Chapter One
Apale face stared back through the mirror, eyes dark and lips pursed into a frown. It was such an unfamiliar expression that the woman hardly recognized herself, save for those familiar green eyes staring back at her. When Alicia blinked, so did her reflection, and the spell shattered as she turned away.
"You'll do fine," Rachel said, perching on the end of the bed. She'd been there the entire day, murmuring reassurances into Alicia's ear the whole time. Even Rachel's calm nature didn't actually help but only worsened the nerves rolling in Alicia's stomach.
"I need this job," Alicia said softly, "If I don't find something soon, I'll lose the house; then where will I go? It isn't as if I have any family that can help." Hands curling into fists, Alicia forced herself to take a deep, drawn-out breath. It helped for as long as it took to catch herself in the mirror again. She was a mess. Nobody was going to hire her.
Rachel uttered a sympathetic sigh and reached out to squeeze Alicia's hand. Rachel's skin was always so soft. She used only the best lotions and moisturizers available. For a woman with not much more money than Alicia herself, she had expensive taste. Now, though, the softness of her skin sent a jolt of reassurance through Alicia. "Like I said," she repeated, "you'll do fine. This is the one; I can feel it."
"And how would you know?"
A shrug, an easy smile. "I don't, but something tells me that this is going to be a good day."
They had been friends for years; ever since Rachel moved into the house across the street and caught Alicia tumbling out of a tree at just eleven years old. Now they were both twenty-three, but little had changed. Alicia was still the worrier who somehow always got herself into trouble. Rachel was still the one to always offer reassurances.
"Do you think I look all right?" Alicia murmured, gesturing to her dark navy dress. It was drab and boring, but professional at least. Without a choice of clothing, it was the best she had managed to pull together. "I can wear a shawl since it's so gray outside - or should I take a proper coat? I have that blue pelisse Papa bought me for my twentieth birthday-" Grinding to a halt, Alicia took in a steady breath.
Expression twisting in sympathy, Rachel only sighed. "You're overthinking. The marquess won't care what you're wearing so long as your competent at the job. Which you are." Before Alicia could interject, she added, "I know you've never been a governess before, but you've got the spirit and the determination, and you're good with children. That's all you need."
Alicia wasn't convinced. Nothing that Rachel said was enough to do more than momentarily distract her from her darker thoughts. Alicia reached across her old vanity table for her hairpins, hoping that she could at least make her hair look nice to distract from her pale, nervous face. She bundled up reddish-brown hair and piled it into an elegant bun, which was about the only hairstyle she could competently do.
Rachel watched quietly the entire time, a kind smile on her features. "See? There's no need to worry. You have this under control."
Alicia wished she could believe that. Yet worse than her inferiority, worse than the concern of losing this job, was a second worry. "If I do get this governess position, I won't complain, how could I? But... have you heard the rumors?"
Brows furrowed, Rachel shifted forward on the bed until her legs dangled off the edge. Now she was intrigued; Alicia recognized that impatient look anywhere. "Rumors? Of course, I have - my sister was talking about it just last week."
"Right." Chewing on her lip was such a terrible habit, and yet Alicia found herself doing it anyway. By the time she reached the marquess' manor, they'd be chewed to shreds. She hadn’t even put on her shoes or finished her hair when she collapsed onto the bed with a dull oof. "Do you really think he did it? Killed his own father?"
"I don't know," Rachel replied, "but other people believe it."
As far as Alicia was concerned, rumors were just that; but they usually came from some kind of truth. She didn't want to work for a killer, no matter how desperately she needed the money. It was probably untrue, gossip spread by misunderstanding or even malice... but Alicia couldn't shake the thought from her mind.
"Alicia," Rachel chided, placing a soft hand on her shoulder, "you're doing that thing again; where you overthink and spiral into a panic."
"I'm not panicking," came her automatic response, only for her voice to pitch and waver. Okay, perhaps a little bit, then.
"Finish getting ready and come and eat something. I'll make us breakfast, okay?"
Although Alicia had no appetite, her stomach still grumbled in response at the prospect of a meal. Scowling at the floor, Alicia reluctantly agreed. "All right, but only something small. And coffee, please. I need to be awake."
Laughter spilled from Rachel's lips as she stood to leave, nodding in agreement. "Coffee it is, then. I'll see you in a few minutes." She threw open the bedroom door and wandered into the narrow hall, and then she was gone.
Now that she was alone, Alicia took the time to steady her breathing. She hadn't been this nervous for any other interview, and she’d had plenty. Except, she hadn't been so desperate before, and she hadn’t had to deal with the idea of working for a possible murderer. Even as she tried to disregard the thought, it lingered.
The marquess has two young siblings to think of. He wouldn't kill his own father. What a ridiculous thought! She reached for the last pin and shoved it into her hair with enough force that it scraped along her forehead, leaving a little trail of dull pain in its wake, and thoughts of the Marquess of Warwick momentarily left her mind.
Downstairs, Rachel was already making coffee, the strong scent wafting through the house.
They finished breakfast quickly, although Alicia only took two more bites before admitting defeat. If she ate too much, she only ran the risk of feeling ill before her interview, and she didn't want to imagine all of the things that could go wrong with that. Already, those persistent nerves were crawling up her throat.
"I could walk you to the manor, if you like?" Rachel suggested as she put the dishes into the sink. She wasn't dressed for the weather, having arrived only in a dress and no shawl, but the cold had never bothered her much.
Even so, Alicia shook her head. "Thank you, but I think I had better go alone. What time is it?"
Rachel peered into the living room through the adjoining door and announced, "Quarter past ten."
Alicia paled. Her blood ran cold. No, that wasn't right... when she had looked during breakfast, it had been nine o'clock, not ten. With wide eyes and a thudding chest, Alicia darted into the living room to see for herself. Sure enough, above the fireplace, the clock gleamed quarter past ten.How had she let this happen? She had been so careful, and she had woken up so early too. Yet there was no denying what the clock said, which meant only one thing; Alicia was late.
