Thread: Maid for You [Prince of Smut & YellowSmoke]

Monsieur Guillory seems nice, Ellie told her sister when they were alone, smiling in the wake of her first encounter with the man of the house. She'd been so unsure of how to act before him that she'd almost forgotten to bow courteously when he bid them adieu, as her mother had taught her. She had not failed to notice however, that La was a little stiff with him - almost overly formal in her reticence - and it struck her as odd in comparison to Mr. Guillory's genial approach. She supposed that that was how maids were supposed to be around their employers, and that in time she too might have to curtail her vibrancy in favour of a more respectful inclination. Things were less informal here than in the quaint country town she'd been reared in - surely even more so under the roof of the stately chteau - but she hoped that she'd acclimatise in time. Her meeting with Florent - brief as it was - had eased her insecurities somewhat. He'd been polite and courteous though this was surely to be expected from such a respectable, affluent gentleman but he also left her with the impression that he was kind, even approachable, despite her sister's rather frigid disposition. If he was as amiable as he seemed, then with La by her side, the prospect of a happy life in Brezins was a distinct possibility, and this did buoy her spirits considerably. A few minutes after returning to her room with La, a sharp knock at the door signalled Gerard's arrival to inquire after the house's new resident employee. The impeccably presented butler assured her that as well as having her sister to aid her in settling in, he would be available to answer any queries she had, though throughout their brief and decidedly formal conversation, the man seemed quite distant. Again, Ellie presumed that it was nothing more than circumstance with relation to his position, and though this made her blissfully ignorant to the possibility that her arrival might have displeased him in some way, it did slightly take the edge off of the optimism attained in meeting Mr. Guillory. Was everyone here to be so cold? Come to think of it, where had Madame Guillory gotten to? Her mother had always taught her that it was rude not to greet guests in your home, and though Ellie was to be more than a guest, it surprised and confused her that the lady of the house had swept so quickly up the stairs - so quickly that she hadn't even gotten a look at her face. She had been little more than skirts and high heels as she disappeared from the welcoming hall. The truth of the matter was that Miriame Guillory was not feeling herself today, and was in no mood to meet anybody. In fact, Miriame had not been feeling herself since Thrse had been married and taken away from her, and over the last year her general demeanour and state of mind had gotten worse and worse. She had been close to her youngest - she the final vestige of the family life which had given her purpose in the house - and without her to dote over and look after, she had been left with nothing. Florent had his businesses to attend to and associates to converse with, but without Thrse, Miriame was reduced to acting as an extra maid - albeit a rather inactive one - and the conversation of her friends seemed less and less interesting to her. She kept up appearances out of a feeling of obligation - a need to keep a respectable face amongst the haut monde which her marriage to Florent had allowed her access - but none of the events which she attended fulfilled anything but that obligation now, and even her own brunches and lunches with the other ladies of Brezins had grown tedious without some life to return to after everyone had gone their separate ways. She sometimes wondered if it could all have gone differently if, in the wake of Thrse's departure, Florent had not been so busy with work to respond to her needs, they would not have rekindled the closeness and passions of their heyday, but he had been busy, and by the time he had ample space to give her the attention she had so desperately needed, Miriame had become depressed and his advances were met with little but coldness. In her room, the madame shrugged off her shawl and let it lie where it fell, and towards the window she dragged her weary soul to sit upon her favourite chair four ornately carved wooden legs embossed in gold paint leading up to an arching back, all upholstered in plush, floral-patterned linen. There, she was wont to gaze habitually out upon the lawns at the back of the house. The grasses were green, but Miriame often felt that they were too plain that green canvas called to her to paint them with blossoming flowers but it was too comfortable to just sit and wistfully stare. Hadn't she too dreamed of blossoming into something beautiful? She supposed that she had, only that which made her beautiful was now gone, and she was nothing but the arid soil left behind. True, she was not quite dead - not nearly dead at 41 - but her existence was as plain as the bare, green lawns.