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"Isn't that…" I pause and Mrs. Harris looks at me with both of her greying eyebrows arched.
"What?" She asks, sounding slightly testy.
"Um, a bitolder?" I ask. Shehmmmphs.
"Maybe in Europe they don't have sensible rules to keep accidents from happening, but here, we do, Miss Bell. Come." She walks between the two staircases, and we're in a long hallway lined with portraits and statues in recessed nooks.
Accidents.
So that's what they call it here. My ears burn and I follow her. She's stopped in front of a grand painting, ten feet tall and five feet wide, the gilt frame glittering in the light of the hallway.
It's of two people, the fashions current to a few years ago. It must be the duke and his duchess.
I gaze up at the familial painting.
"It was their graces' wedding portrait," Mrs. Harris says, watching me look at them. The duke is painted in his ceremonial dress, stiff shoulders, and award medallions that line his chest. The sash of his office, deep blue with red fringe and white stars along it, hangs across him from shoulder to hip. The Duchess is in a deep blue dress that spills over her knees to pool gracefully on the ground in front of her. Stars adorn her hair, a nod to our flag. Even in this personal portrait, nobles must be patriotic. A dog, reddish with long fur, sits beside the duke, looking up at its master with loyalty in its expression.
There is something familiar about the duchess's face, that sounds off in the back of my mind. Of course. She looks like Lady Madeline, who's picture was tucked into my welcome packet.
"It's beautiful," I comment, and Mrs. Harris nods, saying nothing as she continues to walk me down the grand hallways.
"The ballroom. Lady Madeline takes her dance lessons here, although at her age, it's mostly running and jumping," Mrs. Harris says, with a kind affection on her face as she gestures into two large doors that are open into a brilliantly lit room. My breath catches in my throat as I walk inside and look around. The ceilings arch high above me, doming up to the sky. Glass is set into them, colored and stained, shooting a rainbow of beauty across the wooden floors.
"I would've thought it would be marble," I say, distracted as I look at all the decorations this room has to offer. It must hold five hundred people easily, or more. Columns line the wall, and a second story balcony gives a place for people to look down and watch the festivities.
"It's harder on the dancers," Mrs. Harris says, "we can't have the ladies fainting from the exhaustion of dancing on the hard stone after only an hour." She crosses the floor with me, until we stand in the center of the room. At the far end is a raised dais, a foot up, with two chairs sitting on it in the center. Although 'chairs' is probably the wrong word. They're carved dark wooden thrones, with peaked backs that strain toward the ceiling. They're each set with an inlaid stained-glass star at the top of their graceful arches.
"His grace and her grace sit there when they entertain."
"Are there events often?" I ask, "Does Lady Madeline go too?" I want to know where she sits, when they hold parties in here.
"Not frequently. Less so in the last few years. Perhaps that will change though." Mrs. Harris sweeps past me, and I trail behind her, looking up. The stained glass ceiling tells a story, I realize, stars, and ships on the ocean, crossing the sea. I pause under one dome, there are five in all in a straight line across the center of the roof. It's so beautiful, I can't help but look up.
Mrs. Harris waits for me at the other set of doors, patiently. The awe I feel makes my skin tingle, and I feel every single year of this building's existence weighing down on me. How many lifetimes have been lived under this roof? How many relationships between lords and ladies have blossomed under these stars?
I jerk my head down as she clears her throat.
"It tells the story of the first duke and duchess, the original King family that crossed the ocean to make a new life here," she says, answering me before I can ask.
"The first?" We're leaving the room, into another hallway, the floor transitioning from wood to marble under our feet. She's right about stone being harder on a person than wood. I'm going to need to get better shoes with my first paycheck, something good for running around after a little girl.
Now getting rid of all my Au Pair gear after coming back to America seems stupid, but I didn't think I'd ever be in this kind of role ever again.
"Their line nearly died out, but then the first of the new Kings, the current duke's Great-Great-Grandfather was found amongst the cousins. And so they carry on the duties of the duchy,ensuring all of Los Angeles and the surrounding areas are looked after," Mrs. Harris stops in front of another portrait. This time, it's the duke himself, sitting against the backdrop of the library with a young girl on his knee. Of course, him and Madeline. She's got the same dark intense blue eyes as he does, looking almost black on the painting. The artist let a hint of it escape in a highlight of blue wash in the paint.
"There's more to show you, of course, the music room, the drawing room—"
"Drawing room?"
She nods.
"Where her Grace accepts company, when she's up to it. Well, never mind, that'll be for some time down the road. Let's go up and see your rooms—" She pauses as I hear footsteps, and I turn to look where they're coming from.
He's unmistakable even at a distance, his height and the curl of his hair, even a glimpse from fifty feet away means nothing.
It's the marquis. He's striding toward us, dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, which surprises me. None of the upper class that I knew before dressed like this. Not ever unless they were the type to grub around in the garden as a hobby.
"Harris, is this the new blood?" He calls, his voice echoing toward us.
