Unexpected Visitors

This is a bit long, but this scene is the first of many that slowly draws Maida Locke out of her self-imposed prison. From my currently editing, and soon to-be-published Bedroom Eyes, Book 4: Uncovering Love.

It was a gray summer day, and Maida sat by the double windows in her bedroom reading a letter from Jacob by natural light. Assuming the helm of the family estate challenged him and though he wrote cheerfully, it seemed to her that he struggled.
She lowered the letter. Settling into her new home had been easier with no temptations to step outside or call on the neighbors, all strangers. Locke Hall would never be home to her, even if Bluebell Cottage was minuscule compared to her birthplace.
The front entrance knocker banged, and she jumped. Maida leaned close to the glass to see female figures below. Mrs. Potter’s steps sounded in the hall.
“Is Miss Locke at home?” an unknown voice asked.
“Let me see,” said the housekeeper.
Maida now regretted sitting so near the window and visible to anyone approaching. When Mrs. Potter poked her head through the door, she nodded. “Seat them on the sofa,” she instructed.
In the drawing room, the sofa sat in front of the well-lit double windows. She would sneak into the kitchen and enter through the dining room to sit in the darkest corner. After pinning a shawl over her shoulders, she headed downstairs.
There were three guests. Maida tugged back on the hand that rose to cover her cheek and dropped a curtsy, presenting the unblemished right side of her face.
“Welcome,” she said without meaning it.
“Oh Miss Locke, forgive my calling! But we did meet, ever so briefly, when you met up with my brother to discuss the terms of the lease,” said the first woman and oldest of the group. When Maida didn’t greet her by name, she offered it, “Miss Alberta Crenshaw, Mr. Crenshaw’s sister.”
The two shook hands, though Maida’s gaze twitched to the mother and daughter—they looked remarkably alike despite a difference in coloring. They stared, like everyone stared. “Greetings, Miss Crenshaw.”
Miss Crenshaw’s smile was a pleasant, wrinkle-lined one. The older woman’s shoulders rose when her lips did. Her round figure creaked as she threw out an arm towards the others.
“This is my sister, Mrs. Wright, and her daughter, Amaryllis.” Mrs. Wright’s smiled with similar blue eyes but Maida found no warmth in them. Amaryllis Wright had dark curls, black eyes, and a toothy smile. Those dark eyes sparkled with what Maida characterized as girlish mischief.
“Hello, Miss Locke; welcome to Barnsley Cross,” said the mother. The two shook hands with the barest amount of contact.
“Please sit. Mrs. Potter will bring in a pot.” She thumped into her favorite chair by the fireplace. The others followed. Before, she had enjoyed visiting, callers, and society. Now she felt trapped as she huddled on her plinth, an object of curiosity without any other value.
“I hope brother has done everything he could to get you settled?” Miss Crenshaw’s wrinkly smile creased her face. Her skin had softened over the years.
Maida nodded, glancing at her three guests. Her head swirled with wild images of how they saw her. Words drifted across the room.
“Pardon?” she stared at the youthful face, not having caught her question.
“I said, were you really in London this spring? Only, I can’t imagine that you were, you know, because of….” Amaryllis stopped talking when her mother slapped her arm. Maida flinched at the mother’s reprimand. However, she didn’t want to talk about her failed marriage arrangement.
“I went to greet my brother. He had just returned from overseas.”
Amaryllis drew back. Maida left it at a half-truth. Without consulting her, Jacob had decided an arranged a marriage to an old friend was the best future for her, only to have it fall through disastrously the day she arrived in London. She shivered.
“Cold dear? Here’s the tea,” said Miss Crenshaw as Mrs. Potter came in with the teapot. Maida poured while Miss Crenshaw blathered on about the unusual cool summer weather. She saw Mrs. Wright poke her daughter again.
“We’ve come for a fortnight or two after having been in London for the season,” Mrs. Wright began. “It’s Ami’s second season. My son, Julian—our brother’s heir, you know—is here until he leaves us to visit friends. Both my children enjoy Gloucestershire. Malcolm keeps a house here for us in readiness.”
Maida knew she should ask about their home given that opening, but she only managed to pass around teacups and keep in the shadows. Once finished, her left hand gripped her skirt to prevent it creeping towards her cheek.
The two sisters spoke of people in the county as if they knew every soul that resided within its perimeter while Maida barely followed their rapid speech. Amaryllis sipped, her eyes forward, looking slightly glazed over. Maida pretended to watch the older women though her eyes fixed on the drapes behind them while she waited for the visit to end.
“I hear you have a large dowry.”
“What?” Maida yelped. The teacup shielded Amaryllis’ lips, so she hadn’t seen them move. “Yes, I suppose I do,” she responded. It hadn’t been large enough to induce the impoverished Lord Gomfrey—with those stolen kisses and promises—to propose. He passed her over and married a woman with a vast fortune. That was the year Catherine died. She and her friend had a shared dream of marriage and children.
“Ami! Where are your manners?” her mother shrieked. “I apologize, Miss Locke.” Three pairs of eyes stared with raised eyebrows, waiting for more details. Maida’s hand gripped her dress even tighter.
“Accepted.” She didn’t offer up the amount of her dowry or more tea. She dug in her heels and waited for these unwanted visitors to leave.
“Shall you come to the assemblies? Barnsley Cross assemblies are known for being well-attended. They are famous!” Miss Crenshaw boasted.
Her hand rose to her cheek. That’s the last thing I would do! “No, I won’t be attending any dances. I don’t intend to socialize; I only want to keep a quiet house here.” Luckily her heartbeat wasn’t discernible under her shawl.
“I’m sorry we won’t see you,” said Mrs. Wright, rising. Her former dour expression now a grin. Maida lowered her hand and fiddled with the pin holding her shawl in place. The other two women rose. She called for Mrs. Potter to see them out, thanking them for the visit.
“I’m glad she won’t be coming to the dance…,” she heard Amaryllis say, speaking before stepping outside. Maida could only imagine what the young woman would say about her scars.

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