Swashbuckling in the Dark

Chapter Twenty-Three Pt. 2

The woman staring back at me in the mirror didn't really resemble me. At least, she didn't look at all like the image of myself I held in my mind.

"Is it to your liking, milady?"

Dutifully I inspected my hair; it was piled on top of my head, a few long curls left loose to curl over my shoulder.

"It's lovely. Thank you," I told my maid. She set down the brush carefully on the vanity, bobbed a curtsy and left.

I rose from the chair, striding over to the full length mirror to see the full effect. The dress was very fine, and fit me well. Even growing up as I had, in a wealthy household, I'd never owned anything like this. The expensive dresses and ornate furnishings of my new bedchamber were unfamiliar and dreary. I missed my old room. It was smaller than this one, and far less grand, but it was full of light and comfort. My room here had deep red walls and charcoal curtains that were always closed, blocking natural light.

Twirling before the mirror, I fluffed out the skirts. As I turned I caught my reflection again; I didn't smile.

Much like the day of the wedding, I mused to myself. Standing before a mirror, dressed in a beautiful gown, and I couldn't bring myself to smile. That had been a mere month ago.

I sighed, flicking the stray curls of hair over my shoulder. Tonight was some sort of banquet to celebrate the marriage. I wasn't looking forward to it.

A knock sounded on my door, but he walked in before I had the chance to answer. He walked towards me with purpose, appraising my appearance with obvious approval.

He said, "You look lovely," and reached for my hand, brushing his mouth across my knuckles.

I murmured my thanks, noting his own fine attire. My husband always took pains to look his best. With Duncan's darkly handsome features, he made an impression.

"You're frowning," he said, displeased. "You must smile for our guests."

"Forgive me," I muttered. "I don't feel myself today." It was true, but I said it hoping to garner some sympathy, and possibly a reprieve from tonight's dinner.

Duncan, unfortunately, had no sympathy in him. "Don't be silly," he admonished me. "Come."

I relented, letting him lead me out of the room and downstairs. The rest of the manor was equally grand, the wealth of its owner reflected in the décor, the finery and the ever-present servants, waiting patiently at his beck and call. One of the manservants offered him a full glass of brandy that he took without pause, towing me after him into the dining room.

His guests had already been received; he wanted to make an entrance. He tugged my hand to his elbow, guiding us to the head of the long mahogany table. This room was bright, festive, a perfect place to host a dinner party. All of the guests stood by their chairs, waiting for us to take our seats. My new husband pulled out the chair to his left and offered it. I sat with much more grace than I would have though capable with my legs feeling as if they had turned gelatinous.

Duncan spun and stood before his chair at the head, lifting his glass of brandy in welcome. He started making a speech of sorts, toasting and welcoming his friends. I noted with a touch of nervousness that many of them were observing me, some of the ladies in attendance making whispered comments to their neighbours.

Torturing myself with the possibilities, I fervently hoped they were discussing my family and my father's poor reputation. More likely it was my hair, or my dress. Perhaps my appearance. It didn't matter as long as it wasn't the subject of my new husband's reputation. I was his second wife, and ever since the engagement had been announced, it seemed all people could gossip about. They still hadn't forgotten the tragic death of Duncan's first wife.