Lenobia's Vow (House of Night Novellas #2)(3)

“Look, child.”

Lenobia gasped and reached toward the reflection, too startled to do anything except stare.

“Except for your eyes and the lightness of your hair, you are the image of her. Know it. Believe it. Become her.”

Lenobia’s gaze went from the mirror to her mother. “No! I cannot be her. God rest her soul, but Cecile was not a kind girl. Mother, you know she cursed me every time she saw me, even though we share the same blood. Please, Maman, do not make me do this. Do not make me become her.”

Elizabeth touched her daughter’s cheek. “My sweet, strong girl. You could never become like Cecile, and I would never ask it of you. Take only her name. Inside, in here.” Her touch went from Lenobia’s face to the spot on her breast under which her heart beat tremulously. “In here you will always be Lenobia Whitehall. Know that. Believe that. And in doing so you will become more than her.”

Lenobia swallowed the dryness in her throat and the terrible pounding of her heart. “I hear you. I believe you. I will take on her name but not become her.”

“Good. It is settled then.” Her mother reached behind the laundry basket and lifted a small, box-shaped case. “Here, take this. The rest of her trunks were sent to the port days ago.”

“La casquette de Cecile.” Lenobia took it hesitantly.

“Do not use the vulgar French word for it. They make it sound like a casket. It is a travel case. That is all. It is meant as the beginning of a new life—not the ending of an old one.”

“It has her jewelry in it. I heard Nicole and Anne talking.” The other servants had gossiped incessantly about how the Baron had ignored Cecile for sixteen years, but now that she was being sent away he lavished jewelry and attention on her as the Baroness wept about losing her only daughter. “Why did the Baron agree to send Cecile to the New World?”

Her mother snorted in disdain. “His latest mistress, that opera singer, has almost bankrupted him. The King is paying handsomely for titled, virtuous daughters willing to marry the nobility of New Orleans.”

“The Baron sold his daughter?”

“He did. His excess has purchased you a new life. Now, let us go so that you might claim it.” Her mother cracked the door and peered into the hallway. She turned back to Lenobia. “No one is about. Put your hood over your hair. Follow me. Quickly.”

“But the coach will be stopped by the liverymen. The drivers will be told about Cecile.”

“Yes, if the coach was allowed to enter the estate they would be told. That is why we shall meet it outside the grand gates. You will board it there.”

There was no time to argue with her mother. It was almost mid-morning, and there should have been servants and tradesmen and visitors coming and going from the busy estate. But today there was a pall over everything. Even the sun’s face was veiled as mist and low, murky clouds swirled over the château.

She was certain they would be stopped, would be found out, but sooner than it seemed possible the huge iron gate loomed out of the mist. Her mother opened the smaller walkway exit, and they hurried into the road.

“You will tell the coach driver that there is an ague at the château, so the Baron sent you out so that no one would be contaminated. Remember, you are the daughter of nobility. Expect to be obeyed.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Good. You have always seemed older than your years, and now I understand why. You cannot be a child any longer, my beautiful, brave daughter. You must become a woman.”

“But, Maman, I—” Lenobia began, but her mother’s words silenced her.

“Listen to me and know that I am telling you the truth. I believe in you. I believe in your strength, Lenobia. I also believe in your goodness.” Her mother paused and then slowly took the old rosary beads from around her neck and lifted them, placing them over her daughter’s head, and tucking them under the lace stomacher so that they were pressed against her skin, invisible to everyone. “Take these. Remember that I believe in you, and know that even though we must be apart, I will always be part of you.”

It was only then that the true realization hit Lenobia. She would never see her mother again.

“No.” Her voice sounded strange, too high, too fast, and she was having trouble catching her breath. “Maman! You must come with me!”

Elizabeth Whitehall took her daughter in her arms. “I cannot. The fille du roi are not allowed servants. There is little room on the ship.” She hugged Lenobia tightly, speaking quickly as, in the distance, the sound of a coach echoed through the mist. “I know that I have been hard on you, but that was only because you had to grow brave and strong. I have always loved you, Lenobia. You are the best, the finest thing in my life. I will think of you and miss you every day, for as long as I live.”

“No, Maman,” Lenobia sobbed. “I cannot say good-bye to you. I cannot do this.”

“You will do this for me. You will live the life I could not give you. Be brave, my beautiful child. Remember who you are.”

“How do I remember who I am if I am pretending to be someone else?” Lenobia cried. Elizabeth stepped back and gently wiped the wetness from her daughter’s cheeks. “You will remember here.” Once more, her mother pressed the palm of her hand against Lenobia’s chest over her heart. “You shall stay true to me, and to yourself, here. In your heart you will always know, always remember. As in mine, I will always know, always remember you.”