Rose in the Dark - Logan Fox

1

Pippa

“He’s ready for you, girl.”

I flinch at Mrs. Potter’s voice. Not for its sternness — I was raised in an orphanage run by the kind of nuns that make Mrs. Potter look like a wet rag — but because I’d been so lost in thought I hadn’t heard her approach.

“Thank you.” I dip my head a little and leave it at that, not sure if she expects a curtsey from me or not. I’ve worked in homes like this before, where the hierarchy between the staff was strictly adhered to, but never for a man of this stature. I’m still trying to decide where I fit in.

Mrs. Potter turns on her heel and I follow a moment later. The heels of our boots click against the flagstones as she leads me deeper into the manor. Her earlier tour included the entire bottom floor and most of the second. But now she’s headed for a sweeping staircase that leads to the third. Our boots are silent on the now carpeted stairs — thick fiber in dark burgundy — that twist maddeningly as we ascend.

“You are never to enter this staircase without explicit invitation,” Mrs. Potter warns in her tight, slightly breathless voice — as if I’m just some commoner with absolutely no sense of etiquette. It’s no wonder she can’t breathe — the chest of her dress binds her breasts near flat on her ribcage.

I’m not one for fashion, but the style of Mrs. Potter’s garments appear to be at least a decade old. Had the fabric not been so faded, it would have been a very colorful, outspoken piece. My dress is powder blue, trimmed with white, and although plain, it was only tailored a few weeks ago. My first new dress after Howie had been born.

I pause for a moment, fumbling blindly for the railing as my eyes squeeze closed. It’s a pathetic attempt to block out that lurid splash of memory that blooms every time I think of my dearly departed child…but fortunately I recover before Mrs. Potter notices.

Straighten your goddamn spine, Pippa.

My husband’s voice echoes hollowly in my mind, and makes me grimace. But I push my shoulders back, and lift my chin, and even attempt a faint smile as Mrs. Potter stops in front of a massive oak door and taps the knocker three times with her thin, red-knuckled hands.

The urge to toy with my bonnet or clasp my hands like I’m awaiting the lash is unbearable.

“Come.”

The hair on the back of my neck stands up at the deep baritone that calls out to us through the thick door. Mrs. Potter glances over her shoulder at me and scans me as if to make sure there’s not a strand out of place. My hand lifts before I can stop myself, running self-consciously over the tail of luscious curls bouncing over my right shoulder. Mrs. Potter doesn’t look pleased…then again, I can’t imagine what it would take to see mirth light up her flinty eyes.

With an audible sniff, Mrs. Potter takes me over the threshold and into the baron’s apartments.

Brandon

At first, I don’t see the nanny. I frown at Mrs. Potter so hard, her stern expression cracks into confusion before she steps aside.

“Miss Goodwin,” Lydia begins. “Permit me to present to you the Honorable Baron Dunn—”

I stand in a rush. “Thank you, that will be all.”

Mrs. Potter cuts off, curtsies, leaves.

The young girl standing a few feet off could be a statue carved from pale marble.

“Mrs. Goodwin,” I say. Not that I can imagine her a married woman. She’s too young, too shy.

“You may call me Pippa if it pleases you, my Lord.” A smile flashes over her mouth.

“Sir.”

Pippa ducks her head a little, and looks as if she wants to curtsy but can’t remember how. “Sir. My apologies. I, uh, I’ve never worked for a—”

“Baron?” I cock an eyebrow at her as I move around my desk. On instinct, I reach for my cup of coffee, and then stop. It’s cold already.

Everything in this fucking place is cold moments after it gets up here. Unless she’s blushing, Pippa’s not taking too kindly to the chill. I hold out my arm, and she shifts as if about to bolt, should I touch her. “There’s a fire in the next room. We can warm ourselves there.”

Pippa nods, and her cheeks color even more as she keeps to my side.

“And Rose, of course.”

“Of course,” Pippa repeats, a touch breathlessly.

Is it because we’re in my bedroom? If she is in fact