She shook her head and turned to pick up my nightgown where it lay on the bed, adding it to her pile of dirty garments by the door. I focused on my stockings and then rose to allow Bree to drop a warm, carnelian red woolen walking dress over my head. By the time she’d buttoned my gown up the back, any sign that the story she’d told had distressed her was wiped clean from her face. I had to admire her resolve and her resilience.
I settled on the bench again so that she could run the brush through my unruly hair. It crackled with each pass through the thick tresses.
“Tell me,” I said, deciding to take a chance. “What did you think of Mr. Anderley?” I reached out to pick up a bottle of floral-scented perfume my sister had sent me for Hogmanay. I rarely, if ever, wore fragrances, but I decided to dab some on my neck. It gave me something to do with my hands. “I’ve been told he’s rather vain and pompous,” I supplied when she remained silent. “And I was just curious how you found him.”
I lifted my eyes to her reflection, just in time to see the grin of amusement that warmed her features.
“Aye. I suppose you could call ’im that.” She proceeded to divide my hair into several sections and begin to plait each one.
“But you wouldn’t?” I prodded, wondering at her reticence.
“Well, I’d say it’s more likely his armor. Ye ken? The way he wishes teh be seen rather than seem vulnerable. It canna be easy enterin’ a strange household.”
I studied Bree in the glass, realizing she had an amazing capacity for empathy. If she’d seen so quickly to the heart of Anderley in one evening, I wondered how much of my hidden pain she’d already guessed at.
She must have sensed my unease, for she looked up from her task, meeting my eyes in the reflection of the mirror, before returning to my braid. “Everyone’s got their hurts. No matter who they are. It’s easy teh forget that when we’re no’ willin’ teh look too deep.”
I stared down at the vanity, considering what she’d said while she finished styling my hair in a tight coronet. It was easy to assume that people were uncomplicated, that the face they showed the world was their true selves, but I knew, perhaps as well as anyone could, that this was not true. I did not share myself easily. I never had. And neither did Gage. Sometimes I thought that was part of the reason I was drawn to him. He intimately understood, in a way most people couldn’t, just why I was so reluctant to let others see the truth.
Normally I was attuned to sense the sides of people that they would prefer to remain hidden, with a few notable and detrimental exceptions. It was what made me such a good portrait artist. I saw the truth behind the facades they so painstakingly erected. It was almost always the eyes that gave them away, even if only in the flicker of a fraction of a second. It was impossible for me to know the depth and breadth of their secrets, whether they were big or small, whether they hid them from others or just themselves, but I could see the truth of who they were, good or bad. And people didn’t always like it.
However, since William’s death I’d grown out of practice, or perhaps just uncaring. I’d been so consumed by my grief, my worries, my fears that I’d blocked out everyone else, including my maid. And to some extent, my brother.
It was no wonder he was so worried about me. I’d always been able to unerringly read him, but since my return to Blakelaw House, I hadn’t really bothered to try. I knew there were things that were troubling him, and they didn’t all revolve around me, but I hadn’t even made an effort to probe them. His pestering little sister hadn’t been pestering him. I could understand how unsettling that would be.
Bree finished my hair, and as she’d already laid out my kid leather boots and gloves, she made ready to leave, but I stopped her. She faced me with her hands clasped before her, an uncertain expression on her face. It was perhaps the first time I’d seen her look unconfident, and I hastened to reassure her.
“As I’m sure you know, it’s Handsel Day. And although I know it’s customary to give all the servants their gifts together, I wanted to give you yours here.”
Bree instantly relaxed, and a very becoming flush of pleasure brightened her face as I handed her three packages. “Thank you, m’lady.”
I felt an answering blush heat my cheeks as I indicated the largest of the three. “That contains two dresses I asked Miss Little to alter for you. She said she had your measurements, but if for any reason they don’t fit, she’ll fix them.” It was customary to give the servants a new uniform every year on Handsel Day, but as Bree was now a lady’s maid, she was allowed to wear cast-off gowns from her employer and other finer apparel. I hoped the two dresses I’d selected and asked our seamstress to alter would suit her.
Bree beamed with happiness, and I urged her to open the other two packages, hoping she would like them just as well. One was a package of scented soaps, as I’d noticed how much mine seemed to please her when she helped me to wash my hair. The other was a set of hairpins with small, finely worked metal flowers on the ends. I had seen them in a shop in Kelso and immediately decided they would be perfect for Bree’s curls.