A/N: Thank you for the comments regarding part 7. I truly appreciate them as it was a hard chapter to write. Here is part 8, and on a few VERY short instances, a trigger warning is in effect for about three sentences where Andrea and Miranda discuss Andrea's former employer who was harassing her.
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"Emily?" Andrea poked her head into the room next to the kitchen where Emily kept everything she used to make sure Miranda was immaculate at every second of the day. The young redhead sat polishing black boots, and boxes were stacked around her next to a big trunk. "Do you have a moment?"
"If it truly is a moment. Perhaps." Emily looked up, her expression serious and impassive as always. Andrea had been taken aback at first, as the woman rarely smiled, and was as acerbic as anyone Andrea had ever met. Emily only thawed a little when Mrs. Serena was present, which made Andrea think of the importance of having good and loyal friends.
"I just need to borrow something to attach a button. I can do it myself." Andrea ventured into Emily's domains and looked around. "I admire how organized you are."
"I must be. If I miss so much as a button or a hook on one of Lady Miranda's or her daughters' garments…let's just say I won't stand for it."
"I commend your dedication." Andrea smiled broadly and for a moment she saw a glimpse of warmth in Emily's eyes.
"Let me see the garment so I can offer you the right shade and form." Emily held out her hand, and Andrea fumbled with one of her new dresses that had been mishandled by mistake.
"Do you always move at a glacial pace?" Emily said, but a faint smirk betrayed that she was joking.
"On occasion," Andrea said as she handed over the dress. "I find it makes the girls slow down if I'm calm. And by calm, I mean slow. That forces them to step back and think one more time before they speak."
"Now there's a miracle onto itself." Emily studied the buttons that made it possible for Andrea to dress herself independently. "This is very clever. I'm not sure I approve."
"What? Why not?" Andrea blinked.
"If everyone had dresses constructed like this, I could become obsolete." Emily raised her eyebrows. "Either way, I'm impressed by the ingenuity. But this is a new dress. I haven't seen you wear it, Miss Andrea. How can it already be damaged?"
"I think it happened when it was pulled from its box. Purely an accident." Andrea shrugged. "And please, Emily, you did promise to call me Andrea. We're not in a hierarchy downstairs. Mr. Kipling made that very clear."
Emily's eyes glittered unexpectedly. "So, you mean we can call him Nigel?" she asked quietly."
Andrea snorted. "Hardly. That wouldn't be appropriate at all. Although, it does suit him. His name."
"As does yours. Interestingly, Lady Miranda has foregone your title as well. Guess it saves time. She's very practical." Emily made the last remark sound as if it was Miranda's best quality.
"Yes." Andrea knew she was blushing, and she had no idea why. Thinking back to the talk she'd had with Miranda yesterday, which was of course nothing she could ever share with Emily or anyone else, heat throbbed in her belly. Miranda had held her, comforted her—and protected her. She could barely envision it, it had been so unexpected, and she had never felt so safe in her entire life.
"Very well. I shall remember to not attach a title to your name, Andrea." Emily had found a small button and some thread. "If you want, I can do this. It will take me all but one minute."
Andrea thought to object, but then realized that Emily was reaching out the best way she knew how—but offering her skills. "Thank you. I truly appreciate that. If you ever need assistance, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask me."
Emily looked evasive at first, but as she cut the thread, and then threaded the needle, she appeared to hesitate. "Actually." She cautiously maneuvered the pale yellow dress into position. "There is one thing, but I am apprehensive as it is not a mere minute-long favor."
"Tell me anyway." Intrigued, Andrea took a seat on a stool opposite of Emily.
"I have seen some of your drawings. I especially like the ones you showed us of people passing by the house. You are very talented in capturing expressions." She began to stitch the button in with quick, skilled fingers.
"Do you want me to draw something for you? I would be happy to do so, naturally." Excited about the prospect of gifting a piece to a new friend, Andrea smiled.
"I'm thinking of two very small drawings. One would be for me, and the other for…someone else." Hesitating again, Emily ran the thread in loops between the button and the fabric but passed. She measured about an inch between her thumb and index finger. "This small."
Andrea nodded, slowly figuring things out. "For a locket? Or two?"
Emily's pale complexion colored faintly. "Two."
"Who or what will I be drawing?"
Emily swallowed, but then cut the thread and handed the dress over to Andrea across the table. "Me." She lowered her hands out of sight behind the table. "And Mrs. Serena." She looked like she was bracing herself against some sort of adverse reaction from Andrea.
"That won't be difficult as I know your faces quite well by now," Andrea said calmly. "Two small portraits like that will take me a couple of hours. I can do that tomorrow, Sunday, on my day off if you give me the exact size tomorrow morning. I have no plans other than to strategize how to best pack my luggage." Her stomach rolled a little at the thought of being on a ship and crossing a vast ocean like the Atlantic.
"I will consider it a true favor and a sign of friendship." Emily's eyes glazed over.
Andrea thought of the potential implications of the tiny portraits. The logical conclusion was that the two women would carry each other's portrait in lockets, and certainly, truly good friends sometimes did that. The difference was that this habit was usually that of young girls who adored their best friend. Emily and Serena were adult women, and that could suggest something more than friendship might exist. Knowing it had nothing to do with her, Andrea felt she should reassure Emily who still looked like she regretted asking, as her shoulders were pushed up toward her ears.
"I have a routine when I do portraits meant for private use only," Andrea said casually as she put the dress back on its hanger. "If the client doesn't state differently, I just assume that complete confidentiality applies." Sh stood and smiled warmly at Emily.
Emily suddenly stood as well and rounded the table. Taking Andrea's free hand between both of hers, she studied her closely. "You are a rare entity, Andrea Sachs," she said quietly. "Thank you."
Andrea squeezed one of Emily's hands and then left her room. Walking back to the staircase, she had a sense that she'd been taken into a special circle of friends like she had passed some sort of enigmatic text.
Back in her room, she looked over the rest of her modest wardrobe, not counting the new dresses that had somehow multiplied by two in even more colors, which was amazing and exasperating in equal measures. She had to remind herself what Miranda had said that day they visited Madam Tatiana. Uniforms. Granted, the most stylish and beautiful uniforms a person could imagine, but still.
She counted her unmentionables, chemises, petticoats, slips, and nightgowns. She should be all right those five days before they boarded the ship. Onboard, there was laundry service, which was Serena's and Emily's responsibility, Serena had told her, to ensure. Kipling—Andrea snorted at the idea of calling the friendly, correct man Nigel—who would look after and monitor everyone's needs. It was remarkable that Miranda had secured cabins for all of them grouped in first class. According to Kipling, it was for practical reasons. There was that word again. Miranda is merely being practical. Miranda wanted access to her staff without having to send word for them if they were in second, or even third class, which many servants were.
Having worked as a governess for five years, Andrea had seen how the wealthy lived. In the beginning, she was awestruck with the clothes, the furniture, and generally all the possessions the richest of the rich surrounded themselves with. When she learned how much they took them for granted, how careless they could be with beautiful items, like art, she began to see her employers and their families and guests, for what they were. People. Regular people that just happened to have a lot of money and sometimes also a pedigree. It became less impressive with time, and she could easily direct her full focus on the children's education.
Coming from a bad situation to the Priestly household, despite all the initial drama, had been like a cleansing bath. Especially after last night, when she had dared to tell Miranda the truth. She had hoped she wouldn't be let go or be blamed, and Miranda had not disappointed. She had even comforted her, which was unfathomable. Andrea couldn't think of a single person she had worked for that would have responded like that. Not even Rosanna McKellar, who was the only other person she'd told.
Joshua McKellar was a pig. He hadn't actually touched her unless you counted how he would often prevent her from passing. When she ended up pushing past him anyway, never knowing whether to turn her back or her front to him when doing so, he had hummed in a gross way that had eventually pushed her over the edge. She had hoped he'd grow tired of her, but it was as if he was after the chase—she was simply prey.
Shaking off her thoughts, she made a small list of her items and hoped there'd be a trunk she could borrow as her bag wouldn't fit all the dresses.
Tidying her room, she checked the time. The girls were usually put to bed by their mother and sometimes with the help of a maid, if they were having their baths. Lights were supposed to be out at 8.30, even if Cassidy normally snuck another half an hour reading. Caroline was always ready to fall asleep instantly, which Andrea found interesting. Cassidy was the one who burned off energy all day, while Caroline was the contemplative one.
Full of nerves suddenly, Andrea wished Miranda had been more specific about what time exactly she wanted Andrea to join her in her parlor. She couldn't very well barge in there—could she?
A knock on her door made her jump. She hurried over and opened it, perhaps a little too forceful in her movements, as the door nearly bounced off her forehead. Outside, one of the valets stood, looking surprised. "Lady Miranda wishes to see you in her private parlor, Miss Andrea." He sounded bored but cordial.
"Thank you, Thomas." Andrea nodded. "I'll be right there."
Thomas bid goodnight and disappeared down the corridor, most likely eager to have some free time in the evening.
Andrea checked her appearance in the mirror and found that her eyes looked bigger and darker than normal. Uncertain why this was, if this was because an onset of nerves, she had no idea. Not about to make Miranda wait, she took a deep, cleansing breath, gathered her skirts, and hurried out the door.
#
Miranda forced herself to sit down where she'd been sitting last night when Andrea joined her. The settee was placed at the perfect distance from the fireplace—enough to warm her, and not make her too hot, which tended to cause a headache.
She had spent the entire afternoon working and then playing cards with the girls, and then they discussed the book Caroline and Cassidy were reading and were supposed to write a book report on. Cassidy had muttered about writing anything, let alone seventy-five words. Miranda had merely raised an eyebrow at her wild daughter and asked how many words she thought an average novel consisted of. Cassidy had guessed ten thousand words, and that had made Miranda laugh before she informed her it was more like seventy-five thousand or even more.
After they went to bed, she had her supper, as she had worked when they girls had theirs together with Andrea. She had loathed to miss it, but when she could not afford to drop what she was going when inspiration hit. Having created a new character for this latest book in The Bantillion Saga, she needed to introduce them in a way that enticed the reader, young and old.
When Andrea didn't show up directly after the girls were in bed, Miranda realized she was impatient, and that she hadn't exactly given her a certain time. The thing was Miranda couldn't force Andrea to join her, but she had sounded positive to the idea after all. When twenty minutes more had passed, and Thomas came to put more wood on the fire in the parlor and Miranda's bedroom, she told him to find Andrea and summon her. When she added that Miranda would tend to the fires myself before bedtime, he had looked mildly surprised, but mainly pleased. More work for her and extended free time for him.
A faint knock on the door pulled Miranda out of her reverie. "Enter."
Andrea strode inside, looking a bit out of breath.
"Oh, my. Did you run here?" Miranda motioned for her to resume what had suddenly been designated as her spot in her mind.
"More or less. I didn't want to keep you waiting, Mil—Miranda." Andrea sat down and inhaled deeply.
"I'm happy to wait for you," Miranda lied, not about to confess to her impatience just moments ago. "You look a little flustered. Something to drink?"
She hesitated. "Perhaps…a small glass of sherry?"
"You're asking me?" Miranda teased and rose. Walking over to the small cart holding the alcoholic beverages, she poured her some sherry. Bringing it back, she gave it to Andrea, and when their fingers brushed against each other, she had to quickly mask the shudder that traveled up her arm and down her spine.
Taking her seat again, Mirandaada could see that Andrea was not used to masking anything like that. Her eyes, bigger and darker, looked at her hand holding the glass, and then over to mine. I too have grabbed my shifter with cognac, knowing I needed something to hide potential tremors.
"What have you been up to tonight?" Miranda sipped the cognac and felt it warm my belly.
"I went over my wardrobe…" She actually scowled at me. "And it has increased."
"Has it now?" Miranda purred. "Do tell."
"I remember exactly how many different fabrics I chose at your expense. Somehow, twice as many dresses and skirts now hang in my closet. I took the yellow down to Emily to mend it—"
"What?" Miranda interrupted. "Mend it? You haven't worn any of them yet!" Furious at Madam Tatiana, she was ready to cause trouble, when Andrea placed a gentle hand against her arm.
"Stand down, Miranda," she said softly. "Emily took care of what must have been a mishap during transport. It was rather funny. Emily had mixed feelings regarding the independence part of the dress. Said it might render her obsolete. Of course, she was joking. She performs so many tasks that have nothing to do with fastening your dresses."
Miranda found it was quite the study of emotions to watch Andrea rethink what she just said. "Oh, no. That came out sounding entirely wrong. I apologize." Andera blushed and covered her eyes with her free hand.
"I'm fully aware how much I depend on Emily for my entire appearance and for, how do they put it these days, looking the part?" Miranda enjoyed this banter, especially since a flustered Andrea had to be some of the most beautiful sights she'd ever seen.
"She is very good at her work, but I saw you once with your hair in a simple braid," Andrea said and smiled carefully. "You were just as beautiful and certainly looked the part then."
Miranda thougth back to the evening when she had found Andrea tucking in Cassidy with extra pillows. They had both been in nightgowns and robes…Her mind stalled. And her own robe had fallen open. "Well, yes." Miranda tried to change the subject quickly. "Have you been working on some new art during the week?"
Andrea sipped her sherry and shifted her grip twice around the crystal glass. She wasn't quite meeting Miranda's gaze and, against better judgment, it spiked Miranda's curiosity.
"Andrea?" She tilted her head and placed a hand gently on Andrea's knee.
"Eh. Yes. I try to draw every night, even if the light then isn't exactly the best. Mrs. Serena let me borrow two kerosene lamps as the electric light isn't enough when it's dark out."
"What did you draw?" Miranda kept her hand on Andrea's knee as she didn't seem to mind. Already so intune with every small change in Andrea's expression, Miranda knew that if she had seen even a hitn of discomfort or embarrassment, she would have pulled back and sent the girl back to her room, and her drawings. Instead, she felt Andrea lean into the touch by shifting closer, only a tiny bit, and perhaps even involuntarily.
"Mostly drawing exercises. As I love drawing clothes, or people in clothes—oh!" Andrea slapped her hand over her mouth, her eyes widening, but not without mirth. "I'm so sorry—again—I'm not sure what's wrong with me tonight, Miranda. I didn't mean that the way it sounded?"
Miranda feigned confusion. "What do you mean, Andrea? Explain to me."
"I—I—I didn't mean to suggest…I would never…" Andrea stopped when Miranda couldn't help but chuckle at her stuttering aplogy. "Oh, you! You're teasing me again. Is this how it is going to be? Me stumbling through conversation and making a fool of myself because you make me nervous, and you having far too much fun at my expense?" Glaring at Miranda, Andrea narrowed her eyes.
"Not at all," Miranda hurried to say, not wanting to hurt Andrea or make her regret these companiable talks in the evenings. "I promise not to do that anymore…" She stopped as Andrea giggled, a surprisingly raucous laughter that immediately made her eyes glitter again. "I see," Miranda said and smirked, hardpressed not to laugh. "Beating me at my own game. I must be losing my touch."
"Your face." Andrea chuckled. "I just had to. Please don't think me too forward."
"I don't." Miranda lifted her hand from Andrea's knee and reached up to push an errant lock out of Andrea's left eye. "You do look like you ran here. Your hair is coming undone."
"Oh, no." Andrea put her glass down on the small sideboard and raised her hands to her hair.
Miranda held up a hand. "Please, indulge me. I like it like that, with some of your locks escaping just a little." The truth was that it sent scattered images through Miranda's brain of how Andrea would look if thoroughly kissed.
Shocked at how quickly her mind escape the moorings she had put in place for this evening, she pulled the images from her mind with brute force. She wasn't supposed to go there. Her heart pounded even harder than before when she tried to curb her breathlessness and the reason for it. What was it with her lack of self-control around Andrea? From day one, she had been mesmerized even when it infuriated her.
"Where did you go just now?" Andrea whispered. "You look…angry. And this time it isn't in jest."
Miranda had let her straying hand end up on the backrest as she sat half-turned toward Andrea. Now she plucked at the pattern on the cushion, trying to think of something to say that would make sense, and be reassuring as well. Opting for a half-truth, as the complete truth was undoable, she said, "I feel I say and do things around you, when I really shouldn't, and that you may end up resenting me for it. I would loathe if you saw me as a female version of…" She couldn't bear to say the man's name. She could see from Andrea's expression that she didn't have to.
"Why would I think that? You have never made me feel afraid or disgusted. On the contrary." Andrea slid closer, capturing Miranda's restless hand in hers. The other one, she placed on Miranda's knee, stroking it in small circles as if to soothe her. "Last night when you told me you believed me—that you were on my side, it meant the world to me. I had forgotten how much it can help heal a soul just to be validated." Imploring Miranda with her eyes, Andrea bit into her lower lip. "Don't think for a minute that I would ever see you in the same light as him. He was never in any light at all, as far as I am concerned. He's faded into darkness—and because of you, he'll stay there. You held me last night and reassured me. You didn't have to do that—"
"But I did. I couldn't bear to see you afraid. The least I could do was reassure you that you had nothing to fear from me." Miranda studied the several expressions that chased each other across her face. "And now you are trying to reassure me about something I doubt you can understand."
Andrea was quiet for such a long time, a good minute, at least, but she didn't let go of Miranda's hand. It was as if she was mulling something over and studying Miranda's reaction at the same time. Deciding to utilize some patience for once, Miranda waited—and tried not to tremble, Andrea's left hand was still on her knee, moving in absent-minded circles.
"Don't underestimate me, Miranda," Andrea finally broke the silence. "I may not have moved among worldly socialites in London, but I'm not entirely unfamiliar with how the world works."
Not sure what Andrea was talking about, and in what way she thought the world worked, Miranda merely motioned with her free hand. "Go on."
"You said you were concerned I might compare you to him. We're both women. Your concern only makes sense if you was referring to the fact that women, and men, can be attracted to people of their gender." Andrea seemed to notice that she still held on to Miranda, but she didn't yank her hands back.
"You are perhaps more well-educated than I gave you credit for," Miranda said, doing her best to sound humorous still.
Andrea looked amused. "It wasn't exactly on the schedule in school."
"I would think not. May I ask how you learned about these not-so-well-known facts of life?"
Lowering her head, Andrea regarded Miranda through her eyelashes. "It was a boarding school. I was propositioned by another girl."
Miranda hadn't even thought of this possibility and was now a victim of feelings of surprise, shock, and—something very close to jealousy. "I see."
Andrea raised Miranda's hand to her face and held it against her cheek. "I turned her down. I was sixteen and not interested. I was shy and young for my age back then."
"And now?" Miranda could hardly believe her audacity for asking this."
"If I answer, will you tell me about yourself?" Andrea let go of Miranda's hand and pulled her other hand toward her.
Quickly, Miranda pressed her right hand on top of Andrea's, wanting to keep the connection. "Very well. I'll be as honest as I can."
"I have worked as a governess ever since I graduated, mainly because I could not imagine going back to live with my grandmother. During those years, I have become very good at blending in and more or less becoming one with the furniture. I have put my heart and soul into teaching the children in my care and into my art. I have not had the time, or the inclination, to make myself available for a romantic liaison. Nor have I come across anyone whom I have felt compatible with…"
Miranda's breath caught in her throat. She had to ask, didn't she?
"…until I came here."
Miranda raised her hand to her mouth quickly, trying to forestall the high-pitched whimper that wanted to escape. She reminded herself that Andrea could mean any other person in the household. "Yes?" Wanting to beg Andrea to let her know who she had connected with, Miranda could only stare at her.
"Now you." Andrea leaned sideways against the backrest.
Damn it. She wasn't prepared to reveal her past, mainly before marriage. "I too don't find it easy to connect. I love my work, and I can't find common ground with very many of my peers. I belong to a small club of female colleagues. I have also been propositioned, but I have declined. Before I was married and belonged to this club, I was tempted when approached by someone I considered a friend, but I wanted children, which meant I needed a husband. She didn't take it well. When I lost the girl's father, I knew I would never remarry. I started to work, making me somewhat of a strange bird in my shallower social circles."
"Just from working?" Andrea seemed more taken aback by that than the subject they were really broaching.
"Women of the nobility rarely, if ever, hold a job." Miranda smiled. "I also knew exactly why I didn't want to remarry, and it was mainly because I wasn't going to hand over control of my estate, my inheritance—not from my husband, but my family—and I had no plan to bed a man ever again in my life. I find the female form attractive."
Andrea blinked. "I see." It was obvious she didn't, not quite. Miranda wondered if she had been too forward.
"You did ask." Miranda sighed.
"I know." Andrea resumed holding Miranda's hand, and she realized it was yet another attempt on Andrea's part to show support. Or could it be more than that?
"May I ask who you feel a connection to since you came to London?" Miranda knew asking might be a huge mistake, destined to bring her, if not heartache, then great disappointment, at least.
"What? Why do you need to ask that?" Andrea leaned in, looking Miranda directly in the eyes. "Of course, it is you, Miranda. You know that."
Expelling what was left of air from her lungs, Miranda tried to figure out if she was utterly relieved, or if her life had just moved on to a track that might cause her more pain than she'd ever thought possible.
Continued in part 9.