Lady Eilean

Chapter 30

"That is a terrible hint."

"Good," Alex chuckled.

A servant entered, one of Angus' messengers. She handed a thick stack of envelopes to Calum. "From the front, sir," she said with a quick curtsy before disappearing.

Calum's face turned somber as he rifled through the stack. One, in particular, caught his eye, and he frowned. "I should review these. If you will excuse me." He stood without further comment and without his customary bow goodbye. In a rush, he left.

"Do you think he is alright?" Alex asked a few moments after Calum had slipped through the door.

Calum's wartime memories had a knack for casting a pall over his typically genial demeanor. The shadows crept in without warning, and darkness overtook him. His grin became a moody glower, his teasing eyes went vacant. When I noticed, I was at a loss. What was the right thing to say or do in the face of that trauma? If he could not shake himself out of it he would do as he had just done and leave.

"I don't know," I answered truthfully.

Alex wiped his mouth with a napkin and then grinned, Calum's shadow was forgotten. "If that's lunch finished, then I think it's time you received your gift."

Alex led me back to my rooms and left me at the door with a wink and a quick kiss on my cheek.

"Enjoy," he said, with far too much teasing in the curl of his lips to make me comfortable.

He whistled as he retreated down the hall, and I scoffed at his back. Bracing myself, I pushed open the door to my bedchamber.

There were indeed forty dozen roses. All of which appeared to be in my rooms. Cascading across the floor, tumbling from the windows, strewn in large and small arrangements. Every inch of my room seemed to be covered in roses. Dark, midnight blooms or stormy blue; delicate posy pinks; cheerful explosions of orange and yellow buds. The smell was overwhelming and potent. I laughed at the extravagance. The perfume of the flowers mingled with the cool breeze from the wide-open windows and the perfect spring day outside seemed to bleed into the fairy garden that had overtaken my world.

"Is that you, Miss?" The chambermaid from this morning peaked out around the corner. She smiled and scanned the room. "It's something special, isn't it? Like a dream."

"It's exquisite," I agreed, feeling as if I was floating as I walked on a carpet of petals.

"I have a bath drawn for you. There are more flowers in the water, of course. I'm under strict instructions to uncover your most alluring and delightful nature."

"Calum's command," I guessed, knowing the bearer of that direction.

The maid bobbed her head, "Laird McKerran provided some fashion plates."

I laughed, and reality slipped out of the room. I gave myself up to it, allowing her to pull me into a world of springtime and pampering and wonder. "Well then, lead the way."

For hours she scrubbed and oiled and massaged me within an inch of my life. This was no quick dunk in a cold tub to rinse off the day's grime and work before tumbling into bed. Heavy, rich creams full of spice and woody warmth were combed through my wet hair. The curls were twisted and saturated with so much lotion I thought my head would weigh a thousand pounds. Instead, it floated above my neck. The maid twisted each strand into meticulous rolls and pinned them to dry on top of my head. She addressed every forgotten and neglected part of my body. Nails were shaped and buffed. Stray hairs plucked. Years of labor were, if not entirely removed, at least disguised by the sheer volume of moisturizing. The sun sank and burnished the room in gold light, gilding the transparent petals of the endless flowers and I was painstakingly molded back into the image of a fine lady.

Stars twinkled in a clear, obsidian sky by the time I was allowed out of my dressing gown and outfitted. Shift, stays, stockings; all brand new. Garments not sewn by me with clumsy stitches and no care for following a pattern, but crafted by artisans. The detailing and finishings were delicate, made for beauty and not just function. And the dress. The dress was something else.

Yards of vivid green silk that seemed awake, full of depth and nuance. The low light of the stars and candles danced on the fabric with flashes of inky blackness and vibrant emerald. It skimmed along my skin with unholy caress. The bodice was cut low, and the sleeves were tight around my arms. Tight, but not restrictive. A large skirt fanned out over the panniers and split down the middle, revealing a masterfully embroidered scene of flowers and fruit in rich berry, navy, and ochre thread. Ruffles and bows of the green silk offered subtle but luxurious detailing around the neckline, cuffs, and across the skirt. This was not a dress to work in, but a dress made to showcase the wearer. Silk slippers of lurid magenta were the final, complementary touch.

The maid fussed over my hair until my dark mane curled and shone. Gone were the unruly frizziness, the tangles. She arranged my hair in such a way that loose, perfect tendrils brushed against my forehead, cheeks, and neck. She fussed somewhat over my face, applying powder and rouge so that I might look the absolute vision of perfection. The moon was low on the horizon when she determined her work complete. Finally, she declared me gussied up enough to join the celebration.

As there was no one waiting to escort me, I stopped at my mother's rooms, first.

Disturbing the quiet of her chambers was like creeping into a tomb. My new shoes were slippery on the thin film of dust on the floor. I opened her wardrobe. Amazingly, her lavender perfume still lingered in the silks and satins there. Strong, bewildered emotion wrenched in my chest. Not a feeling of longing or sadness, but of confusion and mystery. A reverence, perhaps; mourning for the mother she might have been. A mother that never lived up to my hopes. I clawed through the numbness, the old feeling of nothing, pushing it down. That feeling was dormant, defeated, and I would not allow it to swell today. I sifted through the contents of her wardrobe until I found what I sought.

In my new gown, I felt refined, ladylike. Delicate in a way I had never managed before. My last indulgence was to accent my outfit with my mother's jewels.

I pulled the large, carved ebony box from its hiding place in the back of the chest. Opening it, the light of my candelabra danced over the trove of sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. A wave of nausea made the back of my throat burn and I bit the inside of my cheek, hard.

"All this and you could have sold it to save yourself," I whispered, shaking my head. Similar to my reticence to reorganize my father's study, selling off my mother's gowns and jewels had felt like an action cursed by superstition. I did not let myself feel shame. Hard times could strike again, and at least the treasures remained in my possession for barter at a future date.

I pulled a collar of large, teardrop-shaped blue spinels set within a rainfall of diamonds from the hoard and fastened it around my neck. It had always been one of my favorites. The stones seemed to shift from bright sea blue to watery grey to a vague purple that made my mouth water with its juiciness.

Looking at myself in my mother's mirror, I seemed altogether alien. Before me, the powdered, pristine person was a perfected mirage of the tired, red-cheeked, worn-out reflection I was familiar with. I wasn't sure which visage I preferred.

I was going to feel like an idiot if Bess or the men had not dressed up. Making myself gulp down that fear, I left my mother's rooms, leaving the jewel box out and open. Let the diamonds collect dust in the dark, it was time for my birthday.