Seleste, Then

SELESTE

" T his is for his lordship's bed." Frances handed Seleste a set of sheets. "Her ladyship has taken him out for a small turn about the grounds while he's feeling up for it. And this"—she piled on another set to the stack in Seleste's arms—"is for his young lordship's bed." Without another word, Frances turned on her heel and hurried off.

"Wait!" Seleste called after her, nearly toppling her stack of linens. "Where is his young lordship's room?"

He was illusive at best, and she'd not yet seen any rooms that looked like they could be his, though she'd been in every room of the estate. Logic would conclude that could not, in fact, be the case, all things considered.

It was also driving her mad that the men of the family had no names. Lady Della wasn't using her real name or title, but not even that much had been offered for the men. It had been nearly a fortnight, and no one had mentioned the peculiarity of it. Nor had she found anything to lead her toward an answer. They'd wanted to hire servants outside Merveille, as stated in their advert, making it clear enough that they were of some importance in Seagovia—but why the secrecy?

She couldn't help the thrill a conundrum always sent through her.

Frances hardly turned back around, speaking over her shoulder. "He stays on the grounds in a chalet ."

Intriguing . "Frances!" she called again, following her. The maid sighed heavily and spun to face her, eyebrows raised in annoyance not typical for her. "Apologies, I know you're busy. I only meant to ask… Do you find it peculiar we don't know their names—who they are?"

Frances' lips turned down in a deep frown. "It's not our business to know. Why do you think they hired us from outside the city?" Her steps echoed down the corridor as she retreated. "Madame Riley is on a warpath today. Make the beds, Seleste!"

Her puzzle sorting would have to wait.

Once the soft white sheets were on his lordship's sickbed, tucked, ironed, and folded just so, Seleste took up the other set, a dark forest green, and ventured toward the back of the house. She was ashamed to admit she hadn't noticed a chalet on the property. Granted, she hadn't been permitted any downtime during her first days at Whitehall to explore, what with the backlog of work to be done. The last two nights, however, she'd ended up with a bit of time each evening to herself. The first night, she'd elected to write Sorscha and Aggie. Last night, she walked down to the small slice of beach along Noir Bay, burying her feet in the sand and centering herself beneath the moon.

As she descended the steps, she glanced out the window overlooking the hills leading to the bay, longing to feel the waves lap at her ankles again. It was something she always forgot until she left her isle for an Order—just how often she went in the sea, becoming one with it.

The ground floor of Whitehall was a flurry of activity as the small staff prepared for luncheon. Soon, the heads of the household would return from their morning activities to take the midday meal as a family before they all went their separate ways again until evening. The nameless lord had not taken luncheon with his family since falling ill, but it sounded as if he might be doing so today.

Usually, the twins were pestering the cooks for sweets around this time and being shooed away with?—

"Out!" Liza shouted, swatting a tea towel at the two giggling fiends.

The girls darted past Seleste, a rush of wind fluttering her skirts in their wake. She smiled, clutching the sheets to her chest.

Trois, deux, un…entrer Penny…

The younger, more amiable cook stepped out into the hallway, one hand hidden in her apron pocket, and offered some excuse to Liza as to why she was stepping out for a moment. She put a finger to her lips, grinning behind it at Seleste as she passed, her freckled cheeks going bright red. They both knew what she was up to. Seleste winked at her, and Penny gave a little laugh. By the time she reached the back door leading out to the veranda, the twins were rushing past again, tarts from Penny in hand .

"Hi, Seleste!" Elsie squeaked as they eeked by her, rushing toward the gardens.

"Hullo, Mademoiselles Elsie and Emeline!"

Emeline waved, her cheeks protruding with pear tart. It befuddled Seleste how she didn't fall over, running at full speed with her torso twisted halfway around so she could wave. Oh, to be a child again.

The sun was already scorching, and Seleste was glad she'd wrapped her heavy braids in a chiffon scarf high on her head. Though her maid's uniform was a drab grey and the scarf was a delicate shade of creamy yellow, far duller than her usual bright attire, it was still a little pop of much-needed colour.

One hand shading the sun from her eyes, she looked out across the grounds for a chalet . Just to her right lay the gardens, alive with vibrant flora and dotted with winged beasties sipping nectar beneath the sun as they avoided the other winged creatures intent on making the sugared insects their own meal.

There were so many butterflies flitting around that Seleste couldn't help herself—she simply had to veer off for a detour in the garden to visit them. As expected, they were clustered around the aster, phlox, verbena, and goldenrod. Particularly the goldenrod. There were so many there, almost cohesive like they were moving as one big?—

Seleste gasped, nearly dropping the linens she carried. " Litha !" she hissed, rushing for the giant monarch. "Why are you out of our room? Go back this instant!" But Litha's antennas drooped. It wasn't fair to bring her along and then keep her caged in a room with only sunflowers to enjoy. She sighed. "Fine. Hold still." Litha obeyed, the slow, majestic flit of her gossamer wings coming to a stop where she was perched on a blossom.

" Caché ."

A globe of iridescent magic shimmered around Litha, invisible to the mortal eye, rendering the giant butterfly hidden from sight.

"Now," Seleste censured, "behave, or I'll send you to Aggie's cottage and let Mabon torment you."

If butterflies could gasp, affronted, Litha did. Then, she flitted away, her little bubble of magic gleaming colourfully in the sunlight.

Shaking her head and chuckling, Seleste wandered back down the garden path in search of the chalet . Beads of sweat were already collecting at her temples, and she worried the sizzling Summer heat would burn away the scent of soap. Nevertheless, she trudged on and found her quarry at last.

The chalet was hidden behind the groundskeeper's cottage. Tucked within a willow thicket, it was shielded further by larger oaks surrounding it. Truly picturesque, it was a cottage encompassing what dreams are made of. It was modest, hardly twice the size of her island hut, made entirely of uneven stones covered in moss. One side boasted a crooked chimney, and the windows were mullioned, but their glass was so warbled that the trees reflected wavily within them.

Shaking loose the dreamlike state the chalet put her in, Seleste approached the quaint wooden door and knocked. She hadn't seen the young lord pass her on his way to the main house, but he'd evaded her for the most part for nearly a fortnight, which was no easy task. Either way, she expected he was already sitting down to luncheon with his family. When no response came to her knocking, Seleste pressed her thumb down on the warm latch of the handle and pushed open the door.

The inside of the space was dusty and rather unkempt, but it was just as cosy as one would surmise, judging by the outside. There was a faint sound of trickling water coming from somewhere, and she wondered if perhaps there was a leak?—

"Can I help you?"

Seleste jumped out of her skin. Turning to face the open door, his lordship stood there, the sunlight at his back rendering him nothing more than a looming shadow.

"Apologies, milord." She bent into an awkward curtsy while trying to hold the pile of sheets upright. "I was instructed to put on fresh linens."

He stepped into the chalet , a shaft of sunlight from the window illuminating his face in its dust-speckled ray. If she were being honest, he was quite handsome, with his honey-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

He studied her head scarf with what she could only discern as a mixture of scepticism and intrigue. Likely, a lord of any kind trapped within the confines of the Seagovian beau monde had little to no experience with traditional Coronoccan attire. Even if she had opted for a muted colour, and the rest of her dress was entirely—boringly—Seagovian, it was unique. She was unique when it came to the aristocracy.

"I thought no one was in, milord. Would it be best if I came back later?"

The lord merely sniffed noncommittally, returning to the threshold. He disappeared back out into the blinding sunlight and slammed the door behind him.

With a shake of her head, Seleste set her armload down on the only table in the small cottage. Using the murky light from the window, she located a gaslamp and lit it. As soon as the flame flickered to life, her attention landed firmly on a stack of books situated in the corner of the table. Next to it sat a blotter, a leatherbound notebook, and an inkwell, its quill a soft plume that broke up the austerely masculine collection.

It must have been the table whose edge had caused all the indentions in his lordship's forearms the day he saw her speaking with Elsie. Her mind itched to learn what he was studying. What was in his notebook, on the blotter…

Chastising herself, Seleste looked away, taking up two of the towels. There was only a small lavatory in the chalet , which was not difficult to locate, especially with its dripping pipe. Once she'd replaced the soiled towels with fresh ones, she moved to the bed and began removing the sheets. Changing bed linens might be a mundane and ordinary task, but it was swiftly beginning to feel peculiarly intimate. For when Seleste removed the top blanket—a light, airy covering perfect for torrid Summer nights—an aroma of musk and sandalwood wafted toward her, cloying with her senses. The same sensation repeated its assault on her as she removed each corner of the fitted linen, the sheet fluttering and sending the scent toward her. By the time she reached the pillows, Seleste was beginning to think she should just hold her breath—that something within the lord's scent was causing her to have an allergic reaction for how dizzy it was making her.

All bedding removed, she practically ran to put on the fresh linen, inhaling the clean, soapy scent in order to straighten out her addled mind. Satisfied the bedding was replaced and smoothed out properly, she held her breath while shoving the other linens into one of the sheets. She then tied them up into a knot, readying the act of hoisting the load onto her back and hauling it to the main house for washing.

She moved to extinguish the table lamp and leave, but…the blotter whispered to her cunning. It was clearly a light sketch of some kind. Before she could stop herself, Seleste had dropped the pile of alluringly scented sheets onto the floor and was bent over the blotter. A tantalising thrill of surprise skittered up her arms like hundreds of spindly spider legs.

It was an anatomically accurate rendering of a heart. Of all the things he could be sketching…

Seleste immediately turned the stack of books toward her to read the spines.

The Anatomy and Pathology of the Skull and Brain

The Principles of Surgery Vol. II

The History of Anatomy

What a peculiar thing for him to study. Though Seleste knew the importance of such things as medicine and had read a treatise on surgery herself, it was not a subject those in the aristocracy were exactly encouraged to study. Foolish or not, the beau monde still thought such occupations and modes of study to be beneath their station—the working man's territory. It was wholly beneath the proper man to sully his hands with such things as intestines .

Seleste couldn't help but giggle. She and her Sisters laughed heartily over that belief one Solstice many years prior.

Cowards , Winnie had said with a roll of her eyes, the daft dandies .

It's not so bad, really , Sorscha had said while inspecting a nail, shoving your hands into the soft tissue of a body .

Oh , Aggie had said with a snicker, was that the time you tried to drink blood and impress your friends?

Seleste had hidden her chuckle as Sorscha shouted, It was only ?—

One time , the other three had parrotted sarcastically while bobbing their heads from side to side.

Seleste let out a bemused laugh, returning the books to exactly the way she'd found them. This lord had surprised her thrice now, something very few mortals had ever done. A little off-kilter due to that fact, Seleste extinguished the lamp and moved to retrieve the bundle of linens. She was nearly at the door when a thought struck her. Dropping her burden once more, she rushed back to the desk, risking a glance at the door and hoping the family had officially gathered in the main house for luncheon. Grabbing the book on top, she flipped open the cover, swiftly moving toward the window and holding it up in the dim light. Surely, it has a?—

Right there.

C. Bardot

She snapped the book shut and returned it to the desk, rubbing her thumb and forefinger together in thought. Bardot, Bardot, Bardot. It didn't ring any bells. However, Seleste was not incredibly familiar with those in the House of Lords. The Grimoire had, on occasion, required something of her that had to do with the beau monde , but it was rare and hadn't happened since aiding Alejandro the Great nearly a century prior when she'd led a band of Seagovian soldiers to take control of a Lyronian fortress and restore order to the warring countries.

Leaving the chalet behind, Seleste pondered that time in her life. The sun had baked her skin just as it was doing on her trek back toward the main house of Whitehall. She had been so young—not yet six decades. It was a blessed, fearsome time in her long life. One she would not want to repeat for the bloodshed but would never want to forget for the freedom it afforded a great many mortals.

Now, here she was, snooping into a lord's studying habits and changing bedsheets. She laughed to herself. Boring , Sorscha would say. An Order is an Order , Winnie would say. It's better than dealing death , Aggie would say. Seleste had to admit she agreed with all three of her phantom Sisters for once. But boring and dutiful did not equate to bad . Life, to her, was about balance. There were times for conquering, pursuing, and times for tranquility, a simple life. Not every season is meant to bear fruit.

Nearly to the garden, Seleste let her thoughts return to the name Bardot, but she had no inclination of any ties to it. Which made the secrecy of the Bardots all the more intriguing. Perhaps the lord had merely bought or borrowed the texts from someone else. Regardless, it was a start regarding her self-assigned puzzle to discover who the family was.

Seleste entered through the servants' door leading directly to the laundry. As she was dropping her bundle into a bin half-full with other soiled clothes and linens, Penny bustled into the room.

"Hallo there, Seleste. Madame Riley was just searching for you. This evening is his lordship's day of birth celebration, so she's requested us all to be workin' late. He's not been feelin' too well again since his walk, and her ladyship wants it to be a special night. We're to take our downtime in shifts this afternoon, and it'll soon be your turn after Frances and me." The kindly cook thrust a straw broom into Seleste's hand. "She gave me this for you. Frances said she only had the Blue Room and the parlour left to sweep. Your job now, I'd reckon."

"Perfect. I will get that taken care of. Enjoy your respite, the both of you."

"Thank you kindly." The girl had even more pep in her step than usual as she headed for the door leading to the grounds, but Seleste called her back.

"Have you any raspberry seed oil?"

Penny looked at her as if she'd gone mad. "No…"

"It's good for protecting your fair skin against the ravaging rays of the sun."

The young cook giggled as if it were a silly notion and skipped out the door.

Seleste was still sweeping when Frances and Penny returned—the latter's nose and forehead sunburnt—because she'd stopped off to peel one of her aloe vera leaves and bottle the cooling gel, for exactly the reason Penny's face was red and blotchy. She handed the broom to Frances and the small glass jar to Penny, briefly explaining what to do with it.

"You're really kind, you know that?"

Seleste waved her off and strolled to her room, grateful they were given any downtime at all. She knew most servants were not given more than a few minutes to eat supper, and most were not even given wages. Not that she was being paid a great sum to work at Whitehall—quite the opposite—but it was something. When she was first Ordered to come to the Summer chalet , she assumed there must be a grand reason. Considering she was to be a maid, she reasoned that perhaps her purpose would have something to do with how cruelly servants were treated in Seagovia. Alas, she and the others had been treated quite well, aside from the ignorant stares she sometimes received for being the only dark-skinned person on the property.

Admittedly, her room was nowhere near the tranquillity of her island hut, but it did give her a jolt of cheer every time she opened the door, and this occasion was no different. Dubbed ‘the Yellow Room,' there was no better-suited name for it, as it was floor-to-ceiling…yellow.

The walls were a creamy, muted shade, much like her current headscarf, while the expensive rug was a deep mustard-seed colour. There was only one small window, framed by bright yellow curtains the exact shade of the fresh sunflowers Frances placed in the room every other day. The bed was rather small, one step above a simple cot—she was a servant, after all—but the linens were another shade of buttery yellow, and it was impossible to feel morose in such quarters. Although, she thought Aggie might find a way to be, were she there. Her heart gave a little pang. Memories began darting through her mind of baking lemon muffins for her Sisters, threatening to challenge her on the idea that the room would not allow for moroseness.

Seleste picked up the latest cypher she had been decoding and one of her father's notebooks, which had been given to her for the Summer along with the Grimoire. She and her Sisters traded their father's four notebooks—the last remains of his belongings—and were instructed by Winnie to study them daily along with the Scriptures. Seleste reserved the still-dark mornings for her time in the Scriptures, though she was loath to admit she disagreed with most of them. Hespa was not a book, but she feared ever voicing such a claim, especially to Winnie.

Her father's notebook had been memorised since she was nine, and Seleste didn't really feel like spending her respite reading it again. A small measure of guilt unfurled in her stomach for it. But the cypher in front of her and the letter it was helping her decode sang to her like sirens to pirates on the sea.

She pushed away the guilt in favour of fun . "Just for a moment," she told the discarded notebook. "Then I'll read the first entry of you."

A few moments and several exclamations of joyous frustration later, Litha drew Seleste's attention away from the cypher. The butterfly was squeezing herself through the small opening of the window, and Seleste wondered why Frances hadn't opened it all the way to let in a breeze as she usually did upon dusting. She rose to do just that, cooing sweet nothings at Litha as she did so. The yellow curtains began swaying in the sweltering breeze, framing the bright garden below—the perfect picture of Summer. Litha, however, was aflutter with what seemed to be anxious anticipation.

"Litha, what is it, sweeting?"

Seleste followed her as she flitted about the room as if looking for something. Finally, Litha landed on the handle of the lone, small armoire that housed her belongings. Seleste opened it, and Litha darted in, landing on her carpet bag. Curious, she shooed her gently away and opened it. The only item left inside was the Grimoire, cloaked with concealing magic. She knelt down to retrieve the ancient book and took it to her bed. Curling one leg beneath her, she opened it to her newest Order. It had lengthened.

Befriend the coming Earl of Bellvary.