Page 3 of Victorian Bride

“That is hardly of import when you have been so ill. We will find some clothing for you this afternoon, if need be, though in truth I think you will have to rest again. I believe you are close enough to Lottie's size to borrow a few of her things, if necessary, while we have something made up for you.”

“I do not have money to—”

The woman waved away the rest of the words. “Lottie and I are blessed with more than enough to get by. If you wish to repay us when you have found work, or your family, we will discuss it, but until then do not even think of the money. As I said, we do what is right.”

She slipped her arm through Mya’s then, guiding her out into the hall. Mya blinked back the prickling sting of grateful tears, turning toward the windows that lined the passageway.

They looked out on the same neatly trimmed green lawn as the window in the bedroom where she’d woken. At the top of its slope, a stag stood calmly grazing, his hide ivory white in the sun. As though he sensed her eyes on him, he slowly lifted his head, turning his gaze to her. Mya’s footsteps faltered, nearly a stumble before the woman beside her caught her weight.

“Are you well?” she asked, worry obvious in her voice.

Mya dragged her gaze from the stag to find her hostess regarding her with concern.

“Fine. Thank you,” she answered.

When she turned to look back out the windows, the stag was gone.

Chapter 2

Her guide led Mya not to a room in the house, but out through a set of doors to a veranda on the side of the house opposite the lawn. Its paving stones were warm beneath her bare feet. A breeze, just cool enough to be pleasant, brushed against her cheek, smelling of green things and wildflowers and breakfast. Mya’s stomach growled. Beyond the porch, the lawn gave way to a wooded slope rolling down into patchwork fields bordered with hedges. White dots of sheep moved peacefully over them.

Back on the porch, at a cast-iron table much burdened with food, a dark-haired young woman was sitting with a book in one hand, sipping a cup of tea. She rose at the sound of them stepping outside and turned, a smile lighting her face when she saw Mya and her hostess standing there.

She was, Mya couldn't help but notice, almost astonishingly beautiful, with the kind of looks that would have men falling over themselves to court her.

“Eleanora,” she said warmly, setting the book she had been reading down and crossing the veranda to take the other woman's free hand in hers. “Good morning.” Her gaze moved to Mya. “And to you as well. It is so lovely to see you awake. Please, do come sit and eat with me.”

Mya found herself being guided over to the table before she even had time to answer, and placed gently down in a well-cushioned seat.

“Help yourself to anything you like,” Eleanora said.

The breakfast spread was, Mya thought, a little overwhelming. There was fruit laid out on china plates, and yogurt in little bowls. Eggs. Buttered toast. Sausages and mushrooms. She hesitated a moment before reaching a little uncertainly for the kettle to pour herself a cup of tea.

“No need to be shy,” the dark-haired woman, whom Mya assumed to be the Lottie earlier referenced by Eleanora, said. “Everything here is for sharing.”

“Thank you,” Mya said, wishing she had some more adequate way of expressing gratitude. “Very much.” She poured herself the cup, and after some consideration served herself fruit and toast with some of the mushrooms.

“You ought to try the smoked fish as well,” Eleanora suggested, indicating one of the plates. “It is quite good.”

Mya added a little of the dish to her collection of food. If she hadn’t eaten in a few days, would her stomach handle it? She decided to take her time, even though everything smelled beyond delicious.

“It occurs to me,” Lottie said, “that we have not yet introduced ourselves. I’m terribly sorry for our dreadful lapse in manners.” She smiled across the table at Mya. “I’m Ottilie, though most everyone calls me Lottie, and this is Eleanora.”

She knew her name, like she knew she needed to breath to keep her heart beating. It seemed weird to know that, and only that. “Mya.” She frowned. “I’m not sure why I know my name, as at the moment, I don’t seem to know anything else.” She smiled apologetically. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for your aid.”

Lottie shook her head. “It is hardly trouble. I've more money than I know what to do with.” She said the words as though they were some sort of delightful secret. “In truth, I would rather it go toward helping those in need than to frivolities in the shops. I do not need any more gowns.”

Eleanora laughed. “You would require a second—or third—closet, I think, if you acquired many more.”

There was, Mya noted, no ring on either of their fingers, and she wondered how long they had been sharing the home they were letting her stay in, and where the money that Lottie seemed to think so little of had come from. She didn't ask. Though she could not remember any etiquette lessons she might have learned any more than she could recall the rest of her past, she had enough common sense not to stick her nose into someone else's financial business without an invitation.

“I have a dreadful addiction to nice clothing,” Lottie said between dainty bites of egg and fish. “It is undoubtedly a sin of some sort or another.”

“Avarice,” Eleanora suggested.

Lottie turned to look at her, mock-displeasure on her face. “Are you accusing me of such, then?”

“I would not dream of accusing you, dearest.”