Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Reunion

Maxine

“Milady, awaken. We’re here.”

I started awake and looked around the carriage.

It appeared it was mid-morning. There were sunny skies, but (don’t ask me, it was a thing with this world), I felt the freshness to the day.

And outside the carriage windows, I saw across the wide sidewalk, the massive, four-story graystone (instead of brownstone) where I started this nightmare.

We were in Newton.

Allow me to catch you up on the things I’d learned.

First, there was a reason Idina was reserved (and I should have figured it out myself).

Dad had bullied her, threatened her and demanded she report everything about me to him in the minutest detail.

She was terrified of him, and she not only liked me, she’d been a lady’s maid for a while (in fact, her last “lady” had passed away, and her grief was exacerbating her reserve), thus she explained, “As you know, the relationship is sacrosanct. You don’t inform on your lady. Ever. I didn’t want to do that to you, but I didn’t know how to deny him.”

So that explained that.

Next, when you only stop to attend the call of nature, have a quick cup of tea and a sandwich while the horses on your carriage were being switched out before you were on your way again, a three-day journey turned into a day-and-a-half one.

Onward from that, I’d ridden in the more opulent carriage in which I went to Pinkwick House, doing this with Idina. Ansley and Dad-not-Dad rode in the carriage behind, with two riders on horses flanking them, probably as extra manpower so Edgar wouldn’t think to try anything.

This meant I couldn’t pump Edgar, or Ansley for that matter, for information so I could continue to ride this wave that seemed to be breaking my way.

However, Idina wandered off, as it was clear servants didn’t hang with their “betters” when other “betters” were around (though, once she’d shared what had gone down with her and Dad-not-Dad, we’d had some lovely conversations in the carriage, in between jostled bouts of trying to sleep, that was).

So, while I sipped tea and nibbled sandwiches, I spoke with Ansley.

Fortunately, he was figuring everything out (translation: fitting what he was learning to what he knew, even if most of it wasn’t true, and I didn’t enlighten him, which sucked, and felt like lying, because it was, and that wasn’t fun due to the fact he was a super cool guy).

This being, after Maxine had been injured, for whatever dastardly ends Edgar had (Ansley hadn’t figured that out yet), Mom and I had been banished to Fleuridia and Edgar had faked Mom’s death.

Incidentally, she’d killed herself in her favorite gazebo by sitting in it and setting it afire. Now, either the woman was in such pain she wanted to make absolutely sure that pain ended (though, she did it in what had to be an excruciatingly painful way), or she didn’t actually kill herself.

Truth be told, Edgar was such a dick, I had my suspicions that she didn’t.

In fact, I was putting things together too, and I had the feeling the asshole killed her.

Ansley knew she didn’t, because we were racing to rescue her.

However, he now surmised her charred body was not hers, and instead a cadaver, or some poor “street urchin” (his words) that Edgar used in place of his wife. Taking this further (to myself, in reality, my this-world mom was dead, and I didn’t like to think of that), since they didn’t have DNA or other such things they could test, it was easy for him to get away with something like that.

Considering I was banished in Fleuridia with my mother through all this, while Ansley ruminated on these things, I could play dumb.

Sadly, we didn’t often stop to change horses, and when we were stopped, we weren’t for long, so finding out my mom of this world burned to death in her favorite gazebo was unwanted, but informative news.

It was also all I got.

Last, this time, unlike last time, when I wasn’t trying to sleep, or talking to Idina, I’d paid attention on the journey.

They didn’t have signs that announced village names, but there were ways to find out (like the sign above Sydawell Mercantile, in what had to be Sydawell). I also saw bakers, butchers and blacksmiths (obviously) and shingles out for thatchers and dressmakers and coopers.

Most everything was clean and sparkly and had a bent to a mashup of Disney’s Fantasyland and an exceptionally conceived renaissance festival.

It was fascinating and amazing to see.

But it looked like the good news was, I’d get one thing accomplished, having Mom back and Maxine safe wherever she needed to be.

However, now that I could focus on it, my worry was that the bigger hurdle would be getting us back home.

Which meant I had to ponder the concept we’d have to figure out how to be there for a while until I could find a way home.

I was no baker, butcher, or dressmaker, and neither was Mom.

But I was the one out free in this world, so I had to do some reconnaissance and at least know a little something about where we were stuck.

So I was thinking ahead, even if I couldn’t quite plan ahead.

Loren, by the by, took off while the servants were loading the trunks on the carriages back at Pinkwick House.

He swung up on a big steed with a glossy, luxuriant brown coat and black shading along his nose and around his feet. He tipped his chin to me with a low, sexy, “Countess,” then dug his heels in his mount and took off, long cape flying behind him and everything.

It was hot.

I hadn’t seen him since.

Which was a bummer.

That was, it was a bummer until now.

Since he was currently striding across the sidewalk looking gorgeous wearing tan breeches, a navy-blue coat, a white shirt that was frothy at the chest (and he worked it), this underpinned by a black waistcoat and grounded in black boots.

No neckcloth.

I’ll say it again.

Hot.

He came to my carriage door and opened it.

I was suddenly very aware that I still had the hairdo I had at dinner a day and a half ago.

Though with a “traveling costume” which was a lot like my last one, except the train was longer, it was a salmon color, and there was silk frogging on the jacket and around the skirt above where it kicked out wide in a graceful sweep.

He offered a hand, I took it, and he helped me down the steps.

When I got to my feet, I looked up at him.

“Hey,” I whispered.

His head twitched, as did his lips, and he replied, also in a whisper, “Hey.”

“Milady, I’m sorry to interrupt, but…your hat,” Idina called.

I turned and saw nothing but, suspended in what seemed like mid-air out the carriage door, the massive salmon concoction that was mostly stiff netting edged in darker silk binding or ribbon that had a variety of frills and flips with some feathers sticking out.

I felt myself blush (blush! God!) as Loren reached out and took the hat (because this felt strangely like he was reaching out and touching my person), then he offered it to me.

I took it, put it on my head, and now Idina, clearly one to be thorough, was proffering an enormous, gilded hatpin.

Loren took that too, and again extended it to me.

My cheeks flamed as I took it.

Why was this embarrassing me?

Better question…

Why did it feel so intimate?

It took effort, but I focused entirely on pinning the hat to my head, because, if I didn’t hit a hank of hair, that pin would hurt.

I managed that, then, as Ansley strolled our way from the carriage that came to a halt behind us, somewhat desperately, I noted, “I’m pleased we made such good time, but can we go immediately to where my mother is?”

At this point, I saw the carriage Ansley was in clip clopping away.

I glanced around.

No Edgar.

“Where’s Father?” I asked.

“Being taken to jail,” Ansley answered.

Not blushing anymore, I felt the blood drain from my face.

“What? Why? He must—”

“My lady,” Loren said quietly, and I turned to him. “Your mother and sister were released hours ago when Maitland and I arrived here.”

I stared.

“Your sister’s doctor has been called and will arrive with haste,” he continued. “We offered your mother a maid, a meal and a bath, but she won’t let go of your sister and is refusing anything until she sees you. I have assured her you are well, and your arrival is imminent.”

I grasped the froth of his shirt in my gloved hand. “Where is she?”

“She’s inside.”

“You brought her here? How was she? Is she okay?”

“Okay?”

“Healthy. Well. Strong.”

“We didn’t bring her here. She was already here. She was imprisoned in the cellars.”

I stared again, though I spoke through it this time.

“But he…took me on a carriage ride, blindfolded, before he showed me where she was.”

“I’m afraid, if he did that to you, it was a ruse,” Loren murmured.

“She was…in the same house with me all along?” I said in a small voice.

Could that even be?

She was right there?

With me?

While I was Eliza Doolittling, she was suffering in the basement?

“I’m sorry,” he said in a quiet tone.

It was then I noticed a man who was big and tall and strong, like Loren, and handsome, like Loren (though not as handsome as Loren), strolling out the front door to Dad-not-Dad’s townhome.

And I wondered what in good hell I was doing standing on the sidewalk talking to Loren.

I bound-thighs ran to the steps, up them, past the new hot guy, and pushed into the house.

“Mom!” I shouted.

“Baby?” I heard from my left.

Edgar’s sitting room.

I ran that way.

And there she was, dirty, disheveled, much thinner than I’d ever seen her, in a filthy, white nightgown from this world, Maxine in the same state, clinging to her side.

Right, Mom and I had scrimped and saved and made do and dug in when necessary, and dug ourselves out when that was necessary. I’d started working at fourteen to help. We weren’t hard. But we were survivors. We were tough. We were strong. We endured.

But in that moment, I burst into tears.

I hobbled her way and threw my arms around her.

Maxine recoiled, but I grabbed her with us as Mom burst out crying too.

We clutched and we wailed, and I was pretty sure my hat poked her in the eye, and she didn’t care.

I ripped away from her hold, but caught her face in my hands, laughed through my tears because she was right there, so close I could touch her, and I was touching my momma, and I cried, “Oh my God! I was so worried.”

“Honey, I’m fine.” She held Maxine close. “We’re fine.”

I turned to Maxine. “Maxie,” I whispered. “Hi.”

She studied me, biting her lip and sticking close to Mom.

“But…what happened to your eye?” Mom asked.

“I’m fine too,” I told her.

“Girl,” she warned.

I sighed. “I don’t think I have to tell you, the dude’s a dick.”

Her eyes lit in a blaze of glory.

Okay, time to move past the bad, and get back to the good.

I took a step back and clapped my hands.

Maxine jumped.

Mom kept hold on Maxine and gave me a slow shake of her head.

Right, no sudden movements or noise.

Noted.

“Okay, baths. Or food first? And clothes,” I declared in a forced calm voice.

Mom took me in fully this time. “Good Lord, girl, what are you wearing?”

Oh.

Wait.

Mom hadn’t been around and about to get the lay of the land like I had.

No.

Wait.

I turned and saw Loren, Ansley, and new hot guy standing in the wide doorway, watching the reunion.

Right.

I had to do this, and fast.

I moved in, trying to take care not to freak Maxine, and put my mouth to Mom’s ear.

“I’m Satrine,” I whispered. “This is my twin sister, and your other daughter, Maxine. They don’t know about the worlds. They think Edgar faked your suicide. You’ve been banished with me to Fleuridia for two decades. Edgar’s going to jail now. We’re living in a renaissance festival, or more like a Victorian festival, actually, it’s kinda both, but a really good one. And I’ll fill you in on the rest when we don’t have an audience.”

I swayed back, caught Mom’s eyes, she was staring at me like I’d lost my mind, and then I announced loudly, “Of course, baths first.”

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m okay if you’re okay,” I answered. “And the rest, we’ll sort out later.”

She held my gaze.

Then, thank you God, she slowly nodded before she turned to Maxine and asked softly, “Would you like a bath, my beauty?”

“Yes, Momma,” she answered timidly.

Momma?

Oh.

Of course.

She looked like her mother.

Because she kind of was.

God, this was so effed up.

“I don’t want her out of my sight,” Mom told me.

“I’ll take care of everything, Countess,” Idina said from behind me.

Mom’s attention shot back to me, she dipped her chin and mouthed, Countess?

I mouthed back, Go with it.

Out loud I said, “Follow Idina. I’ll get you some food and bring it up. Yes?”

Mom nodded.

I walked out of the room with them, to the staircase, where I gave them over to Idina, who walked them up the stairs.

I stood at the foot and watched until they were out of sight.

Quickly, I went back to the sitting room.

“When she’s back to herself, I’ll formally introduce you,” I told Ansley.

“Of course,” he replied on a slight bow.

I didn’t know how “back to herself” I could make her, since she was three inches shorter than me and twenty-five pounds lighter (maybe now more like thirty-five, fucking Edgar) and clothing for rich people was made to order, and I had a shit-ton to fill her in on without anyone hearing, but I’d figure that out later.

“I’ll go make us all some tea,” I decided.

“The house servants are still here, my lady,” Loren noted.

Get yourself together, girl.

“Right, right, then I’ll call for some tea.”

I went to the cord Edgar always pulled when he wanted something, and I pulled it.

I turned back to them.

“So the guy…uh, guy-er-guard who was watching them?”

“He’s been neutralized,” Loren said quickly.

“Neutralized?”

“He’s lying in a pool of his own blood downstairs. We’ve called for the mortician. That’ll be cleaned up in a jiffy,” new hot guy said.

I wasn’t sure what I did just then, but I knew my mouth was hanging open while I did it.

“Loren is a no muss, no fuss kind of chap,” new hot guy shared while sauntering to an armchair and throwing himself in it sideways, one long, substantial leg tossed over an arm, the other stretched out on the floor.

Stiffly, my body, and eyes, shifted to follow his voice and his movements.

“Allow me to introduce you to my friend, Marlow Gladstone, the Baron of Maitland,” Loren drawled.

“Errrrrrmm…” A girl in an outfit a lot like the one at Ansley’s house, except the dress was gray, and the cap had no ribbon in it, was standing at the door.

She stared at me.

Yes, I’d been kept under wraps.

Food was served, but I was always out of sight when it happened, and the halls were cleared when I was in them.

Dad-not-Dad was taking no chances.

“Could you bring us some tea?” I asked. “And scones, jam, cream, that sort of thing,” I added, since I was starving.

“Excellent, cream tea at ten in the morning. I like this one, Lore,” Marlow Gladstone declared.

Fantastic.

They only did those teas at a certain hour.

Well, whatever.

I was the lady of the house, in a sense, at least for now, so I could do what I wanted, and we were having it at ten in the freaking morning.

“Yes, um…milady?” the maid asked after the fact if I was, indeed, her lady.

I nodded to her.

She scurried away.

The men were all regarding me.

“Father was stingy with who he allowed to see me,” I explained, and at least that wasn’t a lie.

“Ah,” Ansley murmured, then took his own seat.

Loren decided to grace another doorjamb, which was a good call, he looked fab doing it.

Though, it was disconcerting that his eyes never left me as he was doing it.

Until his head turned abruptly right before…

“Excuse me.”

A man appeared in the doorway wearing the same exact outfit as the bad guy in the Aristocats and looking more than mildly miffed.

But he’d lost his officiousness as he stared in shock at me.

“Lady Maxine?” he breathed.

“No, Lady Satrine,” I stated, like he should know better (fake it ’til you make it, girl). “And you are?”

“Wishing to know who you are,” he retorted.

“Edgar Dawes’s other daughter,” I replied, like I was reminding him.

Total confusion, unsurprisingly. “His other—?”

“I answered. Your turn,” I cut him off.

“Carling.” He squared his shoulders. “I run this house.”

“Then you’ll see to it that my mother and sister have something suitable to wear after their baths, but more importantly, a hearty meal,” I ordered.

His face paled. “Your mother…”

“Father faked her death. I’m sorry, I know this is a shock. But I must ask you to get over it and take care of them. Father imprisoned them downstairs and—”

He looked away and hissed to himself, “I knew there was someone down there. He’s always got something going on down there.”

That didn’t sound good.

“Well, yes, you were right,” I declared imperiously.

“And you, you were in her rooms,” he went on.

“Yes again,” I confirmed.

“We thought it was one of his mistresses,” he shared.

Ick.

Moving on!

“It wasn’t. It was his daughter. Me. Now, they’ve been poorly handled. We must see to them.”

Something else swept his face.

Something awestruck.

Hopeful.

“Lady Corliss is…here?”

“Yes,” I said softly. “And Maxine.”

“She’s with her Maxine,” he whispered solemnly.

My stomach clutched.

Something was not right here, something tragic and awful.

Carling pulled me out of these thoughts as he snapped to attention to the point I heard the heels of his shiny shoes click together, and he stated, “They are of a late fashion, but we never disposed of the lady of this house’s wardrobe. We will see it unearthed. We will see it freshened. And immediately, I shall call the modiste and tell her to attend the lady urgently. We will outfit the countess as she is—”

“Carling,” I called.

“Yes, milady?”

“Just clothes and food for now, please?”

He nodded. “Right away, madam. Tout de suite.”

And then he bustled off.

Right, I made it through that.

And I needed a break before whatever came next.

I made my way to the settee, and fortunately my dress was so tight, there was no other way to collapse onto it except gracefully.

This, I did.

I pulled out the hatpin, threw it in a bowl that sat on the table in front of me, swept off the hat and sent it sailing.

I then slumped down, rested my head on the back of the couch, and said, with extreme feeling, to the ceiling, “Thank God that’s over.”

“If you don’t want her, my man, I’m officially scratching my name on the top of her dance card.”

Ah hell.

I forgot about my audience.

How did I do that?

I sat up and turned to Maitland, who was the one who spoke.

His eyes were on me, and he made a manly noise in his throat when I stopped lounging, and I had to admit, I felt that noise in a very private part of me.

“Brother,” Loren growled.

That hit in several private parts.

Maitland tore his eyes from me and grinned unrepentantly in Loren’s direction.

“I apologize, I forgot myself for a moment,” I mumbled.

“Forget away,” Maitland allowed.

“You’re as close to me as blood, please help me not to spill any of yours by ceasing panting over my betrothed,” Loren warned silkily.

His…

What?

I straightened further.

“So you’ve made your decision,” Ansley remarked.

“There is no other decision to make,” Loren replied.

“Seems sound to me,” Maitland noted.

“I’ve no idea what this takes, a dress, flowers, the temple,” Loren went on.

“We’ll see it done in three weeks,” Ansley declared.

Loren’s gaze landed on me.

“Excellent,” he murmured.

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Our wedding,” Loren stated instantly. “Which will happen in three weeks. And I’d like to make a single request.” Pause while I held my breath, and then, “No hat.”

So this was what was next.

Shit.