Persuasion in the Pantry [Maid for More #1]

Chapter 47: Death is only the beginning- Part 1

She entered the vestry with feet as heavy as her heart. With every step the thick fog of a dream-like embrace cleared until she crossed the doorstep and into the awaiting arms of maid's she did not know. Undoubtedly plucked from the Duchess's private guard, they removed her blood stained robes, washed away the flecks of debris from her cheeks and slipped on the wedding dress she had discarded in her bedchamber what felt like a lifetime ago. The sun had barely reached its zenith and already how much she had seen. How much she wished that she could un-see.

Littered amongst the paraphernalia of her wedding trousseau was a small white box tied with a long ribbon that she recognised. Sliding away from the brushstrokes of her cosmeticians, Verushka's fingertips fluttered to the cube that sat nestled above her folded veil. Unravelling Liara's long silken strip, she coiled it in the curls of her hair before flipping open the lid. Inside she found the neatly folded page of the first book she had read with the girls, the sixpence they had slipped in her shoe for luck, a budding leaf and a smear of Mina's blue paint.

A smile crept slowly upon her lips. Theirs was a friendship that had faded around the edges, like a painting that had seen too much sun. But the ghost of an image was still there and sometimes that was all that was needed to soothe the soul. She pushed the leaf amongst the long stems of blooming orchids in her bouquet, popped the cool silver coin beneath her heel and pinned the page to the underskirts of her dress. Lastly, she rubbed the inside of her wrist against the paint and it came away with a thin stroke of turquoise.

Her attention was called to the wound on her palm and Verushka skimmed it with tentative fingertips. It hurt less and less every day but she doubted the scar would ever truly fade, and nor would the memory of the man who had given it to her. She wondered if fate had guided Oxford's blade as much as his wrath, because her marred flesh was now identical to how her mothers had been. It seemed almost poetic that the blood pact her mother had shared with the Duchess of Bexley was repeated in her. In an odd way it made Verushka feel closer to the woman who birthed her and her spirits lifted at the thought.

Verushka turned to the floor length mirror with a secret smile as a maid affixed her veil with care. The ivory dress she wore fell in gentle waves to swish just above the carpet. Pearlescent drops hung elegantly from each lobe, matching a strand draped around her slender neck. Long golden curls shone from copious brushstrokes to coil around her shoulders beneath the gossamer veil whose netting stitched with tiny diamonds caught the early afternoon light and sent fractals of sun into every corner of the shadowed room. Her transformation back to debutant was complete.