Lover Reborn

The doggen began to open cupboards and closets, showing her all manner of equipment and concoctions that were described variously as steamers and stain removers and pressers.…

After the tour was completed, she went over and rose up awkwardly on her good foot to link the top of the gown’s hanger upon a knob.

“Are there any stains of which you are aware?” the doggen asked as she flounced out the skirting.

No’One proceeded to go over every square inch of the full bottom, the bodice, the capped sleeves. “There is only this that I can see.” She bent down carefully so as not to put a lot of weight on her weak leg. “Here where the hem meets the floor.”

The doggen did likewise and inspected the faint darkening on the fabric, his pale hands so sure, his frown one of concentration instead of confusion. “Yes, the manual dry cleaner, I think.”

He took her to the far side of the room and described a process that was easily going to fill hours. Perfect. And before she allowed him to depart, she insisted that he stay at her side for the first couple of treatments. As this made him feel more useful, it worked for the both of them.

“I believe I am ready to continue on my own,” she said eventually.

“Very well, mistress.” He bowed and smiled. “I shall go down and endeavor to ready Last Meal. If you should need anything, please call me.”

From what she had learned since her arrival, that required a telephone—

“Here,” he said, over by the counters. “Press ‘star’ and ‘one’ and ask for me, Greenly.”

“You have been most helpful.”

She looked away quickly, not wanting to see him bow to her. And she didn’t try for a deep breath until the door shut behind him.

Now alone, she put her hands on her hips and let her head hang for a moment, the pressure in her chest making it difficult to fill her lungs.

When she had come here, she expected to struggle—and she was, just not with the things she had anticipated.

She hadn’t considered how difficult it would be to exist in an aristocratic house. The home of the First Family, in fact. At least when she had been up with the Chosen, there had been other rhythms and rules, with no one below her. Here? The lofty position people forced upon her cut off her oxygen a lot of the time.

Dearest Virgin Scribe, mayhap she should have asked the servant to stay. At least the innate need for composure had given her a draw in her ribs. With no one to hide from, however, she fought for breath.

The robe was going to have to come off.

Limping over to the doors, she went to lock them, but found there was no bolting mechanism. Not what she was expecting.

Opening them a crack, she put her head out and double-checked the long hallway.

All the servants would be downstairs preparing food for the people of the house. Even more significant, there was no way anyone but doggen would be in this part of the mansion.

She was safe from other eyes.

Ducking back in, she loosened the tie around her waist, removed her hood from the crown of her head and then stripped herself of the weight she bore anytime she was in public. Ah, glorious relief. Reaching her arms up high, she stretched her shoulders and her back, then pulled her neck from side to side. Her last reclamation was to lift the heavy braid of her hair and put it over her shoulder, relieving some of the pull at her nape.

Save for that first night that she had come unto this house and confronted her daughter—as well as the Brother who had tried to save her life so long ago—no one had seen her features. And no one would henceforth. Ever since that brief revelation, she had been e’er covered, and she was going to stay that way.

Proof of identity had been a necessary evil.

As always, she wore beneath her robing a simple linen sheath she had made herself. She had a number of them, and when they grew too thin, she recycled them as towels to dry herself with. She wasn’t sure where she would find the fabric for replacements here, but that was no problem. In order to refresh herself so that she did not need to feed, she went regularly to the Other Side, and she could get what she needed then.

So different the two places were. And yet in either, her hours were the same: infinite, solitary—

No, not entirely solitary. She had come to this side to find her daughter, and now that she had, she was going to…

Well, tonight, she was going to clean this gown.

Stroking the fine fabric, she couldn’t stop the memories from bursting forth, a geyser, unwelcomed.

She had had gowns like this. Dozens of them. They had filled the closet of her nighttime quarters, those beautifully kitted-out rooms that had had the French doors.

Which had proved to be less than secure.

As her eyes misted over, she fought the pull of the past. She’d been through that black hole too many times to count—

“You should burn that robe.”

No’One wheeled around so fast, she nearly tore the dress off the worktable.

In the doorway was a massive male with blond-and-black hair. Verily, he was so big he filled the double-size jambs, but that was not the astonishing thing.

He appeared to gleam.

Then again, he was covered with gold, hoops and studs marking his ears, his eyebrows, his lips, his throat.

No’One dived for what normally covered her, and he stood calmly as she girded herself with the robe.

“Better?” he said softly.

“Who are you.”

Her heart beat so fast that the three words came out in a rush. She wasn’t good with males in enclosed spaces, and this was very enclosed, and he was very male.

“I’m a friend of yours.”

“Then why have I yet to make your acquaintance.”

“Some people would say you’re lucky to have been spared,” he muttered. “And you’ve seen me at meals.”

She supposed she had. She typically kept her head down and her eyes on her plate, but yes, in the periphery, he had been there.

“You’re very beautiful,” he said.

There were two things that kept her from completely panicking: First, there was no speculation in that deep voice of his, no masculine heat, nothing that made her feel preyed upon; and second, he had shifted his position so he was lounging back against the jamb—leaving her room to bolt out if she had to.

As if he knew what made her nervous.

“I’ve been giving you some time to settle in and get your bearings,” he murmured.

“Why would you have cause to do that.”

“Because you’re here for a very important reason, and I’m going to help you.”

The male’s bright white, pupil-less eyes held hers, even though her face was in shadow… as though he were not merely looking at her, but into her.

She took a step back. “You do not know me.”

At least that was a truth so solid she could plant her feet on it: Even if whoever this was was familiar with her parents, her family, her lineage, he did not know her. She was not who she had once been: the abduction, the birth, her death had wiped that slate clean.

Or had broken it to pieces, more accurately.

“I know that you can help me,” he said. “How about that.”

“Are you looking for a maid?”

Hard to imagine, given the number of staff in this household—but that was beside the point. She didn’t want to serve a male in any kind of intimate way.

“No.” Now he smiled, and she had to admit he looked a little… kind. “You know, your default doesn’t have to be servile.”