Darke London Read Online Free PDF Page A

her room.
    “Have your wash, then, m’dear, and I’ll help you to dress.”
    Nellie opened her mouth to assure the housekeeper that she could dress herself, but the muscles in her arms and shoulders were stiff and aching, constricting her mobility, and she realised she’d need some assistance.
    She rose to her feet and approached the washstand. Her legs were not completely steady, in part because of her lingering torpor, but mainly because of what she would see in the large bevelled mirror above the washstand. Ruing her cowardice, she marched across the room and glared defiantly at herself in the mirror. She might look macabre, but she would wash and make herself presentable and go downstairs for breakfast like any normal person.
    Clumsily she washed herself using only her right hand. Yesterday Julian Darke had removed the stitches from her face. He’d worked with remarkable finesse, barely causing her any discomfort. She knew she was lucky, that most doctors would have left her face a butchered mess, but she couldn’t help flinching at the ruins of her once perfect complexion. She sighed in exasperation. What could she expect from others if she was so squeamish herself?
    She put on the clean chemise, drawers and stockings Mrs. Tibbet handed to her. There was no sign of any corset, but she didn’t need one when she slipped on the white dress and saw it was fashioned in the Empire silhouette, a style that had been popular decades ago. Made of cotton and embroidered silk, the dress floated over her body, as gauzy and delicate as a cloud. The frock was simply beautiful, something a well-to-do young lady would possess, and she, plain Nellie Barchester, with red scars crisscrossing her cheeks and a disfigured hand, had no business appropriating it. But there were no other clothes for her to wear, and Mrs. Tibbet was already fastening the buttons down the rear of the dress.
    “Eh, you do look a treat,” the housekeeper said with some satisfaction as she handed a pair of cream slippers to Nellie.
    Nellie fingered the intricate embroidery, marvelling at its fineness. “But whose dress is this?” As far as she knew, Mrs. Tibbet was the only other female in this house.
    “Why, yours of course!” Mrs. Tibbet stared at her. “The master will be pleased to see you in his favourite dress.” Before Nellie could question her further, the strange little housekeeper bustled out of the room.
    What on earth could Mrs. Tibbet have meant? It made no sense at all.
    Nellie’s hand shook as she opened the door. For a moment the familiarity of her room pulled her back, but she stepped out with a firm tread and made her way downstairs. To her relief, Julian stood waiting for her at the foot of the stairs.
    “Mrs. Tibbet advised me you’d be coming down.” He greeted her with a smile, and she found herself smiling back in return. Now that she was upright, his handsomeness hit her afresh. Besides being tall and graceful, his unruly black hair and golden skin lent him a certain exotic air, and there was a spark in his jet black eyes as he surveyed her. “You look very well,” he added.
    She smoothed down the front of her dress uncertainly. “I’m not sure who this dress belongs to. Mrs. Tibbet seemed to think it was your favourite…?”
    “Mine?” Julian looked startled before his expression cleared. “Oh, I think she might have been referring to my father, there. You see, that dress belonged to his late wife. She passed away many years ago, hence the outmoded style of the frock. Mrs. Tibbet gets confused at times.”
    “I understand. But won’t your father mind me wearing his late wife’s clothing? I wouldn’t want to cause any distress.”
    “Elijah won’t mind in the least, I assure you. He was called out early, so we breakfast alone.” He ushered her into a dining room. Here, ancient oak beams, timber panelling, dark furniture and faded carpets all conspired against the wintry sunlight leaching through leaded windows.