When I was married off, I expected to find a new purpose. I was apprehensive of whether I would like that purpose or not. But building a home and family would be something to work on and toward. Having nothing to do is becoming utterly mind-numbing.
“You didn’t go out into the wood today,” Oren says to me at dinner as he pours my glass. I’m surprised he’s noticed my habits. We only interact at the beginning and end of the day and I’ve never seen him between.
“No…” I push some potatoes around my plate with a fork. “I didn’t feel like it.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes—I—I’m not sure, honestly.”
“Are you uncomfortable?” He seems shocked I would have any reason to be upset or distraught. I can’t blame him. I’m surrounded by a comfortable paradise, where all I have to do is say the word and my wish is granted.
“No, not at all.” I laugh bitterly. “Maybe that’s part of the problem. Maybe I’m so accustomed to being uncomfortable that I have no idea what to do with myself now that the discomfort is gone.”
“Is there something I can get for you?”
“Not something to get…but something for you to do. Would you mind asking if Lord Fenwood would be open to a nightcap tonight?”
His fine gray brows scrunch together as he looks down at me with his beady eyes. “I can ask him.”
I wonder what that unreadable expression meant for the rest of dinner. Oren doesn’t return. I take my plate down to the kitchen, washing it as I have after most meals and returning it to its place. On my way back to my room I notice that the door to my study is open. The two chairs are waiting, sweating glasses filled with a cool drink perched on tables at their sides.
I’m eager to take my seat. I settle in, shifting until I’m comfortable. Then, I grab the armrests and lean back into my chair, pressing my skull against the leather. Even if the lord startles me, I will not look. I want this meeting to go smoothly. I didn’t realize how badly I’ve needed to make a genuine connection in my new home until I’m in this very moment. I might not want love from the man…but friendship, a shared goal or understanding, I could do with that, I think. Even in the worst moments at the manor I had Laura.
Oh, sweet Laura. I wonder daily how she’s doing.
“You asked to see me?” That toe-curling voice startles me from my thoughts. I wonder if he knows that, however hideous he might imagine himself to be, with a voice like that he could have his pick of any man or woman.
“I did. I thought we might share a drink.” I lift up my glass, raising it off to the side so that he can see. I hear the whisper of his footsteps drawing near. Without warning, his glass clanks softly against mine. He’s close; if I turned my head I could see him. But I don’t. Once more, the fire smolders so low that all I can make out of him in the window is a tall shadow. “What are we toasting to?”
“How about the fact that I’ve managed to keep you alive this long?” He chuckles darkly.
I laugh as well. “I’m not that reckless.”
“But I have been known to be.” The chair behind me shifts as he settles into it.
“Oh?”
“In my younger years, especially.” The ice clinks in his glass as he takes a sip. “I have been the cause of many of Oren’s headaches throughout his time caring for me.”
“Oren has been with you a long time?”
“Yes, he’s looked after me since I was a baby.”
“Did you know your parents?” I ask softly, fully aware of just how difficult this topic can be.
“I did.”
“How long ago did they die?” I stare into the lemon-colored liquid of my glass.
“What makes you think they’re dead?”
“I can hear it in your voice. There’s a certain tone people have when they’ve lost a loved one. That loss leaves a void that gives everything a hollow sound whenever they’re mentioned.” I take a sip, trying to wash away that sound from my own voice. “Oh, this is really good. And sweet, like honey.”
“It’s mead. Not the best bottle I have but certainly not the worst.”
I smile faintly at the thought of him picking out a bottle just for this meeting from some dusty storeroom.
“Who did you lose?” he asks. My smile fades.
“Both of them,” I say. “My mother died when I was very little. My father said she was not made for this world—that she was too good for it. But that he was lucky that she at least left me behind for him.”
“And your father?”
“He runs—ran—the trading company, as you know…” I trail off. His death is fresher. I’ve tried to shove it away, into the same box my mother’s loss occupies, but it’s not the same. I had a life with my father. Mother is just faded memories and emotions imprinted on my very soul.
Lord Fenwood is patient, allowing me to wallow in my thoughts for several minutes.
“Joyce, his wife, she demanded he begin taking a more hands-on approach to the business by going on more trading ships. He was gone so often there were weeks I had to fight to remember the details of his face. Then…the ship he was on went down. No one found the bodies, so there was hope, for a while. But it’s been so long now…”
“I’m deeply sorry.” He means it. In none of our discussions have I ever smelt a lie on his breath. It strikes me that every single thing I’ve been told in this house has been as true as rain.
“I’ve survived.”
“As we all do.”
Even though we’re sitting back to back, I imagine what he must look like behind me. Is he leaning back in his chair as I’m leaning back in mine? If you looked at us from the side, would it look as though we’re trying to lean on each other, desperate for support? Isolated in a world where we have been cut off from those who should love us most?
“Oren tells me you are distraught. Is it the anniversary of one of their passings?”
I shake my head. Realizing he can’t see me, I say, “No, Mother died in the early fall and Father was in the summer.”
Saying it aloud makes me realize how close the first anniversary of his death is, and how much my life changed in a year. I should be sadder, I think. But I have felt some emotions so strongly I think they burned up, leaving nothing but charred edges of my heart behind.
“And ‘distraught’ might be too extreme a word,” I force myself to continue. “I suppose I want something to do, some kind of purpose here.”
“You don’t need to do anything, just lounge in the luxury I can provide you.”
“That’s just it, I’m not made for lounging and luxury.”
“You’re the eldest daughter of a trader lord.” He chuckles. “Oren told me of your estate. I know the luxury you are accustomed to.”
“You still know nothing about me,” I needlessly remind him with a bit of an edge. “And if Oren thought our estate was luxurious then you should have him check his eyes.” His silence prompts me to continue. “The estate was held together by nails, plaster, and prayer. I should know, I was the one responsible for keeping it upright.”