He found Zeller, Vix, and some woman in a maid’s uniform bent over a stark white loveseat, where four strips of potential new upholstery had been laid over the back cushion, each adorned with different flowers.
“Not the daffodils,” he said without looking, because he knew she did not like them.
She looked up at him, surprised and perhaps a bit pleased. “Yes, I agree,” she said, blinking as though she didn’t quite believe him for saying it.
He considered parroting the opinion that it was too pastoral, but decided it was a step too far. Instead, he put his thumbs into his pockets and looked around the room, begrudgingly impressedwith how welcoming and well-lit the place looked, considering it probably had nothing but cobwebs in it before.
“A sitting room,” she said, with some degree of wry amusement, watching him marvel. “And this is Mrs. Jenkins. She will be joining the household henceforth.”
“A pleasure, sir,” the starchy woman said, giving a bob.
“Fine,” he answered, pacing over to the window to peer out of it.
He hadn’t realized he had a view of some water.
“The new mattress is here as well, ma’am,” Mrs. Jenkins told Vix. “I’ll have it brought up as soon as they finish assembling the frame. Did you choose your linens?”
“I’ll be bringing a set from home, for now,” she answered, running her finger down the fabric printed with tiny bluebells. “The new set won’t be ready in time.”
“Mattress?” Ambrose repeated, spinning around with his brow furrowed. “What’s this? My mattress is perfectly fine.”
Vix and Mrs. Jenkins looked up at him in tandem, blinking like two owls who’d been interrupted at high noon.
“For my room,” Vix said in slow syllables, like he was addled. “Not yours.”
“Your … what?!” he demanded. “Show me!”
He suspected the starchy one was amused, but he couldn’t prove it. Vix just gave a delicate roll of her dark eyes, tossed the bluebells back onto the naked couch, and nodded toward the hall as she exited toward this bedroom she apparently had.
In his house!
He emerged from the room and felt an immediate flash of irritation again at how temperate and pleasant it was in the hall. One should always either be sweating or shivering in this house and squinting in an effort to see, goddammit!
“Where are we going?” he barked after her, scuttling in her wake like an insect.
She did not answer, turning at the stairs and ascending them with delicate dignity.
He sped up, cutting her off on the landing and pointing to his bedroom. “This is where we live,” he announced. “Where we sleep.”
“That is where you live,” she replied, like it was new information for her, and then gestured to the door across from his. “I chose this one, over here.”
He stared at the door. He wasn’t entirely convinced there had been another room there this morning. And there she was, already turning and opening it to reveal a clean, glossy-floored chamber with a brand-new bed frame being assembled by two workers in dusty linen.
He gaped, glancing at the large window in the corner, and saw that blasted mystery water glimmering beyond the house like an enchanted painting again.
“But I have a nice bed,” he attempted, frowning.
She sighed.
“I do!” He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her out of the room she’d claimed and kicking the door shut as he marched her over the hallway threshold to his own chamber. “I will show you.”
“You will do no such thing!” she protested, squirming as he wrenched his own bedroom door open and tossed her inside. “Ambrose!”
She came to a standstill in what appeared to be genuine shock at the tidy state of his living space, her eyes scanning over the dark, tasteful furnishings and the neatly made bed with something adjacent to disbelief.
It was not enough to stop her from snatching her wrist away from him, then turning and shoving him for good measure.
It made him laugh, which did not seem to help matters.
