Sommer Steppe - October 9, 1777.
Not a single draft filtered through the bedchamber. Any cold spot that could be found was thoroughly dampened by the heat emanating from Lady Elmira Sommer’s grand fireplace. The only room in Sommer Steppe amply supplied with wood and coal as it was needed. They couldn’t risk her catching a chill.
“My lady, you really mustn’t do that,” Victoria chided her young mistress, not for the first time as she set aside the gloves she’d been embroidering on the windowsill.
“I’m old enough to know when it’s too hot,” Lady Elmira complained, shoving her bedding down once more and tugging restlessly at her nightgown to let some fresh air hit her skin. Victoria didn’t blame her. The doctor’s orders to keep her room as warm as possible seemed absolutely mad. Still, he must know what he was doing. She’d have a word with him later, once her lady retired for the evening.
“I don’t wish to argue,” Victoria repeated, “not tonight.” She was happy to be a lady’s maid, truly. She was not, however, fond of acting the part of her mistress’s mother. Lady Elmira was far too old for a nanny. Victoria was constantly reminding her to act her age as politely and firmly as she could, because she was the only person in the girl’s life who would even bother.
“Victoria,” Lady Elmira protested, when Victoria stood up from her chair and quickly came to her side to rearrange the bedding once more.
Exasperated, the lady’s maid firmly pressed thick blankets into her mistress’s sides, “please, my lady, do not make me the villain tonight.”
“You make yourself the villain!” Lady Elmira snapped, banging her fists on her elegantly embroidered quilt, but allowing it to remain snugly over her chest.
“You are eighteen,” Victoria pointed out, “nearly nineteen. You would have had your debut this season, had you listened to Doctor Prattel. Now you are here in bed, and instead of enjoying the refreshments offered to lady’s maids at the ball, I am keeping you company. I hardly think I deserve this treatment.”
Lady Elmira worried at her bottom lip, fingers twisting around the edge of her quilt.
“You know that isn’t true,” she murmured, turning her head to look towards the shuttered bedroom windows, “I can’t even walk. Father would never let me go.”
A pang of guilt stabbed at Victoria’s chest, “I wish you would stop claiming such things. His lordship cares for you very much and would like to see you happy, just as the rest of us would. Now,” she said, more gently, “if you can try to rest, I will remain here at your side. My lady, the sooner you are well, the sooner we can allow the room to cool. The sooner we can go outside and enjoy the gardens. Wouldn’t you like that?”
Victoria left the bed and sat back down at the wooden chair she’d placed beside the grand window of Lady Elmira’s chambers, less than a few feet away.
“By then,” Victoria continued, snatching up her embroidery, “these gloves will be done. Wouldn’t you like to wear them on our next visit to the city?” She smoothed her fingers over the delicate green linework she’d woven expertly into white. Fresh rose vines. She’d save the flowers for last. The thorns were almost real enough to prick skin. Victoria rather admired her own skill. Of course, it would never compare to her mother’s. It was difficult to bite back those bitter thoughts when they surfaced.
“Yes,” Lady Elmira replied, then paused thoughtfully. She turned on her side with some effort to face Victoria, and reached out with one delicate hand, “I want them now, actually.”
“They aren’t done.”
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
“Well, let me see them.”
“Not yet. You know the rule,” Victoria told her with a firm tone, though a soft smile played on her lips.
“Victoria.”
“No.”
“Victoria.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Victoria,” Lady Elmira drew out her name, fully reverting to the age of nine or maybe ten.
Victoria lowered the gloves to her lap, attempting a very firm expression. It was hard to play the stalwart lady’s maid at all hours of the day. She was human too.
“My lady,” she said, very calmly, “if I hand you these gloves, I will never touch them again. You will wear an unfinished work of art. You may very well spend the rest of your days longing to see what they may have become. My needle will never again touch this fabric. Are you prepared for that consequence?” She was being just a tad dramatic, but the exchange between had become a bit of a game now.
Lady Elmira nodded resolutely “Yes,” she insisted, the fingers of her outstretched hand wiggling emphatically.
“Truly?” Victoria asked.
“Give!”
Victoria tugged her needle and thread through one last loop on the gloves, reaching towards the windowsill to snatch up a pair of scissors, “are you sure? You wouldn’t like perhaps one or two more roses or vines, maybe beneath the wrist?” She hovered with the scissors in her hand, allowing her lady one last chance.
“Enough talk, I order you to tie it off and hand me my gift!” Lady Elmira commanded.
“Really, my lady,” Victoria said, feigning disappointment as she wrapped up the last knot and cleanly cut the thread. “I can’t say I recall one thing I’ve been able to finish for you.”
“They’re all finished,” Lady Elmira replied haughtily. She snatched the gloves from Victoria’s grasp. “You just never know when to quit,” she added, “you don’t have my discerning eye.”
Casting her gaze towards the window, Victoria peered into the dying light of the early evening. This was the absolute best view in the entire manor. The lady’s bedroom looked right out into the gardens, which may not have been as impressive as a larger estate, but were lovingly tended to and cared for in such a way that one couldn’t help but find joy in the sight. Beyond the gardens, she could see the estate’s sparse cobblestone path that hadn’t been properly covered in several years. At the very edge of that path, the gates of Sommer Steppe stood. If she squinted, she could make out a glimmering ember of the lanterns where Thomas, the stableboy, likely stood. Waiting for their master, The Baron, Lord Albert Sommer. More and more these days, he kept later hours.
It was a good hour or so before Lady Elmira tired of admiring her new gloves, gushing over how pretty the vines were, and how it would complement her eyes. Her beautiful eyes, which all the ton would likely comment on once she properly debuted, she added. Though Victoria did not entirely disagree that her lady had lovely green eyes, she bemoaned the fact that very few of the girl’s etiquette lessons seemed to have been taken very well. Humility was not a virtue she had ever demonstrated. In Lady Elmira’s eyes, denying her own beauty was in fact the gravest sin.
“Not to mention my honey blonde hair,” the lady added drowsily, nestling her head into her pillow.
“Honey blonde?” Victoria asked in a soft tone, standing up from her chair and straightening her ash gray skirt, “last week wasn’t it golden blonde? Did it change?”
Lady Elmira closed her eyes, waving an arm, “no, I had some honey with my tea and realized that word was far more accurate. Honey blonde. Then there’s my alabaster skin, of course.” She stifled a yawn, “my dance card would have been too full to know where to begin if I hadn’t gotten sick.”
“Yes, my lady,” Victoria agreed, smoothing out the quilt over Lady Elmira’s bed, “you’d have been the cause of so many fights and broken hearts. Society is truly unfortunate today. Next season will be so much better.”
There was no reply. She’d finally fallen asleep, and so Victoria could at the very least stretch her legs and fetch something to eat. It had been a long day.
Few candles had been lit in the hall sconces. They were rationing these days. One hardly noticed the tiny indulgences in life until they were gone. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Phillips, did what she could to ensure their nights were not entirely dark.