August 1848 : Letters from No One

She would have to get up at some point, though she could not see why now or an hour from now would make much of a difference. But with Elise tying back the drapes to allow in the morning sun, that idea was as good as dead.

"Good morning, your ladyship!"

"Good morning, Elise," Rowena mused dazedly. She slid up from the sumptuous covers to rest her back against the bolsters along her elaborate headboard, rubbing the sleep out from her sepia eyes. It was the morning after the family's arrival from their home in London, the Season having officially ended as of the previous Friday. While Rowena loved nothing more than to be knee-deep in the bustling excitement of Royal Ascot or the gregarious chatter at Almack's, it always turned out that, come August, she was quite ready to return to the quiet country life of Etheridge. And though she was in no shortage of associates by the collaborated effort of her mother's strings and Rowena's own charm, still she was found wanting for a husband.

At twenty-three, it could hardly be considered something to smile about.

The flame-haired maid set two envelopes upon the nightstand. "Two telegrams for you, your ladyship," she said lightly, smoothing her prim white apron. "Would you like for me to draw your bath with rosewater or lavender this morning?"

"Oh, do surprise me." Rowena smirked as the giggling maid left for the bathroom, glancing at the return addresses between the two telegrams. She couldn't quite bring herself to read anything from her newlywed cousin just yet -- no doubt she wrote to rub the details of their French honeymoon in her face -- but the name Prudence Goodwill sent her fingers into a swiftness. It was a pseudonym, of course -- no lady of elite esteem would give her child such an antediluvian name -- used by Sabine whenever the two exchanged correspondence. This way no one but the pair could recognize whom they truly wrote to and, in turn, be able to write freely without the suspicion of their parents.

"Oh, my God..."

It only took a moment for her to read over the hasty few lines of scribbles before Rowena scrambled to her feet. She had barely thrown the silken robe over her nightshift before rushing out the door, the telegram clutched in her hand.

Elise only caught a glimpse of the woman dash out from her bedroom before she turned off the faucet. Nothing but impending disaster could make her run out of bed on a Monday morning.

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"What's it matter?"

"Because it isn't like her ladyship is all." Elise tied back the drapes of the furthest window over before pausing, looking out onto the manicured green that was the landscape of Etheridge Place. "I never remember the Lady Rowena to get out of bed before noon, much less dash out for a simple telegram. Unless it was something of dire importance. But how many of those things does she read in bed every other morning? It can't be s--"

"It can't be," Frederica echoed with a dismissive laugh from her own bathtub. "Because it couldn't possibly be as important as you make it sound. Rowena's odd about these things, and you shouldn't pretend otherwise."

The ginger one sighed before finishing with the drapes, moving along to make the bed Frederica had abandoned. Another maid, Nan, had been fixing the room herself until Elise insisted she see to finishing Lady Rowena's. Elise had promptly shut the door behind Nan, locking it.

Working a steady lather in her palms, Frederica leaned over the tub ledge. Impatiently she insisted, "For God's sake, Elise! Will you come in here already?"

The housemaid nearly trotted into the bathroom upon request. It seemed clear she would have inquired what was wanted, but all her young mistress had to do was toss that impish little grin to hint at unspoken instructions. Elise could not help the blush about her milky cheeks before she glanced over at the locked door. "We haven't any time," she whispered.

The bubbly bathwater, still a bit more than tepid,  sloshed over the porcelain ledges once the earl's raven-haired daughter grabbed at her lover's hands and yanked her forward. Their childish giggles echoed in unison before a cinnamon-tinted mouth pressed sweetly against the flushing pink of the other, lithe fingers twining as if to hold on before their feet would lift from the marble floor in their ignorant bliss. Elise gasped as she realized her naked mistress was making rushed efforts to get her much the same; she broke their kiss to press her lips against the heart of a smooth, toffee throat.

"I mean it! We've got to... ahm, get... get get you to breakfast before everyone notices you're late. Again. Oi! Do sto-- mmn, for fuck's sake, don't you stop that."

Frederica threw her head back with laughter, tearing at the seemingly endless buttons and ties before dropping to her knees. She pushed an enraptured Elise back against the washroom vanity, the ginger haphazardly stepping out from her shift until it was a worthless pile of dampened whites and blacks on the floor. She nearly crawled between her legs before shoving them apart, Frederica wasting no time in hoisting the creamy expanse of thighs upon her shoulders. Despite the pinned girl's diluted protest she whispered, "I'll see what's eating at my sister, if it makes you happy. But that just means you'll have to pay for it... later. Because right now, I'm quite ready to devour you."

She then dove deep into the soft mound of ginger curls, letting her pursed mouth kiss at the honeyed moisture that was Elise's own netherlips before delving her tongue with wanton need. The maid could hardly contain her impassioned mewling, but Frederica could hardly bring herself to mind. It was easy to ignore Elise with her thighs muffled about her lover's ears.

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While she had her own doubts about what was going on, Catherine could not have guessed the magnitude of what she actually asked for.

"She's mad."

"She needs help, Catherine!" The raven-haired sister clutched the telegram to her bosom as she paced about her the peach-and-beige trimmed bedroom. "She needs our help above anyone else's. It's our duty to come to her aid!"

"No, it isn't." 

Catherine sat at her vanity mirror, cool as a cucumber while a maid busied with brushing her hair. The dark brown curlicues of it could hardly be managed with merely a comb and a brush alike, but this morning it decided to be somewhat tame. "Let's twist it and coif it for now, Madge. We'll worry about something finer before tea. No, Rowena." Her hazel eyes locked upon her fretting sister distastefully, sighing as she went on, "Mama told us years ago we're not to respond to anything she writes. It's all her own doing anyhow. She chose to run off with that blundering Scotsman, didn't she? She chose to cast the family name into suspicion and curiosity, nearly ruining the prospects for the rest of us. And for heaven's sake, do stop that ridiculous pacing, Simply watching you would make a blind man dizzy."

"That isn't fair," Rowena argued. "She's our sister, Cat."

"How can you think of her when she thought so little of us? Do you honestly think she kept us in mind when she eloped? Even if we wanted to help, how could we? There's nothing we can very well do. We've not got anything to lend, not without Papa's consent." She sneered then, "And we all know that isn't happening."

Over and over again her dark eyes read the hurried letter. Again and again Rowena's heart clenched with the apprehension of her sister's well-being, of her pregnancy. It had only been a month or so since Sabine's little son was taken by the cholera sickness sweeping the country, and in her letter it seemed Edgar, her husband, had succumbed to it as well. With Sabine nearly ready to burst at the arrival of her second child, Rowena could hardly bear the thought of her not escaping the epidemic in time to the clean country air. Even folks of the village had remained clear of the illness.

So far, in any case.

She shook her head, plopping hopelessly upon the loungechair set before the great bed. Dismal as things were, it looked as though it could be Sabine's only chance at seeking redemption on behalf of their parents. Disowned or not, the girl was their daughter, and Rowena knew her steadfast mother better than to  turn away family. Yes, they had come to a nearly impossible decision, the Earl and his Countess, when they were forced to forsake their disobedient child. And yes, neither man nor wife had been heard to even mutter Sabine's name since she had been cast out those three years ago. But both would be false to the integrity of their name if they were to pretend as though their eldest daughter had been cast out of their hearts as well. 

"I'll have to tell them."

At that Catherine turned, the brush in Madge's hand clunking to the floor. "You can't!" she exclaimed, hazels hardened in severity. "Mama won't hear any of it, and you wouldn't dare tell Papa."

But Rowena bit her lip against the debate frothing over in her head. "It's just like you said, Cat; there isn't any other way. Once they know she and the life of the babe are in danger, they won't have any choice but to take her back in. Sabie's her daughter just like the rest of us."

"Then you're a fool to tell," Catherine countered. She turned back to the vanity, impatient for her hair to be finished. "And you may want to be dressed before you try to convince either of them of anything. By the way, did Papa not say that one gentleman was coming to visit him today? He had some sort of news or anticipations, I think..."

At the door Rowena paused, hand upon doorknob. Heavens, but she could hardly go a full day back in the country before the society of London had to catch up with her! And while her sister was not privy to just which gentleman would come to call, Rowena had more than an idea.

No, she knew. And if he arrived with the likely intentions she expected, the Duke of Hilton would be most disappointed.