“It’s absolutely perfect, Birdie. You made the best choice!” Beatrix assured her.
In truth, it was very thoughtful of the girl to select a lovely yet unpresuming gown, though Beatrix knew not where she got it. Did the master keep closets full of dresses on hand for other times he stashed hapless young ladies about his residence?
She couldn’t help but notice how Birdie beamed at the compliment, and she felt a sudden need to praise Greta as well.
“My, Greta! Wherever did you learn to work this magic upon a girl’s hair? It’s never looked so wonderful!” She turned her head this way and that, making a show of admiring Greta’s handiwork.
“Thank you, miss,” Greta replied, grinning in spite of herself. “I hired on here in the laundry, but aim to become a lady’s maid should there be a need in the household.”
Beatrix was perplexed. How would one suddenly find themselves in need of a lady’s maid? She thought to ask, but then stopped short. The girls’ intentions, though kind and thoughtful, were painfully clear: they were primping Beatrix to impress the snooty lord of the manor.
“Birdie, Greta… thank you for all that you’ve done for me,” she began, “but I fear you’re only going to be disappointed.”
“What do ya mean, miss?” Birdie asked, looking genuinely confused. Greta nudged her with her elbow. At least one of them understood that this may all be a ruse.
“I am not a guest here, as you may well have imagined,” Beatrix explained, looking pained at how her words may be taken. “I am not here by my own choosing, and I’m certain that nothing will change about that.”
“But ya cannaw know for sure!” Birdie said, grinning broadly. “I think the master has taken a great likin’ to ya. Else, why would he have ya come up here? Why are we to bathe ya and dress ya and bring ya to supper?”
“To be sure, I don’t know the answer to that myself. I can only imagine it has something to do with our mutual plight.” She noted their confused expressions, and explained, “He and I both are in need of something, and both think the other has the power to provide it. But I’m afraid it’s not entirely true.”
“All right, miss,” Birdie agreed, though it was clear she still did not understand. “We’ll fetch ya when supper’s ready!”
Birdie and Greta curtsied lightly—a movement that irritated Beatrix slightly, as it was unnecessary—and left the room, closing the door behind them.
Beatrix had spent the entire day thumbing through various books and drawing simple sketches of flowers at the writing desk. She’d felt the unpleasant twinge of knowing that her door was not locked while daring not open it; only now did she see there was still a guard seated outside her door, and felt a great relief that she had not tried to make her escape.
Why she hadn’t tried, that was beyond her. As she would read or go about her sketches, Beatrix often found herself thinking about the man who had captured her. He seemed to not only be a kind individual, but also very concerned with others. Why, then, was she his prisoner? If he was as gentle and caring as he seemed, then it should have never crossed his mind to take such a cruel step.
“Don’t be unnerved, silly goose,” she thought, chastising herself. “He’s gloriously handsome and somewhat intelligent, but he’s still just like all the rest of them.”
Only a short while later, there was a soft knock at the door. Knowing it must be time, Beatrix bid Birdie and Greta enter, but she was astonished to see the lord of the house standing in the doorway instead.
He opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. Instead, he stared at her in obvious awe for a few moments until she politely cleared her throat.
“Oh, um, good day,” he finally stammered. Beatrix nodded, feeling as awkward as he appeared to be. “I know it is most unusual, but I thought I might escort you to dinner. I could show you much of the house along the way.”
“If that is what you wish,” she said, leaving the room to join him when he stepped back apace to let her pass.
She walked beside him down the long corridor, pausing at this item or that when he explained their significance. To his credit, Beatrix noted nothing he showed her seemed frivolous or overly gaudy. Each portrait, each sculpture, even the bannisters along the stair all had a story that was either amusing or inspiring.
Finally, they reached the dining room downstairs. Beatrix noted how their place settings were not at either end of the massive mahogany table, its surface gleaming in the light of the crystal chandeliers and wall sconces. Instead, they were to be seated across from one another at one end, presumably so that conversation might be more pleasant and more possible.
“I thought perhaps this room would be more appropriate than inviting you to dine in my quarters,” he began, and Beatrix felt the heat of blush rise in her cheeks.
“Quite so, I agree,” she said sternly, though she had to admit she had thought once or twice in passing what he might be like in the privacy of his own chambers, when he was not standing on ceremony. Walking into the splendid room and approaching one of the chairs. “Are the seats assigned? I don’t see my name on any of the place cards.”
“You only think you’re having fun at my expense,” he said, smiling in a knowing way, “but I’m to sit over there so that I might watch the door. If any villain were to enter and wish you harm, I would be on our guard.”
“Is that an actual rule?” Beatrix asked, cringing slightly.
“Actually, yes. It’s one of only a few thousand rules for proper etiquette and comportment to be used in polite society.” The Marquess held out his hand for Beatrix to take her seat.
She froze when a servant came forward to hold her chair. Looking from the servant to the Marquess, she was torn. Her sense of shame at having someone serve her in this way was a bitter draught, but she had also agreed to dine with her unwitting host. Beatrix thanked the servant and took her seat, taking care to smooth the folds of the dress that most assuredly was not hers.
“I do wish to say that you look very lovely,” her dinner companion began.
“Thank you. And thank you for the loan of a suitable dress to wear. I’m sure the clothes I arrived in would not have sufficed,” she said, smirking slightly. “Whose dress am I wearing, by the way?”
