22. Estelle

P ercival picked me up at ten the next morning. As I gathered my few belongings, the house remained quiet. The party had gone on long into the night. I'd heard it from inside my locked bedroom while tossing and turning until I finally fell into an exhausted slumber around four in the morning.

We spoke about my cover story as Percival's chauffeur drove across town to the apartment. I would now be a widow named Mrs. Estelle Wainwright. My fictional husband was English and had died in the war, leaving his young widow no choice but to return home to New York City. "I want a quiet life and to be left alone," I said, thinking out loud. "No interest in society or anything of the sort. It's too risky."

"We can tell Benny, the doorman, and whomever else who asks that you're a recluse. Eccentric perhaps? A beautiful widow shrouded in mystery."

Beautiful. I chose to put that away to think about later, take it out like a favorite piece of clothing.

"Am I an artist or maybe a writer?" I suggested, enjoying making up my fake story. Being with Percival again made my entire body feel lighter, not to mention that I no longer faced a life of debauchery. For the first time in a long time, I felt a minuscule amount of hope for the future.

"No, that's too specific. What if someone asks to see your paintings?"

"Yes, right. I must remain mysterious."

A ghost of a smile twitched one corner of his mouth.

Soon, we arrived at the apartment building that was to become my new home. I hadn't realized it was only a few blocks from the home he shared with his mother and Clara.

"Here?" I asked. "But it's so close to you."

He got out of the car and gave me his hand. "Where else would it be?"

Joseph, the chauffeur, fetched my bags from the back and followed us up a set of stairs and into a white-marbled lobby.

"Joseph, please take her things up to the apartment," Percival said. "We'll be up in a moment. And please refer to her as Estelle Wainwright from here on out."

"Yes sir." Joseph took each of my suitcases and headed toward the elevator.

"Come meet Benny," Percival said to me. "He's one of the two doormen who work here. They keep the riffraff out, so you can rest easy. No one's getting upstairs without their approval."

"Aren't I the riffraff?" I whispered.

He gave me one of his Percival looks, clearly unamused.

"Benny, good to see you," Percival said. "This is Mrs. Wainwright, a dear friend of our family. She'll be staying in my apartment. Indefinitely."

Benny greeted Percival with a respectful smile and bob of his head. Bright blue eyes peered at me with obvious interest from under the rim of his cap. He was somewhere in his fifties, if I had to guess. A slight limp in his left leg suggested an injury of some kind.

"Of course, sir. Mrs. Wainwright, I'm at your service. Whatever you need, do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you, Benny." I nodded, playing the part of a shy, reclusive widow. I'd never thought my life would involve so much acting.

"I'll expect the staff to treat her with the utmost respect," Percival said. "She is a special friend to my family, as I said." There was no mistaking the subtext.

"Consider it done," Benny said.

Percival escorted me over to the elevator. It arrived shortly thereafter with Joseph inside.

"Sir, Mrs. Wainwright's bags have been delivered to the apartment and set in the bedroom," Joseph said.

"Thank you, Joseph. You may return home," Percy said. "I'll walk from here."

"Yes sir. Shall I give your mother a message of any kind?"

"That will not be necessary," Percival said tersely. "She knows where I am."

"Very good, sir."

"Mrs. Wainwright." Joseph gave me a slight nod, unable to hide his contempt. How strange that someone from meager means should judge another in similar circumstances? I would expect an ally, but instead it was clear he saw me as a whore. A woman who had somehow beguiled a married man into putting her into an apartment. I wanted to defend myself, explain that Percival had offered this to me not as a love nest for his mistress but because he cared about me. But of course I could not. Like so much of my life I had to swallow my words and my feelings and pretend that everyone else was correct—I did not matter.

Percival and I stepped into the elevator. We began a slow ascent to the third floor. Suddenly self-conscious, I studied the tips of my shoes before darting a glance in his direction.

"Are you all right?" Percival asked.

"Feeling strange."

"Yes, well, this is not something either of us ever thought we would do."

I nodded but didn't say anything for the rest of the ride up.

"Ah, here we are." Percival exited first, then held the elevator door for me.

I stepped into a hallway and looked right, then left. There were two apartments on either side of the hallway.

"We're number three, here." Percival used a key to open the door and ushered me inside.

The foyer featured black-and-white marble floors with geometric patterns. Paint the color of white sand adorned the walls. A grand chandelier twinkled above us, reflected in the large mirror that hung on the wall just inside the door. I turned away at the sight of my reflection, appalled by my appearance. I'd grown too thin. Bags under my eyes made me look old and used up, like the women I'd seen on the streets these last few weeks, all of us looking for work, desperate to survive. Even my hair lacked luster, as though it had given up too.

An ornate table served as a place for mail and keys, flanked on either side by high-backed chairs. A fresh bouquet of lilies decorated the table and filled my nose with their sweet scent.

"I love lilies," I said.

"Good. I wasn't sure."

"They're one of my favorites."

"Come along then," Percival said gruffly. "I'll show you around."

He led me into a large siting room. For a moment, I stood still, taking it all in. Decorated in a blend of traditional and contemporary styles, the color scheme mixed deep, rich tones of blue and burgundy with lighter pastel shades of sage green and butter yellow. Plush upholstered furniture with curved lines and rich textures of velvet and satin were arranged around an ornamental rug. A fireplace with an elaborately carved mantel acted as the room's focal point. Bookcases filled with leather-bound books, games, and puzzles hinted at the inhabitant's hobbies. Were they Percival's? Or simply decoration? Heavy drapes framed the bay windows, layered with lighter sheer curtains that allowed for natural light.

A large polished wood table surrounded by upholstered chairs took up much of the space in the formal dining room. My eye was immediately drawn to an impressive crystal chandelier hanging above the table. A sideboard stored china and silverware. Walls were decorated with a floral wallpaper. All tasteful and in harmony.

"There's so much room. What will I do with myself?" I asked.

"I'm sure you'll find something to occupy that quick mind of yours."

I doubted it. I'd be here alone, without friends or meaningful work or service to others. I was a princess in an ivory tower. Better than a common whore , I reminded myself. Be gratefu l.

Next, Percival took me into the bedroom. "What do you think? Will it suit you?"

"It's beautiful," I said in all honesty.

Decorated in soft, luxurious fabrics and warm shades of blue in addition to a large, opulent bed with an upholstered headboard draped with fine linen, an eiderdown quilt, and an array of pillows, it was the perfect sanctuary. Silk-shaded lamps shed light from the bedside tables. A chaise longue near the window was clearly meant for reading. Next to it, a table with a tidy stack of books waited for an occupant to dive into their pages. Both the wardrobe and dresser were crafted from dark walnut, as were a vanity table and writing desk.

"Will you be happy here?" Percival asked.

"I'll be very comfortable. Pampered, really."

"You'll be safe. That's all that matters."

It was then I noticed that my bags had been opened. Several dresses already hung in the wardrobe.

"Is there someone here?" I asked, gesturing toward the open suitcases.

"Yes, Penelope's already here."

Just then, Penelope scampered into the bedroom carrying a pile of linens. "Miss Stella, I'm so happy to see you." She set aside the laundry and hurried over, curtsying as if I were royalty and grinning from ear to ear.

"Penelope, I'm happy to see you too," I said, shocked. "I've missed you."

"Not as much as I've missed you," Penelope said. "Doctor Bancroft was ever so kind to suggest I come here to work for you."

"He is kind," I said, glancing his direction.

"I appreciate your willingness to change positions," Percival said, sounding embarrassed.

"Would you like to see your bathroom?" Penelope asked.

"Yes, please."

We left Percival at the window near the chaise, staring out into the foggy day with a frown tugging on the corners of his mouth. Something weighed on his mind. Was he regretting his generosity already?

I forgot about him for a moment as I took in the tiled flooring, pedestal sink, and claw-foot bathtub, reminded of my bathroom I'd shared with Mauve at home.

Mauve.

My heart seized. What was my sister doing right now? Was the baby with her? Had Mireille said any words yet?

Percival led us into the kitchen next, complete with tiled walls, a large stove, and an icebox. A central table served as both a workspace and an informal dining area.

"Your cook's named Mrs. Landry," Penelope said. "She went out to the market to get a few things for your supper."

"As I mentioned, mother's cook trained her, thus you'll be well fed. Penelope, you must take good care of Stella. She's not been well since she left us."

Penelope shot me a look that made me know she'd noticed how thin I'd become. "I'll do my very best, sir."

"I'll take my leave, ladies," Percival said. "I have to get home. It's Christmas."

"Are you having a nice dinner?" I asked, jealous I couldn't join them.

"Nothing extravagant. Just Mother, Simon, and me."

I nodded. Simon. He would be at dinner, and I would be alone.

"Penelope, will you excuse us a moment?" Percival asked.

"Yes, of course. I'll go make up the beds." She scurried out of the room and disappeared behind the closed door.

Percival reached into the pocket of his jacket. "I have something for you. A Christmas gift."

"But I don't have anything for you."

"That's not necessary." He handed me a skinny rectangular box. "Go ahead, open it."

I lifted the top and gasped. Inside lay a string of perfect pearls. "Percival, it's too much."

"No, it's Christmas."

I lifted it from the box, enjoying the weight of it in my hand.

"I'd offer to put it on you but…I don't think that's a good idea."

I wasn't sure what he meant but didn't ask.

"Do you like it?" Percival asked, his expression vulnerable, conjuring an image of what he must have looked like as a young boy.

"I do. Very much."

"Perhaps you could wear it when I come for supper tomorrow night?"

"You'll be here tomorrow?" I asked.

"If you'll have me."

"Yes, yes, please come."

"Penelope will take the guest room. Mrs. Landry will have the maid's quarters off the kitchen. You'll be less lonely with them here, I should think."

"I agree. Thank you. Doesn't Mrs. Landry have a husband to go home to, though?"

"No, she's widowed. Lost her husband in the war."

"How sad."

"Yes. Like so many women who lost loved ones in the war."

"May I ask after your mother and Clara? Did they have a nice Christmas morning?" Thinking of Clara on Christmas morning squeezed my heart.

"Yes, they did. Although they both miss you. In fact, Mother was wondering if she could come by and see you soon? She's hoping you'll agree to come work with her again."

I clasped my hands together, delighted. "Really? She's forgiven me?"

"She was never angry with you. Mother understands more than you'd think."

"Please tell her I shall be delighted and ready to get back to work whenever she wants me."

"I've told Clara that you've moved close by and that she'll see you again soon. If you're willing?"

"Oh, yes. If you'll allow her to visit me, I would be forever grateful." The thought of seeing her again made me want to weep with happiness.

"Clara's been somewhat despondent since you left," Percival said. "I caught her playing with her dollhouse one day. She had named the dolls after us and had them sitting together on the couch."

I couldn't speak for a moment, overcome by what that meant. "Will it hurt her in the long run to come here? To have a relationship with me?"

"You are her father's and grandmother's close friend. There's no harm in it. In fact, she'll be the better for it. Having you in her life fills many gaps in her childhood. You know that, don't you?"

"I've not thought of it from her perspective, only my own. She taught me that I could love a child, even if they were not mine."

He looked away, pain in his eyes. "I wish it were different."

"I know. Me too," I said softly. "But I'll get to be in her life. In all of your lives. That's more than I ever thought I'd have."

He nodded, tugging on his ear. "I should go. Please send word if you need anything at all."

I needed something. Someone. But I could not have him in that way, and I had to accept it. He would be my dearest friend, and that would have to be enough.

"I'll see you tomorrow. And Merry Christmas."

He stepped closer and lifted his hand as if to cradle my face but in the end, stuck it in his pocket instead. "Merry Christmas, Stella. Until tomorrow."

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I bowed my head and said a prayer of thanks. "And forgive me for wishing things were different instead of simply being grateful."

I wandered out to the sitting room and went to the window. Snow had started to fall again, blanketing the world in sparkling white. I didn't know what the year would bring, but I was safe here. Even though I yearned to be with Percival, it was not to be. I'd been fortunate enough to love two men in my short life. That would have to be enough.

Anyway, I would have Percival and his family in my life. I'd have good work to do and a little girl to love, even if she wasn't altogether mine. I could still be an influence in her life. An auntie who lived a few minutes away whom she could visit anytime. Maybe she could even stay over once a month. We could make cookies and read books together. I could have a full life. I'd been given this second chance, and I was not going to squander it. Self-pity served no one.

Penelope entered the room, cheeks flushed. "Miss Stella, are you sorry to see him go?"

I turned to look at her, standing under the archway between the sitting room and hallway, and made a decision. She would be the person I confided to. The one person I would be completely honest with. I could have a true friendship.

"I'm very sorry to see him go. I love him." My voice caught. "But I must be grateful for what he's done for me and not yearn for someone who was never meant to be mine."

"Yes. All that. Yet the heart doesn't always listen to reason."

"No, it does not."

A rustling at the front door drew our attention.

"That'll be Mrs. Landry," Penelope said. "Would you like to meet her?"

"I surely would. It's Christmas after all. We should have champagne and a feast. All of us together. We're going to do this my way, since I'm the mistress of the house."

"I'm at your disposal." Penelope grinned.

The two of us walked together toward the foyer to meet the woman who would hopefully become a new friend.

As we crossed the luxurious room I thought about my family. The pang that I felt so often stung less today. Was it because I could see a future for myself now? I had a beautiful place to live and meaningful work and deep friendships. I'd made a new life for myself despite all the setbacks. Despite being the thing thrown away. The one no one wanted.

I'd done what was right for the baby. As much as I loved her, she was never meant for me. Percival and I had accepted what we could have together and what we couldn't.

Could it be that life came down to this? We must come to understand who is meant for us and who is not. Parting from someone we desperately love must be met with courage and acceptance.

Yes, this was it. Love was a verb. Letting go was an act of love. Sacrificing one's own joy for the good of someone else was perhaps the deepest form of love.

For some, the only way to truly love someone was to let them go and wish them well.

If only my heart understood as well as my mind.