Page 34 of The Pureblood Daughter
Adelina steps around Rose but can still feel her gaze as she moves down the long hallway toward her room. Though the runner in the hall muffles footsteps, Rose’s are still audible as she follows close behind. The sensation of being followed sends gooseflesh down Adelina’s arms, and she quickly opens her door and steps into her room.
A moment later, Rose pushes through behind her, and Adelina yelps at the surprise.
“Rose! What do you think you—”
“You must stop this,” Rose says before turning to close the door. Her movements are hurried, lacking the usual graceful confidence with which a lady’s maid is expected to behave.
“I beg your pardon.” Adelina stands up straighter. In all the years she’s known her, Rose has never spoken in such a manner. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me perfectly well, and I beg you to heed my advice. I say this out of concern for you: Lord Rosetti is not a good man, Miss Gray. You must stay far, far away from him.”
Adelina’s hands ball into fists at her sides. “You forget yourself. Since when is it a maid’s place to tell a lady whom she can and cannot socialize with?”
“Since the lady is making a dreadful error.”
Adelina barks out a laugh. “Tell me, what do you know of the viscount? Hmm?”
Rose narrows her eyes and averts her gaze. “There are things one must not speak of.”
“This is nonsense. And besides, what does my being in Papa’s study have to do with Lord Rosetti?”
“I know you’ve been sneaking around, and it started as soon as that man stepped into your life. I’ve told you before: the maids are incurable gossips. Very little slips by them.”
“And they report directly to you? Is that it? In that case, this house may be in need of new staff. I’ll be sure to let my mother know.” Adelina folds her hands before her and regards Rose with a level stare. “You may go.”
“Not until you promise me you’ll cease seeing him.”
“I’ll promise no such thing.”
“Adelina, ple—”
“It’s Miss Gray. And you’ll leave”—Adelina wrenches her bedroom door open and holds it wide—“now.”
The pleading look goes from Rose’s face and is replaced by something much darker. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Rose steps from the room, and Adelina promptly closes the door behind her, barely able to prevent herself from slamming it.
She stays where she is, listening as Rose’s footsteps move away from the door and down the stairs. Only when the lady’s maid is truly gone does Adelina whirl around and stalk across her room.
“Dreadful error?Sneakingaround? It’smyhouse!” Her feet loud on the floorboards, she stomps to the window and looks down at the garden.
The gardener is looking up at her and catches her eye before quickly returning to his work on the rose bushes.
“Does everyone in this house follow my every move?” she whispers before yanking the draperies closed.
The thought is unsettling, though not entirely new. Ever since she was a girl, she’s been followed around and attended to—first by nursemaids, and now by a lady’s maid. Her body is washed, her hair combed, and her bleeds reported; no part of her life is her own.
Anguish arises suddenly and without warning, and Adelina slides down the wall until she’s seated on the floor beside her writing desk. Her dress is like an ocean around her, all pale colors and soft fabric, and it rustles softly as she pulls her knees into her chest and cries. Tears slide down her cheeks and drip onto her skirt, leaving dark spots where they fall. She lies on her side and rolls herself into a ball, seeking some semblance of comfort where none can be found.
As she blinks her eyes open, eyelashes heavy and wet with tears, she spots a downy feather resting on the floor just under her bed.
Crawling on hands and knees, Adelina reaches her bed and stretches an arm under the heavy frame, her fingers searching for the pillowy softness. When she touches it, her fingers close delicately, and she sits back on her knees and lifts the feather to her face. It’s smooth on her cheek, the gentle touch bringing a smile to her face.
“Celeste,” Adelina whispers. She thinks of the previous evening, of the owl’s beautiful eyes blinking from a bough of the elm tree. “I’m sorry for turning you away.”
Feather held in the palm of her hand, Adelina stands and opens the drawer of her writing desk. She sets the feather beside her quill and parchment and is closing the drawer when his voice returns.
I’m waiting for you.
