Brus chuckled to himself as Miss Elmsburke rushed off to close the door behind him. From the lovely glow on her cheeks, he could tell he hadn’t been far behind their lordship—she’d only been gossiping about him with the rest of the staff since she’d first arrived herself. That flustered look on her pale face, the slight wobble to her knees as she scampered to the kitchen and he figured the man would be absurdly popular a while yet. His accompanying staff of English men and women were polished and efficient, but now that their master was finally in the house, they’d taken up a whole new level of hustling and bustling.

At least that was Brus’s impression as Miss Elmsburke practically dropped her basket in her hurry to get to the kitchen. A burst of excited giggles followed her entrance amid the familiar clatter of dishes and utensils, young and old servant alike posturing absurd questions and theories.

“Oh, you should have [i]seen[/i] the glint in his eyes! And the look on Mr. Lockwood’s face!” Miss Elmsburke’s soft voice trembled with delight, and he could practically see her face crinkled with all the laughter she hadn’t allowed herself to show in front of the gentlemen.

“I can practically smell the scandal on you, girl! I absolutely won’t have you waiting on Mr. Arrington—he’s already made a reputation of himself back home!” This was a sterner voice, no doubt belonging to Mrs. Chapman, one of the Arrington’s senior cooks.

There was a chuckle—another youthful chime belonging to Mr. Clarke, a wry, sandy-haired fellow who’d taken on butlering for the Arrington’s eccentric son for the whole of a year. “Not to worry, Edite—I’ll take up the cordial myself.”

“Oh bother, Alfie, let me do it! You’re always so clumsy with the settings!” Another servant girl, this time Miss Harvey, who fancied herself a cook as much of a maid and happened to be Mrs. Chapman’s right hand.

As expected, Mrs. Chapman ‘tsked’ at the request, all steel. “Absolutely not! You girls are all giddy flutters and I’ll only have a creature with its head on welcome our lord to his home properly.”

“I daresay, my handiwork isn’t so crude as you make out to be, [i]Miss[/i] Harvey.” Alfie’s tone was tempered acrimony, more wry than wounded. “Had you been in Milord’s service as long as I, you would also know he cares nothing for such things to begin with. Far too friendly to appreciate cold efficiency and too coldly efficient to make good on his flirtations with common women, he is.”

“Oh, dry up, you bitter prune!” Miss Elmsburke came stomping back with the laundry, her long skirt fluttering behind like a dark cloud. Brus couldn’t help but chuckle at the little spat—it was good to have anything over the oppressive silence that had occupied the mansion for much too long.

Alfie eventually emerged in his slick black suit, a silvered tray balanced on one hand. It gave off the slightest, but most delightful scent he’d ever smelled—strawberries and lemons aged together with enough sugar to make a tooth ache. Goblets, silken napkins, and a tray of sliced pears with lemon tarts just for good measure had been carefully arranged to accommodate the beverage. A snack fit for a lord indeed!

Ah, but the excitement of the day had him too tired to investigate. He retreated to the western parlor of the mansion instead, making himself comfortable on a recently dusted and fluffed lounge chair. The theme of the room was all floral prints, brown and cream and faded pink weaving together to form ivy and blossoms along the walls and furniture. A desk had been set against one wall, the rest of the room a series of sofas and tables meant for card games and conversation. Lamps and tablecloths dripped with crystals and golden trim, the walls decorated with watercolor women enjoying the countryside. 

In earlier years, the comfortable room had been a place for Mrs. Arrington to entertain her guests after dinner and for Mr. Arrington to play at cards with his friends while one of the ladies plied at the piano. Everything had had a perpetual glimmer, the soft and last light of the day caught in the faded glow of the curtains. Little William had always been curious of it, of course, as he’d never been allowed into the ‘grown-up’s’ parlor. In unhappier times, his parents had even exchanged verbal barbs and snide remarks with the late lord and his wife—two guests who had never appreciated the ‘wild wilderness’ seen creeping from beyond the windows.

Brus closed his eyes and leaned back, casting off the past like a dream that had overstayed its welcome. This was a new time for a new family, although so much was as it used to be. The swish of the maids’ dark skirts, the low mumbling of gentlemen at business upstairs, the distant trill of birds in the garden—this was home.


[b]-Meanwhile-[/b]


“Staring at it won’t make it less of a mystery, you know.” A pixie tugged at Laila’s long ear and giggled. The hare had remained transfixed at the door to the mansion for some time, caught up in old feelings and memories. Despite the fact that the building was the same as it was a decade ago, something was just… [i]different[/i], though she couldn’t quite put a paw on it.

Laila shook off the pert little thing and turned away from the house, hopping her way back to the hedge and into the forest. “It’s still a haunted place to me, if only slightly more pleasant with Brus back in it. I imagine it won’t be long before his fancy guests come to visit in droves, and then we’ll hear stories of all the world and how far they came to enjoy the garden.”

The deeper she wandered into the woods, the more alone she became, the fae either staying near town to enjoy the spectacle or to wander back to their own games. Though she usually enjoyed their songs and dances amid the leaves, it was a time to retreat into her own thoughts. She found her way into a familiar burrow beneath a great elm and nibbled on the berry stash she’d collected there, trying with difficulty not to wonder if it tasted anything like his lordship’s ‘chilled juice.’