Devil's Desire Read Free Page B

returning unscathed, Elysia thought dryly as she glanced about the drab Salon with its green and gray-patterned wallpaper, olive-green, striped, satin sofa and chairs and brownish green carpet. The cold-looking marble-topped tables, and stem-visaged family portraits were all reflected over and over again in the ornately carved gilt mirror above the fireplace, where a small fire was burning, sending out an aura of warmth to which Elysia automatically moved.
    "Sit over there," her aunt said imperiously, indicating one of the hard-backed chairs near the window. Elysia sat down slowly, trying to get comfortable on the hard cushion. She shivered, feeling a cold draft seeping in through the window frame.
    Aunt Agatha settled herself carefully on the striped satin cushions of the sofa which sat greedily before the fire, swallowing up all of the warmth put out by the struggling Hames. Agatha smoothed back an imaginary piece of loose hair. Elysia had never seen a piece escape yet from the tight little bun at the nape of her aunt's neck. Never had Elysia seen her aunt's face alight with joy, humor, or love. Her whole appearance was severe.
    During the two years that Elysia had lived at Graystone Manor she had never heard Agatha speak a kind word to her-or to anyone-but she seemed to be the butt of her aunt's enmity more than the others. Agatha had not acquired a niece when she had taken Elysia into her home, but a maid-of-all-work, with the added advantage of not having to pay her wages in return for her labors.
    Elysia had left the Salon confused and bewildered. She had been raised as a lady; the protected and sheltered daughter of aristocratic parents who had provided for her every need, and had been fully educated by tutors to use her intellect. To find that she had been reduced to the lowest of menials, and in her own aunt's household had been a severe blow. It was not that she was lazy, for she had always been anxious to help and athletic, despite it being not proper behavior for a girl of her class.
    Had her family been poor, she would gladly have helped her parents in any way that she could have; even if it meant getting down on her hands and knees to scrub the floors, It would have been a sacrifice she would have borne proudly to help her family. She would never have felt any degradation or humiliation.
    But here at Graystone Manor, Agatha had no need to subject her to this position. Her own aunt had forced her to become a scullery maid, not even allowed the freedom of the lowliest of servants, with no standing in the household, existing in a barren no-man's-land cut off from everything and everyone. The other servants, knowing her to be Quality, and the niece of their Mistress, kept to themselves, ostracizing her from their circle. They knew Agatha would not raise a hand to help Elysia, so they delegated her more work than three maids could manage. Elysia felt as if she were in the workhouse. She never seemed to have an idle moment—no thought or time to call her own. She was constantly busy cleaning the manor, rubbing beeswax into the aged wood, scrubbing floors until immaculate, airing the bedrooms, mending linen, until her brow dripped beads of perspiration, and sweat drenched her dress.
    And Agatha was always behind her watching, directing, ordering, yet never lifting a finger herself. She sometimes thought Agatha would have enjoyed having a whip to crack over her head as she bent doing some endless chore.
    Elysia remembered bitterly how she had hated the idea of becoming a burden and inconvenience to her aunt, but she knew now how incorrect an assumption that had been. Aunt Agatha's household was run frugally, with no excess in any form, and Elysia's small share of food, in comparison to the back-breaking work she did in the house, more than compensated for any possible strain she had put on the household budget—or debt that she owed Agatha.
    All this at a time in Elysia's life when she needed love and understanding