And I know I couldn’t bear it.
eight
. . .
peony
Ispend the rest of the day debating how best to go about bringing Mr. Edgewood out into the open. As he suggested, I go for a leisurely walk after breakfast to settle my meal, and though it’s chilly out, the autumn leaves are a beautiful kaleidoscope of reds and oranges and yellows. I pull my cardigan tighter around me as I explore the gardens, admiring how the koi fish all swim to the surface as I pass, expecting food. Does Mr. Edgewood also walk around these gardens, feeding the fish?
It’s odd how much he’s consumed my thoughts, being someone I’ve never met. I’m infinitely curious about him, about what’s keeping him hidden up in the east wing. How did he come to be so wealthy? What did he do before isolating himself in the manor? I have so many questions that I don’t think Kellen would answer.
I follow the path beyond the gardens, through the openmeadow toward the woods. Ducking under the trees, I’m reminded of Tennysville, the small town where I lived with Andy. We had a single-wide in a trailer park right on the edge of a patch of undeveloped forest, where I often tried to go walking. But he didn’t like me going alone, citing “all those bums putting up tents out there.” I’d never seen that, but I saved my walks alone for when Andy was at work.
Still, he found out when one of our neighbors ratted on me. I’ve never been sure who it was, because I had considered most of them to be neutral or friendly.
That was the first time I thought Andy might hit me. He had been so wound up, slamming doors, throwing around pots and pans, and ranting at me about how unsafe it was, how anything could happen to me, how I should be spending my day cleaning and not out wandering around the woods.
But Mr. Edgewood encouraged me to go on a walk, so I don’t think anyone will shout at me for taking a leisurely stroll.
I catch sight of all sorts of wildlife on my walk. A fox darts away when I disturb him, and birds sing high up in the trees. A deer and her fawn cross the path before noticing me, and then they flee.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so… at peace. There’s no Andy waiting for me when I get back to the manor, though I probably should think about making lunch soon. Still, I take my time looping around the path before heading home.
Home.That’s an interesting word. I’ve only been here for one night, and I’ve worked at the manor for less than a week, but it already feels more like home to me than the single-wide ever did.
After such a carb-heavy breakfast, I decide to cook a light lunch of walnut and cranberry salad with a balsamic vinaigrette, with slices of marinated chicken breast for protein.When Kellen doesn’t show up, I pack up Mr. Edgewood’s lunch myself on a tray and carry it up to his quarters. I set the tray down in front of his door and knock lightly.
“Mr. Edgewood!” I call out. “Your lunch is here.”
I hear shuffling on the other side of the door and realize I ought to make myself scarce so he can come out and get it. As I head down the hall to eat my own lunch back in the kitchen, I hear the door behind me open.
I turn around, knowing I shouldn’t. Mr. Edgewood has been very clear that he doesn’t want me to see him. But all I catch sight of is the door closing, the tray now gone.
I’m eating at the counter when Kellen finally appears carrying bags of groceries. He nods appreciatively as I help him unload, noting what ingredients he’s managed to find and substituting in my head for those he couldn’t. Immediately, I get to work preparing pickles and marinated steak for the coming week. Kellen fetches Mr. Edgewood’s plate, raising his eyebrows as he presents it to me with a note on top.
Please don’t feel the need to cook on the weekends. You deserve some time to put your feet up. Mr. Castle can take care of things.
It was, however, a delightful salad, and I’ve never been much for salads.
-R
I puzzle over the note as Kellen takes the dish away and cleans up after me again. I like to cook for Mr. Edgewood, and I find myself surprisingly disappointed that he doesn’t want me to do it.
That afternoon, I curl up on the couch in my suite with one of the books Mr. Edgewood lent me. It’s a mystery novel, and within a few pages I’m totally engrossed. The hours flypast until the sun has set, and it’s past six, when I usually make dinner.
I get up and shoot down the stairs to the kitchen. Andy would be furious if I didn’t have dinner ready when he got home, and panic rises in my throat as I skid at the bottom of the steps.
But a strange smell greets me—the smell of cooked cheese and pepperoni. When I get into the kitchen, there are two big boxes of pizza sitting on the counter, and Kellen sits on a stool eating a piece.
“Thought I’d give you a break tonight,” he says. “I already took one up to Mr. Edgewood.”
Well, don’t mind if I do.
I have been working on a plan in the back of my mind, something that would appeal specifically to someone like Mr. Edgewood, so I decide to bring it up with Kellen while I have him.
“What if we had an in-person dinner?” I ask him, sitting at the next stool with my pizza. “I could cook a big feast, and perhaps Mr. Edgewood would come down to the dining room.”
He glances at me over his pizza. “Hmm. Food is a good way to entice him, if there is one.”
