elise, and her heart dropped.

Tante Beline stood in the doorway, her face pinched. Her tight lips barely moved as she spoke. “Remi.”

You are the lady of the house, Remi reminded herself. She cannot intimidate you.

“Salut, Tante Beline.”

Beline bristled at the greeting as she strode into the room. She sized it up soundlessly, her expression unreadable when she finally rested her eyes on Remi again.

What she lacked in natural maternity, Beline made up for in rigid etiquette. It was the reason their family was so well-respected and had earned Beline her place as the head of the Bleue Isle Ladies’ Tea Society. The coveted role required a nomination and an election. The society was made up of the finest women on the island, and no lady with a good name was left out. Except for Remi, who suspected her invitation would never arrive. Especially now that she was a widow.

Unfailingly predictable, Beline sized Remi up and found her appearance lacking. “No jewelry. You’re a widow now.”

“I know, but I thought⁠—”

“And your dress! Remi, it’s far too gaudy for a funeral. What were you thinking?” Beline’s nostrils flared, disappointment replacing the dour look from before. “No wonder your home is in complete disarray.”

Remi opened her mouth to speak, then closed it.

“Regardless, the necklace must come off.” Beline tapped the spot of her chest where the locket rested on Remi’s.

“Thank you, Tante Beline.” Remi unclasped the necklace and set it carefully on her bedside table. “Your advice is always welcome.”

“It’s clear that you are in desperate need of me. I should have come sooner.” Beline approached the bed, scoffing at the state of the duvet. “Your maid is severely lacking in her duties.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Remi lied. Sylvie was slipping in her day-to-day work, but she was also the only one keeping up with the house.

“Where is she? The maid, I mean. There’s plenty of work to be done yet.” Beline did not linger in Remi’s room a second longer and strolled out into the hall, followed by Remi.

“Tante Beline, she’s busy,” Remi tried to argue. “Perhaps if you told me⁠—”

Beline scoffed. “Remi, you are the Lady of the house. Chores are not becoming of your station.”

“Yes, but⁠—”

It wasn’t so unusual for her to lend a helping hand once in a while, but she would never admit that aloud. Not to Tante Beline.

“No buts.”

Giggles and light-hearted chatter cut off the conversation. Beline looked sharply toward the sound, her ears perking up. She continued down the hall, the smug look on her face worsening the pit in Remi’s stomach as they came upon Sylvie and Ben. His door was wide open, and she carried a pile of sheets in her arms.

“You were correct. She’s quite busy, dawdling about when there’s work yet to be done.” Beline muttered.

In an attempt to save herself from another lecture, Remi called out, “Sylvie?”

Sylvie tensed, her eyes wide. She held the bedsheets closer to her chest and braced herself. “Madame, good morning.”

“Sylvie, where have you been?” Remi asked, ignoring Ben’s eyes on her as he walked past. She didn’t have time for him, especially with Beline breathing down her neck.

“I’ve been cleaning the guest quarters,” Sylvie stammered.

Remi tamped down her guilt at being so abrasive. Sylvie was the only one she’d been able to rely on for the past month, but having Beline there made the roiling nausea in her gut win out over her usual pragmatism. It worsened with every syllable that left Beline’s lips, every pointed look that spelled out her disapproval.

“Goodness, Remi. Tell the girl to finish her chores,” Beline sneered from behind her, taking advantage of the silence. “This place is filthy; it needs a good dusting, at the very least.”

Sylvie looked to Remi, pleading. “Madame, I have so much to do yet. Master Ben has asked⁠—”

Remi raised a hand to stop her. “Take your laundry to the washroom, Sylvie,” Remi said. “I expect all of your chores to be finished before you turn in for the night.”

“Yes, Madame,” Sylvie stammered, hurrying away.

“You should have her dismissed,” Beline muttered loudly enough for Sylvie to hear. She brushed past Remi and ran one finger along the banister as she took the stairs, inspecting her dusty finger with a loud “tsk.” Once Beline was out of earshot, Remi sagged against the wall. Squeezing her eyes shut, she sucked in a deep, steadying breath. There was a low throb in her temples and her chest felt tight.

It’s just one day, she told herself. She can’t do more than what she’s done already.

But Remi was wrong. Raised voices traveled up the stairs to her, tugging her forward. Remi took the stairs quickly, joining her aunt, an apologetic-looking Elise, and the lawyer at the bottom.

“Inexcusable!” Beline cried out. “I don’t understand why we can not all be present for the reading.”