Page 13 of Devil at the Gates
“Ring the bell cord by the bed if you need anything. I’ll be back with clothes once I find something that will suit you.”
“Thank you, Maisie.”
“You’re welcome, miss.”
After the maid had gone, Harriet’s appetite returned, and she ate her breakfast and had two cups of the orange pekoe tea. Then she lay back in the bed, half-asleep, and focused on the sunlight creeping across the room.
Her gaze fell upon the radiantly colored tapestries of the woods and the stags within them. Had she really dreamt of a lustrous silver figure stealing into them, then evaporating like an errant pool of mist? She remembered quite clearly the figure raising a hand to point at a man asleep in the chair by the fire. It had to be the duke, and the scorching flames had illuminated his masculine form into a black, haunting silhouette that stole her breath. Had she really been visited by a spirit last night? If she had, what did it want? What was it trying to tell her by pointing at the duke as he slept?
Exhaustion tugged at her limbs, pulling her back down into the bed again, but her fear and unease from the night before was fading quickly, and she no longer feared falling asleep.
Harriet carefully lay upon her left side and closed her eyes. When she woke, it must have been a number of hours later. A haze of dappled sunlight lit the wooded tapestries as though it were a real forest where the stags might have raised their long, elegant limbs with ease, stepping clean out of the threaded world sewn around them. The magic of the room—with the added scent of someone, most likely the duke—lingered strongly here. Had he come to see her while she slept? The idea unnerved her, but there was very little fear left at the thought. Maisie was right, he was like that intimidating black dog of his, Devil. All bark and no bite.
She sat up, pushed the covers away, and slipped out of bed. The stones beneath her feet were cool, but not cold as she expected. Harriet went to the fireplace and added a few logs, despite the fact that her shoulder still ached, but the pain was far more manageable. She studied the cut upon her brow in a mirror and washed her face in the white porcelain basin. The cold water felt good and woke her up a bit. Weariness still tugged at her limbs, but she was content to keep moving, stretching her legs and regaining some of her mobility. Maisie returned to find her practicing some fencing positions, ones she could execute without requiring her right arm.
“Miss?” Maisie tilted her head. “Are you well? I’m not certain you should be out of bed.”
“Yes, I’m quite well. I needed to move or else I’d become stiff.” Harriet returned to the bed. Maisie carried over a large white box and set it before her.
“I found this up in the attic. Been stored there and was never worn, as far as I know.” She opened the box and pulled out a beautiful gown.
“Oh… It’s lovely. I couldn’t possibly wear it,” Harriet protested.
“Nonsense. You will look fetching in it, miss. I’ve dried your stays and have a clean chemise ready for you.”
Maisie helped to remove her nightgown, and she was dressed in fresh undergarments before Maisie helped her don the dress. It was made of green silk, and it had an open robe with a matching underskirt of white silk. It was what her mother would have called a ‘greatcoat’ dress.
The turned-down collar with patterned lapels gave the appearance of a man’s military coat, yet there was a feminine elegance to it. Harriet glanced down at the outer skirts and saw the ends of the side panels had been stitched back, which gave the illusion of additional panels in the same slightly masculine fashion, as though she were wearing a full-length military coat. But there was nothing masculine about the dress. The bright-green and cream silk called to mind the colors of summer lawns and clouds. Tiny pink flowers were embroidered along the hem and the bodice, making it look as though Harriet had rushed into a field of wildflowers and rolled about until her gown was covered with them.
Maisie brushed her palms over her skirts and nodded to herself in approval. “Very fetching.”
“I still think I shouldn’t wear this.” Whoever had owned this dress deserved it more than she did.
“We have a mountain of clothes that are still boxed and unworn. The duchess—”
“These are the duchess’s clothes?” Harriet tried to remove the dress. Maisie pushed her hands away.
“His Grace had them ordered as a wedding present, but she didn’t much care for them.”
“But… They’re so lovely.” Harriet felt like a queen in the gown.
“Yes, they are. Her Grace simply had different tastes. You are nearly the same size as her in the bust and hips, though she was a little taller. I can tailor the unworn gowns if you like. I have skill enough for that.”
Harriet bit her lip and looked at herself in the looking glass. “It won’t upset him to see me in these?”
“I dinna think so,” Maisie admitted honestly. “He ordered the gowns, but when she chose her own instead, he was sad. It may do him good to see these worn by a lovely woman.” Maisie’s gaze had moved to her hair. “Shall I style it better for you?”
“Oh, could you? I haven’t had it done in ages. I wasn’t allowed to have a maid at Thursley.”
Maisie’s eyes widened. “Thursley? That’s in Faversham, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but please don’t speak of it to anyone. I must insist.”
The maid’s expression turned thoughtful, and she bit her lip. “Are you in some trouble, miss? I’m sure His Grace would protect you if you were.”
“That’s just it—I’m quite certain he wouldn’t.” She took a chance to trust Maisie. “My father died when I was young, and my mother married a terrible man. That man is hunting me now, likely this very minute. He is an acquaintance of Lord Frostmore’s. I don’t want the duke to discover he’s harboring a fugitive from someone he considers a friend. He may choose to turn me over to my stepfather.”
The maid ran a brush through Harriet’s hair and was silent a long moment. “What is your stepfather’s name?”
