Page 23 of Wicked Games

What the hell was wrong with me?

Waking up in a strange place?

Allowing a man to fuck me inside a carriage… a carriage!

Now masturbating in front of another woman.

None of this made sense. None of this was like me.

Maybe this was all just the side effects of whatever drug someone must have slipped into my martini. Perhaps this was all just some twisted dream or hallucination?

After suffering through the intimacy of Lily washing my legs, I finally got out of the tub. She scoffed at the idea of my drying myself so I stood impatiently while she gently patted me dry with a towel warmed by the fire. She then held up a gorgeous fur-lined robe for me to put my arms into. Immediately I was wrapped in the absolute luxury of soft fur and velvet before being escorted to a low chaise placed before the fire. As Lily perched on the edge of the chaise, brushing my hair, another servant entered with a massive silver tray.

Placed on a table before me, the tray was laden with colorful pastries, scones, and crystal dishes of clotted cream and preserves. The servant poured out one cup of fragrant tea before giving me a curtsy and leaving the room.

“I’ll leave you to rest and enjoy your tea, my lady.”

Collecting the sodden towels, Lily quietly left the room.

Popping a bite of lemon poppy seed cake into my mouth, I picked up the fine china cup and moaned as I swallowed a hot, stringent gulp of black tea. I had eaten one full scone slathered in cream and rhubarb preserves and another poppy seed cake before it even occurred to me to wonder if any of the food was poisoned.

As ludicrous as it sounded, I was too tired and hungry to care at that moment.

With a full stomach, I curled deeper into my fur-lined robe as I stretched my legs out onto the chaise. Flipping my hair over the arm to let the curls dry by the fire, I let the warmth of the room lull me to sleep.

My last thought before drifting into oblivion was perhaps living in the Victorian era was not so bad after all.

CHAPTER 8

LIZZIE

Iwas wearing my costume but it wasn’t my costume.

I had hoped after a bath, some food, and a little sleep that perhaps I would gain some clarity. That maybe whatever drug I had been slipped last night would finally wear off, but everything was just as confusing as before.

After awaking from my nap, Mary from the costume department entered. She insisted on being called by her last name, Parker, and wouldn’t stop saying that she was my lady’s maid and she had no idea what play I was talking about.

Placing my hands over my ears, I screamed, “Stop saying that. You’re lying! You’re all lying!”

“Perhaps I should get the Duke,” she said as she took a few steps away from me.

“No! Don’t do that! Please, don’t tell Richard.”

Mary shook her head. “I’ve distressed you somehow and His Grace was very explicit that you are to remain calm after your… after your unfortunate grief episode.”

I couldn’t have her running to Richard. Not until I figured out what was going on.

Forcing myself to smile, I said, “I’m fine. Really. I’ll be good. I promise.”

After that, I stood still while Mary dressed me. It was hard not to think back on all the times we laughed and joked over Starbucks caramel macchiato drinks as she helped me dress for the play each night.

How could all those memories not be real?

Mary pulled a cobalt blue silk and satin reception dress out of the wardrobe. I recognized it immediately as the dress I wore in Act One of the play. The problem was as she pulled the silk paneer overskirt over my hips and secured it to the bustle, I realized the dress was finer than my costume and felt new, as opposed to a dress worn for decades by countless actresses.

The bodice had the same deep square neckline ornamented with a matching cobalt silk bow over cream-embroidered lace. Although unlike my costume, which clearly had stiff, machine-made lace, there was no denying the delicate work of handmade Irish lace.

After sitting for another hour in front of the vanity while she teased my hair into a dramatic chignon, I finally stood before the polished glass mirror. It was as if I was staring at a dream. I looked every inch the Victorian lady.

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