Chapter 42 #2
Much of the furniture was older. The wood had the sort of smooth-worn polish that suggested affectionate use in previous generations, even if Pen ignored the actual style of the things.
She’d spent enough time helping people move things around to place most of it as Renaissance revival with a side of Arts and Crafts pieces.
No one had made an attempt to make the pieces match except in the general tone of the wood.
Someone had brought her bag up and left it on a stool near the desk, visible but not in the way.
The furniture had also been unreasonably comfortable, like the sofa in his rooms at Oxford. Pen had settled on one of the chairs at the small round table, then she looked down at it. “Do you charm all of your furniture to be enticing?”
Edmund raised an eyebrow, waited a beat, then said, “Once we’ve eaten, you’re welcome to test the bed, as well.
” Pen flushed. She could feel it heat her skin, then he waved a hand.
“Well, yes. Given the option, I’d rather not deal with hard beds and chairs that angle the wrong way.
I think much better without aches.” His voice softened.
“Both Papa and Uncle Alexander have a great deal more. Master Benton makes a point of no one having to live with that when he can do something about it.”
“He was solidly insistent about looking after your family.” Pen agreed. “After— after, that night.” She looked down at her meal. “This looks wonderful. Can you introduce me to your cook at some point so I can thank her?”
It got Pen a delighted smile out of Edmund, the shy one that he didn’t let other people see.
“Of course.” The meal wasn’t anything fancy— a vegetable hash with chicken and a light wine sauce, along with a decorative and edible flower.
But there was something to eating it here, sunlight and tree branches outside, a quiet that she knew was made partly by the warding.
She glanced around. “These have been your rooms for a while?”
“Since I moved down from the nursery at eleven when I went to tutoring school. Uncle Alexander has what are often the Heir’s rooms, but I like these, honestly.
Cosy. I’ve not had people round here often.
Enough space to study or read or be with my sisters, not so much it feels lonely. ” As he said it, Pen could see that.
The sitting room certainly was cosy. A sofa in front of a fireplace, with a chair to one side and a desk under the window, the little round table they were eating at between the two.
Of course, there were bookshelves along the long wall.
“Where do you keep all your books?” There were some on the shelves, but the shelves weren’t remotely full.
“Oh, the trunk there. Magical.” Edmund gestured at it, what looked like well-tanned brown leather with all the proper brass fittings.
“It has shelving inside. Absolutely necessary bit of kit for an Owl who doesn’t want to leave a book behind.
I bring out the ones I’m currently using regularly, of course.
That’s more pleasant. Letting them breathe on the shelves.
I think, well, this sounds silly, I suppose. ” He cut off, ducking his chin.
“I think I enjoy hearing what you call silly.” Pen said it deliberately. “I certainly like you saying things I don’t think you say to many other people.” It was brave of her. It felt brave, but it also felt true in a way that mattered.
He met her eyes for a long moment. Then Edmund spoke, his voice deliberate. “I like to think of the books having conversations, chatting with each other. What they’d say to each other.”
“Or about each other?” Pen found the idea charming, actually, what gossip books might have about another on a nearby shelf. “I can see that. Though yours would be a wide range of languages, that must complicate the conversation.”
It earned her a broader smile. “True. Permutations of conversations, isn’t that the word?
” It got them off on a pleasant conversation about the mathematical modelling of that sort of thing— and how it played out in code-breaking.
Then how that sort of thing worked out with actual people.
Because of course, the actual people had additional reasons they would or would not chat with someone else.
It took them pleasantly through supper, and through poached pears in wine for pudding, before Edmund cleared his throat.
“How do you feel about seeing my bedroom?”
“Are we talking about standing in the doorway and admiring the furnishings, or something else?” Pen had thought, up to this point, that being at Ytene would be daunting.
Especially with anything private. But somehow, the reality of it felt entirely different.
“Do— does your family come in without knocking?”
“Oh, no. For one thing, enough people have various ritual practices. We’re actually all extremely skilled at lurking in the hallway and waiting until the other person notices our presence.
Or there are signals, little charmlights.
See there over the door? Those are something Papa put in ages ago.
The Edgartons have something similar and gave him the idea.
” He turned to gesture at the top of the door frame, where there were little lights.
Edmund went on. “A general sense of where people are. Papa, Mama, Uncle Alexander, me, Merry, Ros, across the top, then a gap, and if people are in the guest bedrooms. Green if we’re in our rooms, blue for the library, white for anywhere else inside, gold for near the house but not actually in it.
Everywhere other than the library you take your chances, but it’s usually the ritual room, the music room, or Mama’s office unless we’re eating.
” He gestured at the row, which indeed showed the fourth light from the left shining green, and a white light at the far end that Pen supposed must be her.
“Not where the staff are?” Pen considered that question.
“Oh, no. That seems entirely too invasive, don’t you think? But they find the lights handy for where to find us. Master Benton, especially. Tremendous help with his omniscience. Not that he wasn’t omniscient before they were put in.” Edmund glanced up, as if expecting her to have a comment.
Pen did, though it took a moment to figure out how to put it. “You think very well of him. And you’re always formal with him?”
“Papa calls him Benton, and so do Mama and Uncle Alexander. But he does a great deal to keep things running. That takes particular kinds of skills.” Edmund shrugged once, but then kept going, as if talking it out with her mattered to him.
As if sharing it mattered. “It’s not something I’ve talked about much.
But he’s always been there, Papa’s other pair of hands, his other eyes and ears.
I won’t have that. I don’t think it’s possible without going through the Great War like they did.
I know it’s fashionable now to think that Master Benton must be diminished by being a steward, or having been a valet, or— whatever.
I don’t think that at all.” Now he looked up, and there was that slight tremor of nerves again.
“Is that going to be a problem? That we have staff, that sort of thing?”
Pen let out a huff of breath. “Mum’s got a housekeeper who comes in and who helps with the cooking.
And the laundry goes out. Such a bother, laundry when you can’t show the magic.
” She considered. “It’s like how people are with the scouts in college, isn’t it?
Some people mistreat them, but the place needs them to keep everything running.
And doing a job well, I know a number of them enjoy it.
Harris, though I suppose he doesn’t have the more annoying bits, dealing with people’s breakfasts and messes. ”
“Mostly not,” Edmund agreed. Then he held out his hand. “Would you like to see my bedroom?” This time he had that earnestness Giles had mentioned, front and centre. “See what you think about the comforts of the bed.”
Pen nodded once. “I would. Can you explain what you’re thinking for the evening? Once we’re testing it, of course.”
It got her a warm chuckle, a formal escort to the bedroom door, and then the bedroom opened before her. It was smaller than the sitting room, with a door off to the right. “That’s the bath and water closet. Make use of them as you wish.”
Pen was rather more taken with the bed. It had four carved posts, though no hangings around it, lit by the window and some glowing charmlights.
Here, everything was a deep green and the tawny brown of Owl House’s heraldry for accents, rather than the grey she’d expected.
It was like being in an enchanted wood. Especially since the bedside tables rather evoked the arc of tree trunks and curving branches.
He squeezed her hand, and she went to sit on the bed, to find it plush. Not the sort of overstuffed comfort that meant sinking into the mattress and disappearing, but perfectly balanced and restorative. “Mmm. Your plans? Come sit, or whatever it is we’re doing. Shall I take my shoes off?”
“Shoes.” Edmund’s voice hitched as he went on. “More than that? We are quite private, I promise. Shall I go make sure of the warding and bring your bag in?”
Pen swallowed. “Is that you asking me to stay the night?” His eyes widened, like he hadn’t quite figured out how to put the words in the right order to form the question.
He nodded minutely, and she went on. “I brought a change of clothes. Though I was expecting more, I don’t know.
An inn or you’d said you’ve a family house in Trellech. ”
She let out a slow breath and then dared to find the words for what she was feeling. “We haven’t done certain things yet, and I’m not saying we need to do them tonight. But being here, feeling what it’s like here? I am open to exploring that permutation of interrelationship.”
It could have come out sounding prim, but somehow it didn’t.
It took all of what they’d been talking about in various ways all afternoon and brought it to a point.
She had the joy of watching him inhale sharply, the little tell of arousal she was becoming vastly better at spotting. “I’ll check the door, then.”
He turned, disappearing back into the sitting room, giving her just long enough to stand again and begin to undo the buttons down the front of her frock. Edmund came back, gently setting her bag on the stool nearest the door to the bath, then turning to her, his eyes widening.
Pen let her fingers halt for just a second.
“Would you rather?” They’d had time together, but not nearly enough that any of this felt ordinary.
He’d undressed her before. More usefully, he’d demonstrated that he understood how women’s underthings fastened.
Or rather, opened. She was not nearly so deft with his clothing, but she was certain practice would improve that.
Now, he stepped closer, his fingers working on her buttons, while hers fumbled a little at his shirt.
Pen wasn’t too horribly slow, then she was shrugging out of her slip and brassiere.
Edmund took a step back, his fingers running along her bare skin.
“Mmm. I am delighted you said yes.” Before she had to think of what to say, he was bending to kiss her.
His hands cupped around her shoulders before they moved and she could feel him undoing his trousers and stepping out of his clothes.
The kiss took her breath away, but also her nerves.
Pen took a step or two back toward the bed.
She bent to pick up her frock and things, and at least pile them by her bag, out of the way and tidy.
Edmund turned away, one long flank of his leg visible, to do the same, putting them inside the door to the bath before he turned back.
There was something entirely daring about seeing him entirely naked, aroused, eager, and stepping back to join her.
“I’ll do my charm. Or there’s a potion bottle there on the side table. If you like that as well.”
They’d talked about that, though this was the first time it had been particularly relevant. She did not yet feel confident with the charm for such things— it was a little tricky. Now, Pen turned toward the table, blinking. “Just waiting?”
“There is also one in my satchel. More than one. Papa’s alchemists have improved the taste, rather.” He seemed more amused than anything by her reaction, when someone might reasonably have wondered how many he was likely to go through.
She wrinkled up her nose slightly. “I can come to grips with this house and having a staff, and horses. I am not entirely sure I can come to grips with knowing your father has alchemists who make contraceptive potions for you.”
“They believe in demonstrating the breadth and width of their skills? A professional pride in covering all the relevant services. Actually, they offered when I came of age? It’s not, um, personal to you?
Though if you prefer to take a potion or pills along with the charms, they would consult and adjust to your preferences.
” Edmund reached toward it, then looked at her. “Would you like?”
“Yes, might as well be sensible.” He leaned further, pulling it out of the holder, then presented it to her with a slight bow. It should have been ridiculous— he was naked, after all. But he made it graceful, that same awareness of what his body was doing that he had when clothed.
This time, it was not annoying. Fascinating, that was a better word for it.
A puzzle that she wanted to spend a great deal of time understanding, certainly.
She handed the vial back, and he slipped it into the holder, before she wriggled back on the bed.
It was huge, expansive, and that felt like incredible luxury, the sort people didn’t talk about.
A moment later, he joined her, settling on his side.
Looking at his face was, for the moment, easier than looking at the rest of him. Pen focused on that. “Um. The next— I—” Then she stalled.
“How about I dim the lights— there will be light from outside for a while yet.” This close to the solstice, she supposed there would. “Then we will do some of what we’ve done before and go from there.”
“That, please.” Pen managed the words before she felt herself blushing again. “I want to. I promise. It’s just, well.”
“It’s new, and this place is new, and settling will take a minute.
Let me make sure a couple of things are handy.
” He twisted, his back arching. She wanted to stroke along the line it made, but couldn’t quite yet.
He pulled a larger bottle out of the bedside table drawer, set it on the table, and then turned back to her. “Shall we?”