AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He involved me in everything he could, and I found myself working on accounting lists for repairs, flower orders, and payments for the workers who littered the gardens preparing the earth for its grand reveal. I was still having strange dreams, whispers tickling my ears even in the light of day, touches of fingers on my shoulders, in my hair, but with enough concentration and force, I could will them away, remind myself they were phantoms born of unnecessary fear. I was in control of myself, capable and calm, and I liked the business of the preparations, which gave me work to do at every moment of the day and relieved me from constantly thinking about Callum and the things we got up to when no one was looking.
I discovered I’d been right regarding Mrs. Hughes’s botany notebooks. Being familiar with the flowers growing on the estate was an essential aspect of managing things, and with only a drop of guilt remaining, I removed the journal from the bureau and began to read again from the beginning, studying it with a close eye and copying information for myself in a separate book of my own. I silently thanked the woman, rest her soul, for leaving behind her knowledge and the legacy of her love for Willowfield. One afternoon, I paused my transcriptions and sat back in the chair, gazing out of the window and into the gardens. Callum had insisted I take over this little office with all of its delicate furniture. I’d been uncomfortable for the first day or two, none of the things to my liking. I was an intruder in this space, though everything I needed was here.
Mrs. Hughes had once sat in this very chair and done her own work, possibly stopping as I did to survey the gardens. Though I still knew so little about her, I felt sorrow for the happiness stolen and resolved not to let the same happen to me. Callum enjoyed stopping by between errands to sit in the delicate chairs, humorously too dainty for him, and talk to me concerning things I had no experience with.
I laughed at him one morning. “I have no business savvy, and listening to all your talk on stocks and factory safety is like hearing someone speak another language.”
“You’ve got a mind like a steel trap. You’ll catch up. At any rate, these are all things you’ll need to learn, so might as well begin, but first…” He grinned and stayed long enough to throw me onto the chaise, wrap my thighs around his shoulders, and plunder me with his mouth. My want for him in all ways was unquenchable, and I was determined to become the mistress Willowfield needed, and Callum deserved.
When I’d transcribed enough of the plant notes into my own book, I brought it outside to map the growing spots of each flower. I wanted to be familiar with where to find them, so when the time came for bloom I could revisit and discover their individual beauties and scents for myself. It was a delightful scavenger hunt. As I took my leave of the topiary, I almost ran headlong into Rodney, covered in dirt but happy from head to toe.
“Miss Foxboro! Lovely to see you. What’ve you got there?”
I showed him the little book and told him what I was up to, and he gave me some directions for where to find the flowers I hadn’t yet documented. He beamed at me, then leaned on his shovel and scratched his forehead below his ever-present flat cap. “Willowfield is lucky. There hasn’t been a lady so keen on this place since we lost Mrs. Hughes.”
Rodney was the only one to speak about the woman so openly. The secrecy concerning her remained heavy as a curtain around a deathbed. I still couldn’t even manage to ask Callum, in case it brought him undue pain. I didn’t want to inspire lines of grief on his face.
“I’m worried to ask too many questions in case I upset someone, but you seem least bothered. What was Mrs. Hughes like?”
He considered for a second, then released a long, whooshing breath. “She was a fragile one, jumpy and quiet, easily overwhelmed, but when she was in this garden, she shone bright as Venus, and she kept the entire place filled to the brim in winter with all the flowers from the greenhouse. Overall, a fine woman, and many people loved her. It’s a shame what happened.”
“Whatdidhappen?” I asked with some air of frustration I hadn’t meant to express. Rodney appeared to understand and grew grim.
“It was a quick thing, to be honest. She became paranoid and fitful, couldn’t sleep in the house. Hell, I can’t either. It’s why I stay in the cottage. Several mornings I found her out here asleep on the ground, in the labyrinth there, inside that damnable fairy ring. She cried all the time, a miserable soul and a shadow of herself. I’m not a person who should have guesses, but Professor Hughes didn’t handle her gently enough. He kept asking for more and more of her the worse she got. Really, she just wasn’t well in her mind.”
My blood ran cold.
“The house has been a graveyard for the last few years. Though, with you here, Miss Foxboro, things are looking up.”
“My assignment’s only for a few more months, Rodney,” I reminded him.
“I’m not so sure,” he said, managing some tact. “I’ve known Callum since we were kids. It’s clear he’s taken a liking to you. This may be forward, but he’s been searching for someone to fill the hole in his life for a while now.”
Irritated our attempts at secrecy weren’t working, I was prepared to tell Rodney itwastoo forward when he added, “That man’s got a type, and he’d be a fool not to have his eye on you.”
He was so bold, but with his nerve came a sort of harmless affability that kept me from being too angry with him.
“Be careful, Millie,” he said, turning to the house, love and loathing at war in his eyes, “Willowfield and its master demand a lot from anyone who loves them.”
He wanted to say more, and I wanted him to explain. Instead, he tipped his cap and excused himself back to work, lamenting the likelihood the new hires were off tearing something up.
Several hours later, Ms. Dillard walked into the library to find me and Callum in a fit of laughter, clinging to each other over another of his boyhood sketches we’d found, this time of the school principal.
“Having a good old time, are you?” she asked, side-eying us both as she set down the tray of coffee.
When she’d gone, I sighed after her. It had been clear she suspected.
“We haven’t done an excellent job hiding this,” I bemoaned.
“There’s nothing to hide.” Callum pressed a kiss to my temple, then put the irreverent picture back in its place to be rediscovered someday. “There isn’t anyone in this house who wouldn’t celebrate our happiness.”
Despite the evidence proving it was no use to pretend anymore, I continued to insist I be present in my room when Felicity brought my evening tea. Tonight I was particularly impatient, pacing and waiting ages for her to arrive, anxious to return to Callum’s arms. Time stretched on lazily, and just as I’d planned to pass the time with a bath, Felicity arrived with the tea and a plate of almond cookies dusted with cinnamon and the usual powdered sugar.
“Ms. Dillard made these?” I asked, picking one up and taking a bite, the familiar flavor inspiring a surge of love and grief in me for Ms. Reeves.
“Yes, she said you’d mentioned they were a favorite of yours.”
Gratitude rapidly thawed my heart toward the woman, and though she would probably dislike it, I planned to hug her when I saw her next. Felicity registered the new tenderness in my face and smiled.
