Page 11 of The Marquis' Game of Seduction
Judith gave her a knowing look, one that told her everything she needed to know: that she was, in fact, correct about this statement—that the Marquees was quite lonely and very much of the mindset that loneliness was the only manner in which to live. And for this reason, Rose would have to fight every day to be the bright and beautiful light that the Marquees had forgotten could exist within the world.
“I’m but an orphan,” Rose whispered to herself as she rounded the staircase, taking the elaborate course back toward her bedroom. “If only these rich folks knew the hardships I’ve been through. The nights I’ve starved…”
But in essence, she knew that suffering was not something left over only for the poor. She’d seen happiness stitched across the faces of some of the most hungry people in London, and she’d seen sad desolation and loneliness on the faces of some of the richest—including Colin himself. She let her shoulders slouch forward as she bounded into her bedroom and kicked the door closed.
She let out a long sigh as she undid her corset and tossed it to the ground. She was still a thin little thing, but the corset cut deep into her lungs and she felt very much that she was never allowed a full gasp of air. “Oxygen is a thing of the past,” was something her sister Carrie had said to her when they’d been younger, and Rose had cackled all she’d been able to, until her lungs had edged hard against her rib cage and she’d been forced to stop.
Rose collapsed on her bed, her thoughts swirling with thoughts of Colin. It had been ages since she’d been around such a handsome man, and she’d taken pleasure in unraveling him, finding the little ways to make his lips upturn when she made a silly joke, or hunting for the things he fought within himself. For instance, it seemed very much that he yearned to like Duncan yet couldn’t bring himself to, due to some sort of inner struggle. Rose wondered if this had something to do with Duncan’s mother and father and their retreat to the West Indies, although she couldn’t be fully sure.
Regardless, it seemed too horrible to put that kind of blame on a child of ten. Beyond that, Duncan was one of the most remarkable humans Rose had met in eons. His imagination bubbled through his ears and over his tongue and he spoke with a lightness Rose found remarkable. She imagined it was because he’d grown up so far from London—he’d been allowed another sense of the world, one she found captivating.
There was such reluctance to Colin. That was certain. He’d peppered her with questions throughout dinner, yet seemed to exist behind a shield throughout. A darkness lurked behind his eyes. She sensed precisely why Duncan revered him, and also why he was frightened of him, and felt these similar thoughts within herself.
Perhaps she could spend the next months peeling back the layers, if he allowed it at all. She knew that if she pressed too hard with him, he might draw himself back further and further, like a frightened animal who no longer trusted you once you dropped your foot on a stick and broke it. The noise was too startling.
Rose undressed the rest of the way and drew her nightgown over her thin shoulders. Within moments, she flopped herself onto the bed, blew out her candle, and fell into a deep slumber, the kind that reminded her of being a young girl. Completely unconscious, completely void of all the world’s wants and rules. Just her and her dreams.
But of course, as with all good slumbers, Rose’s sleep couldn’t last. There was a sudden crack outside her door, and her eyes burst open. She stared into the blackness above her bed. Her hands traced over her chest, and she lurched up, immediately frightened. Back in the orphanage, cracks like that had been signs of abuse of the other children. Immediately, her mind went back there, and she huddled in a ball, praying that the orphanage owners wouldn’t come for her next.
Of course, memory of reality folded over her soon enough: memory that she was 24 years old, a governess in the midst of her career. It was up to her to care for Duncan, rather than live through the mis-care of the orphanage owners.
But what had been this noise? She peered back toward the door. As if on cue, the floorboards creaked. Her heart yanked with apprehension. She felt suddenly sure it was Duncan, searching for her. A boy like that, with such a wild imagination, surely had trouble sleeping. Perhaps he was creeping around, praying to find her without waking up the other members of the staff?
“Duncan?” Rose whispered. She kicked off her blankets and rushed toward the window to whip the curtains to the side. Luckily, the moonlight filtered in, strong and bright and drawing an enormous line of sight toward the door.
If it wasn’t Duncan searching for her, Rose reasoned, then it was surely Duncan playing one of his wildly imaginative “games.” He’d only informed her of them in brief, yet Rose knew that they were far more involved than he wanted to let on. She took a delicate step toward the door, then heard the creak outside the door once more. Her lips snaked into a smile. What on earth was she going to do with this little creature? She certainly couldn’t reprimand him yet. She’d only just met him, and she wanted to become his friend, first, rather than his “master.” She knew several other governesses who operated far differently, her sister included. They preferred to lay down the law first, rather than cozy up. But Rose was far too sensitive for that concept. She preferred play and love.
“It makes you a fool.” This was also something Carrie had said to her in the past. Rose shivered with the memory and slunk toward the door before creaking it open and slipping into the hall.
Rose expected to stumble immediately into Duncan. Yet, when she entered the hallway, she found absolutely no one. Not even the candles were lit in this particular hallway, and she could only see down the thin line of it due to the moonlight snaking in through the various windows.
Perhaps Duncan had crept further down, toward the yonder entrance to the library? She could fully imagine him weaving and dipping through the bookshelves, giggling to himself and making up increasingly elaborate stories.
Rose wandered in that direction. She wanted to call his name, yet didn’t want her voice to echo down the hallways and through the bedrooms of the various staff members. She hadn’t a real clue where Judith slept, yet she suspected the woman didn’t sleep soundly and would come to reprimand her if need be. She imagined that angering Judith during her first week on the job would result in a quick firing. There were other governesses, hungry for jobs, and Rose was lucky to have this one. She couldn’t mess it up.
Yet, she truly did need to find Duncan! She hustled a bit, her heart leaping into her throat. She passed by yet another corridor, her eyes lurching through the moonlight and darkness, drawing itself like zebra stripes across the halls.
My goodness. Where on earth can he be? Or am I actually going crazy—wandering the halls looking for nobody? Is it possible that my mind is playing tricks on me?
When she yanked past the same corridor a few moments later, Rose found that a window was wide open, facing out over the moors, with a curtain hung over it and the moon glowing through it. She stopped short and tilted her head.
Certainly, that window wasn’t open just a few moments before. And certainly, the curtain was drawn before. I drew all the curtains on my walk from my bedroom—and that curtain was one of them…
Rose took a delicate step forward and scrunched her eyes tight. Her heart thudded with nerves, although she wasn’t terribly sure why. All her life, she’d more or less convinced herself that ghosts weren’t real. Although the estate of the Marquees was remarkably large and creaky and dark and chaotic, she still felt unwilling to give into such a thought.
When she got closer to the window, she made out the appearance of a dark shadow, a head and some shoulders and a little figure, just there behind the curtain. The figure was no taller than a ten year old, and he was gazing out across the moors—probably thinking ahead to the many adventures he would have in the forest the following weeks, before it grew too frigid.
Rose let out a heavy sigh, grateful that she’d finally found him. Then, she dotted closer and closer to him, praying that she wouldn’t scare him. When her lips were just a few feet away, she whispered, “Duncan,” just loud enough for them both to hear. “Duncan. It’s me. It’s Rose. Please, come out. We need to get back to bed.”
At first, the figure didn’t move. It seemed strangely frozen, like Duncan had been changed into a statue in the moonlight. Again, Rose scoffed at this thought—for such a thing was magic-related, and magic was just the same as ghosts. It didn’t exist. Yet still, her heartbeat ramped up like a drum, and she shuddered and grew lost in her thoughts for a moment before continuing.
“Really, Duncan. It’s quite ridiculous for you to ignore me like this,” she said. Now she heard the fear within her voice, and she hated it. She wanted nothing more than to be perpetually friendly and open. “On the count of three, Duncan. I really need you to leave that curtain and come into the hallway and come back with me to your bedroom. We don’t need to tell anyone else about this. Okay?”
Her voice was all harsh and raspy and strange. She hardly recognised it. But just as she swallowed, in attempt to make it kinder and easier to listen to, the figure behind the curtain shot OUT from behind the curtain and into the hallway.
But instead of coming toward Rose, the figure hustled out of the moonlight, running at rabbit-speed toward the staircase.
Rose gaped at the figure, suddenly overwhelmed with a realisation.
