Seleste, Then

SELESTE

H er hands were chafed and raw, her mind a jumble of too many facts, too much discernment. Seleste stood in the tearoom, covered in dust and dirt. Massaging her temples, she focused on the little pop and fizz of the soap bubbles on her fingers as they were worked into her skin. After only a handful of days at Whitehall, she was sore and exhausted in ways not felt for decades.

Apparently, Madame Riley had been correct about taking on a smaller occupancy, as his lordship did not keep staff at the country estate at all aside from Leonard and Madame Riley. The work expected of the newly hired staff—including herself—to get the chateau and grounds in order was a vast undertaking. She'd been too busy to have more than a passing interaction with the other two maids, Susie and Frances. The former was assigned to her ladyship, and the latter to cleaning and laundry duties with Seleste.

Aside from those two, she'd only briefly learned the names of the others on staff. A kind, mild-mannered man named Oliver worked the grounds with his son, Theodore. Two cooks—one exorbitantly talkative, one exorbitantly sullen—called Penny and Liza, respectively. And a snot-nosed au pair about as bright as a lampshade named Becky, who spent all her time squawking and running after the two young ladies of the house—Emeline and Elsie.

Seleste chuckled. Speaking of the little mischievous sprites …

The girls rushed into the tearoom, their blonde curls bouncing as they bound after each other, all squeals and flushed cheeks.

Trois, deux, un…

"Girls!" Becky stumbled in, breathing heavily. "Stop this infernal behaviour, or I will not take you down to the beach."

Becky huffed, one arm on the back of a chair as she caught her breath, and the girls giggled. Seleste busied herself with the cleaning, hands back in the sudsy water to dunk her rag. They all knew Becky would still take the girls to the slice of beach along Noir Bay. She'd threatened them with the refusal of treats, adventures, and even storytime on multiple occasions over the last few days. The girls never once obeyed, and Becky never once revoked their privileges.

"We are eight , Mademoiselle Becky," the sassier of the two, Emeline, declared with her hands on her little hips and her nose scrunched. "We can go to the bay on our own."

Water streamed from the rag as Seleste lifted it from the pail and set to wringing it out, smiling to herself. Emeline reminded her a great deal of Sorscha in her wildness. Elsie, on the other hand, reminded her a bit of herself. The little girl was almost always quiet—aside from wicked laughter as she ran from her sister—but there was a great deal that went on behind her eyes. Seleste wished she had time to get to know the twins. They deserved more than the scowling, bitter young woman always at odds with them. There was a way to allow them to be children and cultivate their innate personalities while helping them become ladies respected by the beau monde .

Granted, Seleste's—and her Sisters'—ideas of what a lady should be vastly differed from those of the aristocracy. Witches ought to live by different rules , their mother used to say, wild ruckus and celebration of their craft .

Lost in her observation and the thoughts of her mother, Seleste had cleaned the same spot on the sideboard four times. Emeline was still facing off with Becky while Elsie was offering Seleste a shy smile. With her heart aching a little, she returned it.

Seleste would never get the opportunity to have little ones of her own.

Emeline darted out of the room, shouting, "Can't catch me!" at Becky, who groaned and stomped after her.

Elsie, however, timidly scooched toward the sideboard, darling in her blue dress the same colour as her eyes. The ribbon in her hair had gone lopsided during her shenanigans, and there were grass stains on the knees of her stockings. Her pinafore was most likely in a heap out on the lawn and had been since moments after Becky insisted it be put on that morning.

"Hi," Elsie said in a small voice. "I think you're really beautiful." Her cheeks flushed, and Seleste fought the instant pricking of tears at the back of her eyes.

"And I think you are beautiful, Lady Elsie."

The girl beamed so wide that Seleste wondered if she'd never believed the sentiment before, for certainly, someone had doted on her with such a statement…

Elsie's smile faded, and she looked at her shoes, one foot twisting back and forth. "Not as beautiful as you or Mummy, not even Emeline, even though she is my twin. She looks like Mummy, and I look like Father—he's a boy ."

Seleste set the rag down and wiped her hands dry on her apron. She knelt down to eye level with Elsie. "Comparison is a thief, Lady Elsie. Someone else's worth or beauty does not negate your own. Did you know that I look like my father as well?"

Elsie's eyes widened. "But you are beautiful!"

"And so are you. Do you know where beauty is more important?"

The little girl's head cocked to one side.

"In here." Seleste pointed toward her heart.

Elsie mirrored her, pointing to herself. "In here? Do you mean things like being kind and listening to Mademoiselle Becky?" She rolled her eyes, and Seleste chuckled.

"Kindness does not equate to weakness," she said. "My father used to tell me that. Now that I am older, I can confirm that it is true. It does not always mean nice , either. It means you take others into consideration, and you fight for what you believe in without doing harm to others. Yet you are not afraid to stand up for yourself, either."

She stood and set to righting Elsie's drooping bow. "Besides," she let her tone turn conspiratory, "Mademoiselle Becky might be a pinch more fun if you two didn't pester her all the time."

Elsie giggled, covering her mouth. "All right, I'll try."

A voice came from the doorway, startling them both. "Why are you speaking to her?"

Seleste's heart lodged itself in her throat. She'd completely missed the entry of the young lord of the house, and the fact jarred her immensely. It was only the second time she'd even seen the man as more than a blur as he passed by, brooding and stomping off somewhere. She opened her mouth to reply, but Elsie beat her to it.

"Are you the Lord of Conversations now, Brother?" she snapped, and Seleste had to bite back a laugh or a choke. She wasn't sure which would have come forth had she let it.

"Why are you bothering the staff, Elsie?" Though he eyed Seleste with his arms crossed over his chest as if she had done the bothering. He wore no jacket, but his waistcoat was wrinkled at the abdomen, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up his forearms, revealing several indentions on both arms as if he'd rested them against a table edge, shifting multiple times over a long period. She wondered idly where he'd been doing so, as she'd been about the entire cottage cleaning throughout the day and had not encountered him.

Elsie scrunched up her face at her brother and balled her fists—something Seleste truthfully would have expected from Emeline more than Elsie, but…she also knew how deep sibling frustration could run.

The little girl turned to Seleste instead, whispering, "I can still stand up for myself and be beautiful on the inside?"

Seleste risked a glance at the scowling lord. "Quite," she confirmed. "But mind your facial expression and unclench your fists." She smiled at the girl encouragingly.

Elsie did as she was instructed, relaxing, but she still lifted her chin. "There is nothing wrong with speaking to the staff. Mademoiselle Seleste is kind and taught me to be kind, too. She even said I should mind stinky Mademoiselle Becky sometimes." Elsie made a gagging noise, then flushed, turning to Seleste with an apologetic grimace.

But Seleste's heart was in the process of enlarging two sizes because she hadn't told the little girl her name. She had learned it somewhere—and remembered it—of her own accord.

Elsie's brother harrumphed. "Then run along and find Mademoiselle Becky."

The little girl gave Seleste one last bashful grin and a small wave, darting past her brother as she bounded out into the hall, her skirts hiked up in her fists.

"My lord—" Seleste started, but he waved a hand of dismissal and pushed off the doorframe, headed into the corridor behind his sister.