Forbidden Devotion

Prologue

London, 1845
Nine Years Prior

Grey light shone through Mother's window, coating her bedroom in a stone-colored hue. She read to me softly and sweat dripped down her brow, though the air was less than temperate. "Another poem, please," I said and nuzzled into her side. Her skin was hot and warmed mine. Mother loved to read to me; she wanted me to be smart, sophisticated, to think for myself. I didn't know if I wanted to be any of that, just that I liked when her voice took me to faraway sights and places.

"One more." She stroked my caramel hair and flipped the page, skimming her index over the words as she read them aloud.

"Who has not found the heaven below will fail ofit above. God's residence is next to mine, His furniture is love."

"God's residence isn't next door." I giggled. Not unless the spinster Miss Conway was God. And the sneer that beheld her tight lips suggested otherwise.

"No." Mother smiled and looked out the window. "God is much closer than that."

"He is?"

Mother opened her mouth but before she could continue, a fit of coughs erupted. I hurried out of the bed and remained by her side, squeezing her hand as her breath grew violent and then weak.

Heavy footsteps hastened down the hall to join us. It was Father. He stood in the doorway and his eyes went wide and fell to the book by Mother's side—and then me. His cheeks reddened, and the veins on his temples constricted and jutted out. "Rosalie, leave your mother alone. Why won't you let the woman rest? Don't you wish for her to live?"

Tears welled in my eyes and subsequently spilled as I looked at my mother's hand in mine. Of course I wanted her to live; I wanted nothing but it. I squeezed her hand even tighter and her fingers wrapped firmly around mine.

"Arthur, please don't do this," she said. Her voice was hoarse and strained, though still strong for how weak she had become.

"Get out of here. If I see you disturbing your mother again, you'll wish to see you didn't."

She released my hand and offered me a shaky smile. "We'll read tomorrow after I've slept."

And then, dragging my dress behind me, I slinked past Father and into my bedroom where sickening floral swirls painted my walls. I went to my spot—a nook behind my dollhouse that was large enough to hide my still small body. I stared inside. Several dolls were sat by a fireplace. There was even a dog. The dolls had smiles painted on their faces. And I wished and wished as dusk fell to night that I could join them.

                                         ***

I awoke to Father's screams at midnight. After which a period of silence followed by his drunken rage. Mother was gone. Her nurse had come to check on her and found she was no longer. Her breath that had suffered for so long inescapably gave out. When I'd tried to enter the room, Miss Clarke hurried me out. But I still saw Mother's hand. Her pale fingers outstretched over the edge of the bed.

My gaze fell to the floor where her book of poems had fallen. She'd been reading them. "The book," I whispered, and Miss Clarke moved swiftly to give it to me before Father could see. And then I was in hiding again, ducked behind my dollhouse, face in my knees with her book to my chest. Mother couldn't leave me alone. Not with Father who had become a drunken monster when he wasn't begging Mother to stay.

Days turned to nights and continued on. Father's drinking grew worse. His gambling out of control. He told Miss Clarke not to return and sent her off and then it was just me and him and an empty, gray house.

It didn't last long though. He spent all of our money. Every pound that hadn't gone to the best doctors in London, had gone to booze and play and been gambled away. And on a particularly moonless night, he knocked on my door. "Pack your bags. We're leaving this city, leaving this godforsaken house. Uncle Roy's sent me. He's invited us to move in."

Rather than packing dresses and slippers, I packed my dolls and Mother's books and a pair of nightclothes. And when morning came, a carriage arrived atop cobblestone streets and carried us out of London, and to the pleasant, but rather quiet green hills of Surrey.

Auntie Cornelia and Uncle Roy awaited us at their manor, which was smaller than many manors, but offered a rich garden full of colorful blossoms and sweet scents and woods that ran deep and stood as a place for exploration and adventure. My eyes lit up.

Cousin Elise warmly welcomed me while cousin Lilah remained inside, suffering from a curious ailment that no doctor could yet solve. Elise apologized for my bedroom upon showing me, though there was no cause for concern. While my aunt and uncle afforded a groundsman, they no longer employed a governess now that the girls were old enough and so they offered me the add-on wooden room that had once been a workshop and then had housed Miss Taylor. Though it was colder than the rest of the house, there was a sufficient fireplace. And windows that overlooked the garden. And shelves full of books, filled to the brim. They had cleared Uncle Roy's dusted previous study to be used as Father's new bedroom. This felt alive, far more alive than the grey walls of our London home. "It's lovely. Absolutely lovely."

I placed my few belongings on the carved wooden desk and then took off my slippers and climbed onto the leggy bed, jumping up and down as high-pitched laughs erupted out of my chest. If only Mother could see how happy I was to be in this place; if only she were here.