Heart of Thorns - Nicolette Andrews

Chapter Three

"Mrs. Oakheart has come to call, my lady. I showed her to the parlor to wait." Mrs. Morgan said as a Catherine came in from her walk.

"Oh, I was not expecting her," Catherine replied.

Mrs. Morgan sighed, as if she was quite put out. "Shall I call Miss Larson to dress you?" Mrs. Morgan raked an assessing eye over Catherine.

"I'm sorry I'm not ready," Catherine said without thinking. She had not grown accustomed to be the mistress of the estate yet and continued to act as if Mrs. Morgan was her superior.

Mrs. Morgan raised an eyebrow in response. "There is no need to apologize, my lady."

Catherine stared at the polished parquet floor. "You're right." She muttered at her feet. I am miserable at being a lady. There were so many rules she was accidentally breaking.

As she prepared to turn towards the stairs and do just that, the ghostly apparition, hovered over the steps blocking her path. Catherine stopped mid-stride.

"No." She gasped.

"Would you rather wear that?" Mrs. Morgan asked.

Catherine turned her back on the hallucination, a cold sweat broke out on her brow. Were her walking clothes acceptable? She checked her reflection, in a mirror hung above a table set with flowers and a dish of candies. She wore a brown gown made of thick cotton and her hair was tied back in a bun at the top of her head with no artifice. A lady would be expected to be dressed to entertain guests, I am sure of it. The ghost glided into the reflection, and raised a pale hand to beckon Catherine too her. She spun around to face the ghost, but when she looked there was no ghost, only a parlor maid carrying linens. Heart thundering in her ears, Catherine took a shaking breath. There is nothing there, it is all in your imagination. The rabid pulse beat beneath her finger tips as she clutched at her throat.

"My lady?" Mrs. Morgan said tentatively, she did not disguise her curious disdain. Mrs. Morgan frowned, her dark eyebrows pulled together in a most terrifying way.

Catherine opened her mouth to explain, but the firm gaze of the housekeeper held her tongue.

"Catherine, there you are." Her sister in law's voice demanded attention. Mrs. Lydia Oakheart beamed at her in a would be inviting way. Catherine on edge, took a step back, Mrs. Oakheart didn't seem to notice. "I was beginning to wonder if you would ever come in," Mrs. Oakheart said. Her shoes clicked on the hardwood as she approached.

Catherine looked to Mrs. Morgan for direction. But she would get no assistance from the stern housekeeper, Mrs. Morgan rested her hand on her hip and furrowed her brows.

"Come, I've brought guests. I did not think you would mind." Mrs. Oakheart linked arms with Catherine and dragged her into the parlor. She felt ready to crawl out of her skin, she would feel better alone in a dark room. It was too late to ask them to leave, or she'd risk insult. A pair of women sat chatting as if at ease in the parlor. They were identical in almost every way, young and pretty with dark hair, full pouting lips, long oval faces with high cheekbones and thin brows over blue eyes. The only thing that distinguished them from one another was the woman on the right wore pink and the woman on the left wore purple. They turned in unison as Catherine and Mrs. Oakheart entered.

"Catherine, these are my dear friends Miss Camellia Bloom and her sister, Miss Delphine Bloom."

They stood together as if they were two halves of one whole. "What a delight to meet you at last," said Miss Camellia—the sister in pink.