Page 56 of Wicked Games

I rubbed my temples. I just wanted it to be over so I could retire to my rooms and wait for Richard to command what pleasures he wanted from my body that night.

A lady must always make herself agreeable and available.

It was a relief when I was allowed to retire to the parlor. The men would join me after their brandy and cigars. While I waited, I decided to work on my embroidery project. I was sewing Richard’s monogram onto several handkerchiefs. Mrs. Higgs said she had never seen such fine and delicate stitching. I was quite pleased with her praise.

It wasn’t long before I heard the murmur of voices just outside the door. I quickly put away my woman’s work and rose and smoothed down the silk folds of my dress, so that I may greet them properly.

Both men entered still carrying their brandy glasses. I moved away from my seat by the fire so that they might have their choice of chair.

“Lord Radfoot was just telling me about an amusing play he saw in London, The Lady Protests,” noted Richard as he took a seat closest to the fire. Despite his casual tone, I noticed how sharply he was observing me. Again, I felt as though I was being tested somehow.

Searching my mind for the proper response based on my repeated instructions, I was careful to keep my voice at a tempered pitch when I responded, “That sounds nice.”

A lady must never show too much or too little interest in the conversation of gentlemen.

Lord Radfoot started to laugh. “Wow. When you commit to a character you really commit!”

I bit my lip as I tried not to nervously twitch my hands in my skirt. Again, he was baiting me with these odd statements. Deciding it better to demur, I was relieved when the parlor maid wheeled in the tea cart.

“With your permission, Your Grace, I will help pour,” I inquired of Richard. It was always the lady’s duty to pour for her guests.

“That is a fine idea, Elizabeth,” nodded Richard as he took another pull from his cigar.

Usually a gentleman would not continue to smoke in the parlor in front of a lady but it was not my place to judge a man’s actions.

Careful to keep my head up and shoulders straight, I maneuvered my voluminous skirts around a dainty table filled with delicate porcelain figurines to join the servant. As I got closer, my eyes narrowed. She almost looked familiar. Her curly blonde hair was actually cropped short just above the neck. A very singular look. She must have had a terrible fever of some sort. I’m told that it was necessary to cut off a woman’s hair if she had a great fever because the hair could drain her strength. Such an awful thing to happen; a woman really only had her beauty to recommend her in this world.

Feeling pity for the poor thing, I smiled and asked her name.

“Jane… damn. Sorry, forgot. It’s Rose.”

My mouth fell open at her blasphemous curse so casually uttered in front of her betters and in a respectable parlor!

Glancing over my shoulder, I made sure the gentlemen had not heard.

Taking a deep breath to calm my nerves after such a shock, I nodded to the tea tray. “Please arrange three cups and I will pour. His Grace prefers if you add the cream before you pour in the tea.”

“Yes, my lady.”

I picked up the teapot and waited as she arranged the three cups and saucers on the small oval silver tray. When she was done, I bent to my task. I had to concentrate; pouring the tea properly was one of my biggest responsibilities in this household.

Just as I was pouring the second cup, Rose gasped. The sound startled me and I spilled a few drops on the lace covering the tray.

“Oh, no! Rose, look what you made me do!” I whispered, anxiously lifting the cup up to inspect the damage.

“Never mind that Rose nonsense. What happened to your wrist?” She grabbed my forearm and inspected the small bit of wrist that was exposed.

All around my pale wrist were several purple bruises.

“It is very improper of you to ask that of me, Rose. Please do not forget your place.”

“Lizzie, these are real! I know this guy is paying us all a small fortune and you’re desperate to afford a better flat than the one we’ve got but I’m starting to hear talk down in the servant’s quarters about you. People are starting to wonder if you’re really just playing the part of the abused, insane ward.”

Freeing my arm from her grasp, I rubbed my temple. My head hurt. Something was wrong.

She called me Lizzie.

Lizzie?

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