The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Twenty-Two

Church bells were ringing. It must be Sunday again. In her convalescence, Veronica had lost track of the days.

Was there a real church close by, or did those bells ring from Saint Lupine's?

Veronica's mind went back to the clearing in the woods, the pale, mossy walls of the little church, its square, sculpture-encrusted steeple and flickering stained glass windows. She envisioned spirits rising from their graves, seeking God's protection from the forest and the wolves, unaware of what awaited them inside.

She rose, went to her bedroom door, and peered out into the hallway. The house was dark and quiet.

The long case clock gonged ten times. It was late.

She was ready to get dressed and join the living again, and surprise them when they came in the door. They would know the worst was over, then, and no longer have reason to worry about her.

In her wardrobe was her favorite dress, the one she'd made the summer before she left Saint Mary's out of clear, bright yellow muslin. The voluminous skirts were soft and the bodice perfectly cut to enhance her tiny waist and long neck.

After a luxurious, hot soak in the hipbath, Veronica put on a fresh chemise and knickers and hooked herself into her most tightly laced corset. It was easy; she'd lost so much weight she hardly had to hold her breath. Then came a hoop skirt and her next best petticoat. The yellow dress slipped over her head like a giant flower. Hooks and eyes up the left side were a bit awkward to close on her own, but the effort was worth it. She moved into the mirror's eye feeling like a swan. It was a simple frock, in no need of jewels to be flattering, though it did demand, and inspired, a quiet, graceful walk.

She was putting her hair up when she heard them coming in. The twins wasted no time racing up the stairs to find her.

"Miss Everly! You're up and looking very splendidly pretty," Jacques said.

"Very much recovered as well," said Jacqueline.

"Well, thank you," she said.

Still slightly under the weather, Veronica felt battered by the impact of their high spirits.

"Where were you all this morning?" she asked, mustering a smile.

Before they could answer her question, Rafe's voice boomed up the stairs.

"Are you up, Miss Everly? Come down. Let me see you."

Her heart jumping, Veronica glided down the stairs. A long walk in the fresh air had set Rafe's skin, his hair, his eyes, his entire being, aglow. He fixed on her a look of such deep regard, that when she met his eyes with her own, she was startled that he turned away and seemed at a loss for words.

"I'm much better," she said, stepping from the bottom step to the floor. "Thank you for helping me when I was so ill."

"What else was I supposed to do?" Rafe scowled, looking her up and down. "Where did you get that dress?"

Veronica's heart fluttered like a bird caught in a snare. Confused, she looked down at her soft muslin skirts, checked for stains at the hem, a tear, a frayed edge.

"Is something wrong with it?"

"It's yellow," he said. "Are you sure that color suits you? Why not wear red or blue or something?"

"Well, I..."

"Never mind. Mrs. Twig, make luncheon please. I'll take mine in the study."

"Yes, Mr. Rafe." Mrs. Twig had been watching the whole thing. "Come, Miss Everly. Help me with the twins."

Veronica was grateful to have something to do. How could she ever have thought that Rafe regarded her as anyone special? She swore she would never wear the yellow dress again.