Page 23 of House of Roots and Ruin
At present, the room was lit by a sparkling chandelier of twisted metal vines heavy laden with brilliantly cut crystal flowers. Massive potted palms loomed tall and vases of fresh flowers graced every available surface.
The floor was patterned in tiles of cool gray marble with a large family crest inset into the center of the room. Made of tinychips of rose-gold glass, the mosaic shimmered in the late day’s light. Farther down one of the offshooting corridors, I could hear the sound of trickling water, no doubt produced by a fountain.
“This is…spectacular.”
Dauphine glanced about the room as if to assure herself that nothing was out of place. “I’m so glad you like it. When I first came to Chauntilalie, before Gerard was courting me, it was painted a terribly dreary shade of olive—almost the entire manor was—and I knew that should I ever chance to become mistress, I’d redo everything. A home should be welcoming and airy—a sanctuary, a reprieve from all of the world’s harshness, don’t you think?”
I forgot to nod, still entranced by the spangled skylight. It would look magnificent on a dark, moonless night. The constellations would reflect and refract through the faceted panes into a dizzying sea of light.
“This way,” she said, gently nudging my elbow toward the staircase on the left. “All of the living quarters are on the second floor.”
“Even Alexander’s?” I asked before cringing, fearing my question sounded unfiltered and indelicate.
If Dauphine thought so, her face didn’t reveal it. “Of course. I’ll show you the lift system later on. You should learn how to operate it—just in case. It’s one of my husband’s prized projects—powered by steam.”
“How curious.”
“It’s completely state of the art, one of the first of its kind. After Alexander’s accident…” She paused, adjusting an arrangement of flowers on the first landing. After picking out an offending stem, she turned it about between her fingers. “We want toensure that he’s always able to get about the manor, that he never feels as though he’s at a disadvantage. The whole estate has been adapted to suit his needs. The elevator, of course, and ramps in and out of the house. The walkways in the gardens have been carefully leveled so his wheels won’t catch on any unevenness in the ground. There’s even a lift at the docks to assist him should he want to go boating.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“He has a valet who helps him in and out of the chair and with all his personal needs. Frederick. You’ll meet him soon. He’s…he’s quite hard to miss.” Dauphine stabbed the flower back into the vase. “The family’s suites are in the south wing. Your rooms are this way.”
She led me up the second set of stairs, then down a long hall with a polished dark floor. Tall arched windows lined one side, showing a pretty view of the front of the property.
Between each window, a tree grew, sculpted of white marble, with branches stretching up to form a structural arch. Leaves splayed and spread across the hallway’s rounded ceiling, creating a unique spandrel. I didn’t know much about trees, but I could tell each arch was different. Some leaves were softly curved and delicate; others spanned larger than my hands, jagged and sharp angled.
On the other side of the corridor was a series of doors framed by intricate carvings of tangled vines and greenery. Rose-gold sconces dotted the walls between, but candles, not gas lamps, burned merrily against the approaching night.
“Here we are,” Dauphine announced, stopping at the last door.
“Wisteria,” I noted, running my fingers over the bas reliefsweeping along the frame. Ropes of the flowers trailed down the wall, as if hiding an entrance to a secret garden.
“Very good. This is my favorite suite in the manor,” she admitted, pushing the door open. “Go on and see.”
The footmen had beat us there. My belongings waited in the middle of the sitting room, a small, sad pile at odds against the rest of the chamber’s opulence. I spotted a wooden box left upon a writing desk and could practically feel Camille’s wrath seeping from it. I glanced away, as if refusing to acknowledge it might make it disappear.
The windows were open wide. Gauzy curtains danced in the night breeze, parted back to reveal a terraced balcony already drizzled with moonlight.
The walls were the perfect shade of green—a tint or two darker and the room would have looked like a sepulcher, gloomy and bereft of life. This color reminded me of stepping into the solarium at Highmoor, velvety and vibrant. I could practically smell the chlorophyll.
A wide set of double doors led to the sleeping quarters—a vast canopied bed dominated one wall. The furniture was flocked in shades of dark pinks, darker greens, and muted purples. The walls were a moody shade of charcoal, plumy as ink. Vases of peonies—each the size of my fist and on the verge of bursting into frilly perfection—were placed throughout the room with an artistic eye. I couldn’t imagine a more captivating palette.
“There’s a bathroom through there,” Dauphine said, pointing to another set of doors. “Armoires for your clothing. The writing desk should be fully stocked with paper and inks, but if anything is missing, you need only to ring that bell.”
Beside the bed was a long tasseled cord snaking down from the creamy, lace-patterned ceiling. Small tables flanked either side of the bed. A series of deep pink candles rested on them. They were perfumed, though I couldn’t place the scent, and filled the air with a heavy aroma.
“I see why this is your favorite.” I spun in a circle, dizzy with delight that—for a time—all this would be mine.
She beamed. “Sometimes I come in at night and just wander through the rooms, admiring everything. It was the first design I put together myself and…it’s such a lovely sense of accomplishment, isn’t it? Creating something from nothing. Something I can look at and say ‘Yes that’s mine. I made that.’ ” Dauphine’s eyes flitted from thing to thing, pleasure coloring her cheeks. Her gaze fell on me. “I imagine that must be what it feels like with your paintings.”
I nodded.
“I wouldn’t do that while you’re here, of course,” she added, and the tinkle of her laugh hung too brightly in the dark floral room. “Sneaking into your sitting room while you slept, just to stare at crown moldings.”
I glanced up at them, marveling at how lifelike the petals appeared. “Theyareawfully admirable,” I allowed, and the air around us changed as we both seemed to realize we didn’t know much about one another, not even enough to save the moment with the banter of mindless small talk.
“Well,” Dauphine began. “Dinner is served at eight. I’ll send one of the footmen up to show you the way to the hall.” She looked toward the fireplace mantel, squinting to see the numbers on the little brass clock. “Will forty minutes be enough time for you to freshen up?”
