The Lady's Maid

As Alice ushered me back to my room, I glared at her.

"I did not want to go riding," I complained.

"Oh, hush. You always want to go riding. I saw your face brighten just a touch under your miserable grimace."

"My brothers were there when Father made his pronouncement. Likely as not, they knew before I did. I expect they will try to convince me this is for the best, because I expect Father has instructed them to do so."

Despite my protests, Alice and I were at the stables a half-hour later. Philip had already mounted his horse, a strong-looking brown that had a temper only Philip seemed to be able to manage. They had readied my favourite mount, a gentle dappled beast with a calm demeanour that had the ability to run at speeds that put the other horses to shame.

The despair came out of nowhere as I settled into the saddle. I tried to maintain an expression of neutrality, but yet another crack appeared on my heart. When I left home, I would not be able to take my horse. The Digbys would have their own, and it would seem trivial to ask that I bring one of my own. What need would I have for it? Married ladies did not spend their time riding.

We trotted along quietly for some time, stopping only once we reached the creek. Philip and Edmund chattered back and forth, and even Alice joined in their festivities and joking. But I remained quiet, lost in the scars that were overtaking my heart.

Alice had packed a small picnic, and we spread a blanket on the ground as the horses grazed nearby.

"Charlotte, we wanted to talk to you about—"

"Don't."

Edmund sighed. "Why not?"

"Because Father has clearly asked you to make me change my thoughts regarding the whole asinine thing, and I refuse to."

"He didn't, though," Philip said quietly.

Philip was the quieter of the two, the youngest, but he had outgrown Edmund by a few inches already. He was still only a boy, just fifteen, but he had the serious demeanour of a man three times his age. While Edmund was fiercely protective of me, Philip was a quiet voice of reason. I loved him fiercely, and could not deny my younger brother when he begged my attention.

When he spoke, I sighed. "Right, then. Say your piece."

Edmund hesitated, tearing small pieces of bread from the piece in his hands as he thought. "Father only told us yesterday afternoon what he intended. I asked him not to. Philip even protested, and you know how he hates to dispute what Father says. But his mind is set."

Alice discreetly took my hand, sensing my need for comfort.

"I do not want you to go." The sadness in Philip's voice tore at me, and I could not bring myself to look at him. "We tried all night to think of a way that we could stop this. Anything that might allow us to resume our lives as they are now."

"The only way out is to run away, or to be sent to the convent," I said.

Both of my brothers looked miserable. Running away was just as bad, if not worse. I would lose everything, and I did not know how to survive in that kind of world. As for the convent, well. There was a reason that it was seen as a punishment.

"We are so sorry," Edmund whispered. "Charlotte, please believe that we are so very sorry."

I dashed a hand across my cheek, preventing a tear from rolling down my face.

"I believe you. I am very sorry, too."

"Is there anything we can do to make it easier?"

I smiled, squeezing Alice's hand. "Be here with me, come riding with me, run through the woods with me. Until the Digbys arrive, pretend with me that nothing has changed."

**

I tried very hard over the following days to look happy, but I was so obviously miserable that most of the staff began to avoid me. Visitors came and went constantly, bringing their congratulations and unwanted advice, and it took all I had to hold in my frustrated screams. So many attended the house that I barely had time to spend with Alice or my brothers, despite my wish to have a few days more with them.

We all played pretend. The staff pretended to be happy, even though their workload would increase tenfold with Edith's strictness. Friends and acquaintances pretended I would make a good wife. My father pretended he cared about my feelings and that he was not pushing me aside to make way for his second wife-to-be. During the day, Alice and I pretended to be nothing more than childhood friends. At night, we pretended that it was not one of the last times we would be in each other's arms.

On the morning that the Digby family was set to arrive at the house, Alice was doing all she could to make it look as though I had slept.

I had slept some, though fitfully and not nearly long enough, and my eyes reflected it. Puffy and red, they protruded from my pale skin as Alice frantically applied various remedies so the Digbys did not think I was ill.

"If they think I am sickly, perhaps they will call it off," I said as Alice rubbed a paste on my face.

"You look tired, not sickly," she replied. "If anything, it will just make your father angry. Best we avoid that as much as we can."

As she scrubbed and patted and rubbed, I looked in the mirror thoughtfully. "Alice, will you come with me to my new home?"

She paused, catching my eye in the mirror. "Do you think they will let me?"

"I will ask, but would you want to?"

She hesitated, though I did not blame her. Alice was my best friend, but she still had her mother, father, and siblings. If she came with me to my new home, she would have to leave them all behind. After a moment, she leaned against the dressing table and sighed.

"It would break my heart every day to be near you, and not be able to be with you. There, we will get no concessions. I will be your lady's maid only. Everyone will call me Miss Clayton, and should I so much as slip and refer to you as Charlotte, I could be beaten by the housekeeper for my familiarity. I cannot pretend that things would be the same there."

There was a lump in my throat that threatened to choke me. They were taking everything from me: my home, my freedom, and my Alice.

"The only thing that would be worse would be to lose you completely."

I looked up at her, confused.

"Does this mean you will?"

"Yes, of course. You must insist that I come with you. Otherwise, I will lose both my dearest friend and my position. Things may be different there, but at least we can experience it together." Alice returned her attention to my skin, applying a soothing balm beneath my eyes. "Perhaps they will have a man there for me to marry. The pool of potential suitors around here is rather limited."

I laughed, truly laughed, for the first time that day.

"It will be one of my first orders of business. Finding a suitable husband for my lady's maid."

It was that revelation that gave me enough hope to proceed through the day. After Alice had done all she could to make me look as though I hadn't slept on the floor of a stable, she put me in a fine dress that was once my mother's. It was a beautiful blue dress with embroidery all around the hem in golden thread, and I used to envy it horribly when Mother would wear it.

I despised wearing it myself, but I needed my mother that day. The physical discomfort of the dress was worth the memory of comfort it gave me.

Alice brought food up from the kitchen, but I could not eat it. She brought wine and I sipped some, though it only added dizziness to my growing nausea. I longed to take the blue dress off, put on an old wool one, and run into the woods with Alice. We could gather mushrooms, or swim naked in the creek. Anything we wanted. We could run.

Instead, we waited for the knock on my door to say that my husband-to-be and his parents had arrived.

By the time it came, I had found a numb sense of acceptance, and held my face stoically as I was escorted through the house to the back sitting-room. Just before the butler opened the door, Alice squeezed my hand. I squeezed it back, hoping the clamminess of my palm would go away before I had to greet my husband-to-be.

"Mr. and Mrs. Digby, may I present Miss Charlotte Blythe."

I stepped into the room, hoping they could not see the way I trembled.

Mr. Digby was sitting in one of the chairs by the fire, across from my father. He was a stout man with a drooping face and hanging jowls, the very epitome of a humanized bulldog. Mrs. Digby sat to one side of him, and even seated I could tell she fulfilled every measure of grace and beauty. She was tall, incredibly thin, and perfectly coiffed. The pair of them were an odd juxtaposition, and though neither of them smiled, their faces were kind.

"Digby, this is my daughter," Father said.

"Lovely to meet you, dear," Mrs. Digby said kindly. Her voice was smooth and warm.

I curtsied politely, nodding my head.

Mr. Digby stood up. "Yes, yes. Miss Blythe, please meet my son, Thomas."

There would be no pretending my husband-to-be was a woman. As he unfolded himself from the chair he barely fit into, I had to tilt my head up to look at him.

Thomas was built like an oak tree. His body looked hard beneath his clothes, broad in the shoulders and torso, and his legs were as thick as branches. My father was a tall man, but Thomas towered over him still by a few inches. If he thought he was handsome, he was correct. Thomas had the graceful features of his mother, with his father's thick hair and dark eyes. His hands were large, and he extended one to me.

I could not speak as he took my fingers in his, astounded by how small my hand appeared in contrast. I had expected Thomas to be around my age, but I was certain he was at least five years older, maybe more. He was not a boy, not a young man, but a full-grown giant of a man.

Madly, I wondered if I would even survive consummating my marriage to him. He appeared as though he could crush me without a second thought. Thomas dropped to one knee in front of me and kissed my knuckles as he looked into my eyes.

"It is a pleasure, Miss Blythe," he said softly.

The voice that came from his lips was not what I had expected. It sounded distantly musical, deep but warm, almost tender. Still, it sounded forced, as though he was purposely attempting to mask the booming power of his regular speech. His breath against my cold hand felt scorching, and I was sure he could not only see but feel how nervous I was. Perhaps he was used to terrifying women, or perhaps he mistook it for excitement or eagerness.

"It is g-good to meet you, Mr. Digby," I stuttered.

"Please call me Thomas." He released my hand and stood, and again I had to tilt my head up to see him. "We are to be wed, so it seems natural."

I nodded. "Yes, Thomas."

I should have told him to refer to me as Charlotte, but my mind was racing in so many directions, I did not even think of it.

"Well, perhaps we should allow Thomas and Miss Blythe to acquaint themselves," said Mr. Digby as he struggled out of his chair.

"Very well," said Father. "Charlotte, Miss Clayton may escort you."

"And take your valet," Mrs. Digby said to Thomas.

We retired to the smaller sitting room at the front of the house, Alice trailing awkwardly alongside Thomas's valet. When we arrived, they hovered near the door as Thomas and I took seats near the window.

It was quiet for a few moments as we determinedly looked away from each other.

"I am not sure what to say," Thomas said finally.

"I do not know, either."

"You seem very sad."

"That is entirely forward of you."

"I apologize." Thomas raised his hands. "I know we have not met before, but I had hoped that you would be excited to marry."

"Forgive me," I said, trying to keep my tone from being too icy. "I did not even know your name until a few moments ago. It is hard to be excited when so much is unknown."

"May I ask, Miss Blythe, why you are marrying this way instead of by courting?"

My mouth dropped open.

"Yes, yes, that's entirely forward of me," Thomas said before I could react. "But since we are marrying, I thought perhaps we could have these discussions before it happens."

What was I to say? I had not courted any man, though some had tried. I did not want to marry, not then, nor ever, but my father did not approve of that decision. I knew more and more people who married by way of courting first, rather than their parents choosing for them, but it was not unheard of not to court.

Of course, it was almost unheard of for parents to simply decide their children would wed without consulting them at all. Which meant Thomas had, perhaps, chosen to have his parents arrange a marriage for him. I could not think as to why. I was certain that more than one girl had imagined herself melting into his arms, bearing his children, and running his household.

But what was I to say? That my father was making me marry him? That I did not want to melt into his arms, bear his children, or run his household? That I had no say in the matter, and if I did, I would choose to run away with my lady's maid and be condemned for it?

"Why are you?" I asked.

"My parents did not like the women I was courting. We agreed that if I had not found a suitable wife by my twenty-seventh birthday, they would arrange a marriage for me."

I did not respond, still unable to determine what I should say to Thomas.

"Miss Blythe?"

Sighing, I looked at Thomas. "I did not want to marry," I said. "My father was unhappy about that."

He seemed confused by my revelation, but did not press further.

From the other side of the room, I could hear Alice whispering to the valet. She was quiet enough that I could not make out what she was saying, but their meeting seemed to be going much more successfully than mine. I clenched my teeth for a moment.

"Miss Blythe, I wish to know you better. Will you tell me of your family?"

I glanced back at Thomas. "Well, you have met my father. My mother is no longer with us. And I have two brothers, Edmund and Philip, who I am sure you will meet shortly."

"My condolences on the loss of your mother."

"Thank you."

Another tense pause followed.

"Well, you have met my mother and father. I believe you will very much like my mother. She is very well known to host lively gatherings, and our home is the center of many social circles. She will introduce you to all the most important people and make sure you feel as welcome in our home as you do in your own."

Considering I was feeling particularly unwelcome in my own home, that did not bode well.

"That sounds lovely."

Yet another silence full of tension and the muted whispers of Alice, followed by the muted responses of Thomas's valet.

"I assume you have many hobbies?" asked Thomas.

"Some."

His frustration was palpable. "Do you enjoy reading?"

"Yes."

"What kind of reading do you enjoy?"

I was torn between being honest and saying what I thought Thomas would want to hear. Pressing my lips together, I chose to be honest.

"I like books about geography and history. It is astounding how very large the world is."

"That's surprisingly intellectual," Thomas said, eyebrows raised.

I stared at him blankly. Dear God, I thought. My future husband just insinuated that he thought I would lack intelligence.

Well, it was to be expected. Thomas clearly had a picture of what he wanted in a wife. A woman to take after his mother, to host parties and be proper. Someone he could show off, like a trophy or a particularly large boar killed during a hunt.

"I enjoy reading historical books, as well. Have you read much about Genghis Khan? Just before we journeyed here, I read about the Mongol Empire; it was astounding, the extent of it! And Genghis Khan, he was..."

He kept talking and I'm sure I kept hearing, but the longer he spoke, the less I cared to listen.

The rest of the afternoon passed tensely. I do not know if he pinpointed the exact moment where things tumbled chaotically downhill, but for me, it was his surprise at my choice of reading material. Lord bless him, Thomas tried to improve my mood, but I was most certain he left that day with the intent of begging his parents not to make him go through with it. As he spoke, my disdain for him grew, and as I responded, he seemed more and more certain that this was a grave mistake.

Thomas was bland and infuriating at the same time. He spoke of books, trying to impress me with facts that I already knew. He spoke of hunting, telling me of techniques I'd learned as a child and bragging of kills that were not worthy of being bragged about. And riding, and how he could tame the wildest of horses and make them submit with hardly any effort. I bit my tongue before telling him that my brother Philip was likely more successful with horses than he was. And I did not speak the biting thought I had, that Thomas's submission technique was likely just being so large and muscular that he could grapple with the beast until it was too tired to do anything but listen.

The longer he blustered, the less I cared for him. I knew only too well how men like him would treat me. Thomas did not know that I knew how to ride or shoot a bow. He assumed I was a woman who would stay inside, hosting parties, and doting on him at all times.

I was not that woman, and I did not want to be that wife. Though my father hated it, I spent most of my days outdoors. I had ridden horses all my life and had the groomsmen teach me archery and fighting until my father threatened to dismiss them for doing so. My brothers then took over my lessons, ensuring I was well prepared should women ever have to be invited into a battle.

I knew Father had hoped I would settle as I grew older, but Mother had encouraged me to learn as my brothers did. Father would do anything for her, and so until she passed, he had not said anything.

Those days were gone, however, along with Mother.

Once our meeting was through, Alice escorted me back to my room to prepare for dinner.

"There is time before dinner, isn't there?" I asked as she closed the door.

"Time for what?"

I looked out the window. "I feel as though I'm suffocating."

Alice ushered me to the dressing area and began to remove my mother's blue dress.

"That may be due to this corset," she said.

She helped me change to the old wool dress I wore whenever we explored the woods. We stole through the house and past the garden, avoiding the stables as we made our way to the woods. I had no intention of doing anything in particular, but we brought a basket to collect mushrooms or flowers or whatever treasures awaited discovery. Once in the trees, I finally felt my breath return to me.

The woods were not so thick as to block the sunlight, but enough that it offered some semblance of coverage from the outside world. There was a path that wound through much of it, but Alice and I rarely followed it. We had made our own path down to the creek, and that was where we headed.

Leaves shuffled overhead as a slight wind shook them, and shadows danced around us as we pushed further through the trees. All at once the babbling of the creek reached our ears, and we hurried towards the bank. A small clearing waited for us, where we found handfuls of wildflowers lending their colour to the greenery surrounding us.

"Thank you, Alice. I can breathe now."

"There, you see. It must have been the corset. Your mother's chest was not as large as yours."

"I think it may be the crushing realization that I'm doomed to marriage with a brute of a man."

"A brute?" Alice laughed. "He certainly seemed proper enough."

"He spoke the entire time of drinking and roughhousing and sport. Watch over the coming weeks, I am certain he will reveal how boorish he can be."

"You enjoy drinking and roughhousing and sport."

"Yes, but he will not approve. I can tell already that he wants a wife who will sit at home, mind the children, and keep her mouth closed."