After appraising their exchange with glittering eyes, Edgar nodded and excused himself. Remi wondered absently where he was going but did not think to ask.
“Monsieur told me that you might want a bath?” Sylvie grinned.
Remi’s skin tingled at the mention of a bath. “That would be nice, thank you.”
Remi unsteadily followed Sylvie down the hall. Her gown rushed behind her in a cascade of fabric, too heavy to bear for much longer without a bustle to hold it in place. She should have asked for an extra hand but was loath to bother Tante Beline for anything. Instead, Remi spent the rest of her reception carrying what bunched-up fabric she could hold onto until her hand was cramped and the festivities dwindled. Once they were safely in the washroom, a light gray room with green accents, Remi shed its weight, glad to be rid of it. From her first fitting, the disdain she’d held for the gown grew. She would be sure to tuck it away into some hidden space with the hope that it would be lost to time and eaten away by moths.
“The water is ready, Madame,” Sylvie said.
Remi slipped into the clawfoot tub and sighed with relief. She’d felt like an outsider all day, misplaced in a story that wasn’t meant for her. It was still hard to wrap her mind around the fact that the marriage was real, though there was no denying it when the proof was wrapped around her ring finger. Remi frowned and dropped her hand below the water’s surface to hide the polished gold band.
“Sylvie, I suspect you are new as well.”
“I am, Madame.”
Remi shifted in the tub, leaning forward as the maid scrubbed her back. “Might I confide in you?”
“Please, Madame. Nothing would make me happier.” She sounded sincere.
“Will I be…sleeping alone?”
“Monsieur said that you would be comfortable in that room.”
“Yes, but will he send for me?” Remi swallowed her fear. She was not so naive a woman that she was unaware of what happened on the wedding night. She knew what was next, what was meant to happen. She’d been preparing for it, ready to move forward, but that seemed odd now that she’d been given her own room.
Confused, Sylvie said, “I was told you were tired.”
“Oh, yes. I suppose I am.”
Remi finished her bath in peace, dressing in a simple nightgown before Sylvie led her back to the ornate bedroom. On the duvet, a neatly wrapped box waited for her. As Remi opened it, Sylvie parted the sheets and waited patiently.
“What is it, Madame?”
“A wedding gift?” Remi beheld the gold locket inside, heart-shaped and embellished with an ‘L’ surrounded by little flowers—wisteria. She lifted it from its velvet pillow carefully. “It’s a necklace.”
She held it up for Sylvie to see. Her doe eyes widened, and she smiled.
“It’s beautiful, Madame! Would you like to wear it now?”
“Tomorrow, perhaps.” Remi held it for a second longer before putting it away. When she closed the box, she felt a shard of ice pierce her heart. It was a beautiful gift, but not one she felt ready to wear yet. Her marriage had been rushed, her relationship with Edgar stilted, if not altogether awkward. She was young, and marrying someone older wasn’t unheard of, but she had reservations about the arrangement. Initially, when her uncle mentioned it in passing, she was delighted by the notion of marrying into the Leone family.
How foolish she felt when she learned the truth about her groom later on.
Remi climbed into bed and waited for Sylvie to finish tending the fire. She hoped that once her head hit the pillows, she would feel the day’s exhaustion settle in completely.
“Goodnight, Madame,” Sylvie said.
“Goodnight, Sylvie. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
The maid nodded and bowed out into the hallway, disappearing as the door closed.
Almost an hour later, Remi tossed and turned in her bed. The mattress, like everything else—including herself—was new and untouched. Its stiff, cold shape did not cradle her figure like the one at Tante Beline’s.
Remi threw the covers back, first too warm and then too cold. She could not keep her eyes closed long enough to grasp the edges of sleep as it evaded her. What she would do for a visit from Somnus, to be sent into baleful dreams as she wanted. But the house creaked as the wind blew, and Remi’s mind wandered to far darker corners than those of a golden childhood spent with a boy whose hair was as warm as his eyes.
Remi moved the blankets from her legs and slipped on her dressing robe. A quick look through her bedside drawer turned up a matchbox, and she lit the candle Sylvie left behind. Grasping it with a shaking hand, she started down the hall from her room. She felt out of sorts, remembering at time when she was young and happily traipsing through the manor, rather than tiptoeing quietly through the night.
Like being in the belly of a great beast, she thought.
Time may have aged her, but the manor remained as large and expansive as ever. There were the family’s quarters on one end and a partition on the other half dedicated to guests. In the days before it closed its doors, the manor used to welcome plenty of visitors. But that was years ago, back when his wife was alive. Their wedding was the first time anyone was allowed to step foot inside again.
An absolute privilege, she heard her uncle’s voice echo in her mind. I wonder what flowery words he used to convince my father to let me marry.
Still, it was hard to forget, given that he’d delivered the line more than once to guests who were curious about their match. It made her ponder the question of whose privilege it really was to marry into the Leone family. Hers or her uncle’s.
Creeping further down the hall, Remi observed paintings of landscapes and people as they stretched on into endless shadows. She did not dare go near the guest’s quarters, knowing some were sleeping there. Instead, she headed for the stairs to the first floor. It was quiet and still, with no servants to catch her sneaking about. Still, a house as old as the Leone’s, steeped in a troubled past, must have eyes watching from somewhere in the walls.
It would make for an excellent ghost story, she thought, shuddering at her own admission. It was curious enough behavior to wander the halls so late, but stranger still to imagine that something might be watching her.
Remi went past the cellar door, spying a light at the end of the hall, just beyond the kitchen. A golden glow beckoned from within; she hurried her pace as the floorboards creaked beneath her feet.
Two doors were cracked open at the end of the hall. Curious, she peeked inside.
Edgar sat behind a large desk, reading a stack of papers, his eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose. He was as she remembered him so many years ago, though the silver in his hair chased away the darker roots. A few more wrinkles joined at the corners of his lips, and the crow’s feet beside his eyes were deeper. He seemed at ease, though tired and weary. So much of Ben lingered there that it was hard to ignore her imagination and what fantasies it conjured.
Enough of that! Ben is gone; you are married to Edgar! Remi sucked in a deep breath but covered her mouth too slowly to hide it. Edgar looked up.
“Hello?” he called out. “Come in.”
