She wiped her tears and turned to look at Selma. “I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant for that to happen.” Lamsley was either asleep, or feigning sleep as a kindness to spare her from more embarrassment.
Selma took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “No apologies. Stepping into a new life is overwhelming, and saying goodbye to the old one is even harder.”
“Thank you,” Madelene said slowly.
“I’m sure it was not an easy decision. I hadn’t actually expected you’d be coming with me. Don’t misunderstand me. I hoped you would, but I assumed you would say no. Your feelings for Mr. Allister are quite obvious.”
Madelene nodded. “I was never meant to be Simon’s…” She was going to say responsibility, but she’d already been that, and so much more.
Selma patted her hand. “When you’re ready, you can tell me anything and everything. You’ll get no judgment from me.”
It was a long journey, not only by train, but by carriage after that. She had managed to spend a good bit of it sleeping, at least, since she’d done very little of that last night. When the carriage finally rolled to a stop, her backside ached and every muscle in her body begged to be stretched.
She groaned as she stepped down. Reaching her arms into the air, she arched her back, easing some of the tension. It was too dark to see much of the grounds, but the house was larger than Madelene had expected it to be. Tan and grey stone, with numerous windows. It was a sort of architectural hodgepodge of sharp angles and rounded, turret-like structures with steeply pitched roofs. Not fully a castle, but it embodied the personality of one.
She should probably feel as if she’d stepped into some kind of fairytale, but she didn’t. Not yet, at least.
“Come,” Selma said, taking her arm. She led her up a wide staircase and down a long corridor. A large, four-post bed was covered with a thick duvet and cream-colored coverlet embroidered with lavender flowers. Matching lavender curtains were tied at the posts. A writing desk was positioned below the window, providing what was undoubtedly a beautiful view to enjoy while penning correspondence or writing in a diary.
“Let’s get you settled, and then you can join us for a bite to eat and a nice cup of bedtime tea to help you relax.”
Madelene’s eyes welled with tears. Gratitude overwhelmed her and she threw her arms around the woman. “Thank you, Selma.”
She rubbed Madelene’s back. “I assure you, it is my pleasure to have you here.”
Lamsley placed her valise on top of the bed. “Would you like me to unpack it for you?”
“No. I can manage. Thank you.”
He gave her a nod and his eyes passed over Selma before he left the room.
“Go ahead and change into your nightclothes. I’ll go and do the same. We don’t stand on ceremony in this house, and we have a little bedtime routine we enjoy each night. I’ll come and collect you so you don’t get lost on your way down.”
After hanging her clothes in the armoire, she pulled out the two books that were in the bottom of the valise, and sighed as she slowly rubbed her hand over the spine of The Picture of Dorian Gray. She’d been reading that on the night Simon had first introduced her to pleasure. How was she going to do this without him? She placed the book in the bottom of the armoire, not wanting to see it just now.
As she slipped the nightgown over her head, it smelled of him. Of his home, anyway. She closed her eyes, grief weighing her down. She missed him so much already. A tap on the door pulled her out of her thoughts.
“Are you ready?” Selma asked.
With a nod, Madelene followed her from the room. It felt strange to be walking through the house in her nightclothes. Her father would never have countenanced such behavior. Selma, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with it. And it was a nice change to see her in something other than black.
They settled into a cozy sitting room, the fire warming her skin. A maid, also dressed in her nightclothes, bustled in and deposited a tray on the long table that stood in front of the sofa before seating herself in a chair at the end. The tray held a pot of tea along with some scones and… sausages?
“I don’t believe you’ve met Sara yet. She does a little of everything around here.”
She was of a similar age to Madelene and had orange hair, fair skin dotted with freckles, along with a kind smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sara.”
“Welcome to our home.”
Lamsley came in behind her, carrying another tray. He, too, was in his pajamas. What was happening?
His tray held four cups and saucers. He filled them all with tea and handed one to each of the women before settling into a chair. This was the strangest thing Madelene had ever seen, the four of them all in their nightclothes, the servants sitting down with them for tea and a bedtime snack.
Selma laughed. “I told you we don’t stand on ceremony in this house.”
Warmth spread over Madelene’s cheeks. She hadn’t meant for everyone else to know her thoughts, but they must have shown on her face.
Selma leaned over the table and took a scone and two sausages and added a drizzle of honey to her tea. “Help yourself, Madelene.”
