Page 11 of The Redemption of the Shrew

“Nothing is wrong, miss.” She set the gown in a trunk and proceeded to fold another.

“Nonsense,” Gloriana said. “Your eyes are red, and you’re in a horrible mood. Why won’t you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Because I don’t wish to. It’s none of your business, miss, and that’s all I have to say.” Elspeth shut and locked the first trunk and began packing another.

“But . . . but surely it is my business,” Gloriana said. “You’re my servant, and therefore I am responsible for your well-being.”

“My physical well-being, miss, which is perfectly fine.” Elspeth turned away, firmly stowing several nightdresses.

Gloriana set about packing her jewelry. She was accustomed to confiding all her troubles to Elspeth. She thought of her as a friend, not a mere servant. Seemingly, Elspeth didn’t return the sentiment.

Servants are like children and will succumb to hysteria over nothing, said her mother’s voice in Gloriana’s mind. She was sorely tempted to dismiss Elspeth’s bad temper as folly.

No, for Elspeth was never foolish. “But surely there’s something I can do.”

Elspeth rounded on her. “It’s too late for that, miss. You could have behaved like a lady should. You could have treated the marquis with kindness and understanding for the past several years. If you had, you would have been married to him by now, and happy.”

Her heart sank. Maybe this was true. If only she’d been patient . . .

“But you didn’t.” Elspeth shook out a chemise with a snap. “You could have evaded Lord Hythwick rather than encouraging him, just for the sake of playing a foolish prank.”

Shame washed over her. “You don’t understand. That’s not why I—”

Elspeth’s voice rose with fury. “And you could have stayed away from here this morning, but instead you ruined everything.”

“I ruined everything?”

Elspeth slammed the half-filled trunk shut. “If you intend to dismiss me, get on with it so I can pack my things.”

An impertinent servant is not to be borne. If Gloriana had been her mother, she would have sacked the maid immediately. But Mama would never have considered a servant her friend.

“Don’t be absurd, Elspeth. I don’t know how I would go on without you.”

Elspeth didn’t respond, and Gloriana sighed, trying to understand. Yes, she had made a mull of everything, but it wouldn’t affect Elspeth’s life, which would go on much as before. Why was she so upset?

She glanced at the maid’s stiff back and knew no comfort or help would come from there.

Feeling more bereft than ever, Gloriana crossed to the shelves for the Book of Hours but drew her hand back at the last moment. She’d broken her vow. She didn’t deserve sympathy, nor the comfort the book bestowed. She still cringed, recalling the words she’d spoken aloud to Philippe. I never loved you.

What a horrid lie. Five years ago, she had vowed to love him forever, and she had stuck to her vow. After that night at the summerhouse when her plan had gone awry, she had composed a new scene in her mind. If Philippe still loved her, he would understand how much he had hurt her. Stricken with remorse, he would go down on bended knee and apologize, professing his undying love.

On the contrary. The next time they’d met, his gaze had conveyed nothing but disdain. She still loved him, but pride would not allow her to show it. Her new persona—the haughty aristocrat—showed Philippe how much she despised him and his revolutionary views. Until he realized the error of his ways, she would continue to play her role, while cherishing in her heart of hearts the belief that he did love her, and that love would prevail in the end.

But it hadn’t.

Maybe Elspeth was right, and she’d handled it all wrong.

But he should have understood how much he’d hurt her. If he’d truly loved her, he would have.

She glanced at Elspeth, who would certainly disagree with this. He’s not a mind reader, the maid would say, and Gloriana was forced to admit, if only to herself, that this was true. But she and Philippe had discussed his ideals when they’d first met, particularly with regard to education of the lower classes, and she’d applauded every one of them. How could he believe she had suddenly changed her mind? Why hadn’t he said something? He could have tried to win her over. But he hadn’t.

She finished packing her jewelry, took up her sketchbook and pencil, and drew Philippe as she’d last seen him—his eyes chilly with disgust and his handsome face distorted by a sneer. Usually, she drew to comfort and console herself, but not this time. She made herself look at the drawing over and over, dwelling on this unlovable aspect of him in the hope that it would help her forget him.

It didn’t work. On the long journey south, she reviewed their latest encounter over and over. She’d got her lines entirely wrong.

She should have given him a piece of her mind. How dare he imagine she would try to trap Hythwick into marriage? She’d never approved of such stupid tricks. She should have berated him for such a crude, vulgar suggestion, unworthy of an aristocrat.

No, no, that was what Mama might have said. Best not to mention aristocrats in connection with Philippe. Not that she had anything against the nobility. She believed in the principle of noblesse oblige. Those of birth, wealth, and authority had an obligation to help those in lesser circumstances. But Philippe went farther. He had supported the revolution in France. He disapproved of class distinctions and probably considered it his right to behave like a dustman if he so chose. Regardless, a polite, well-bred lady wouldn’t taunt him for being an aristocrat, nor for wishing he wasn’t one.