Chapter 7
The house did not feel unfamiliar.
Eleanor had walked the corridors before, though it had been years, and she remembered the arrangement of the rooms, the careful order that shaped everything within it. And yet, as she moved through them now, the difference was unmistakable.
Nothing had changed.
"Eleanor, the Viscountess Harrowby."
The words followed her from room to room, repeated as each member of staff was presented in turn. Her new title had settled into place as though it had always belonged there.
Eleanor smiled and nodded where appropriate, acknowledging each introduction with far more ease than she had expected. She did not rush the process, nor did she prolong it unnecessarily. Names were given, roles explained, the structure of the household outlined, and that was all that was needed.
She listened. She asked a question here and there, but there was hardly any clarification needed. It was already a well-ordered house, that much was clear, and that meant that nothing required her immediate alteration. Julian had been managing well, and that reduced the need for her.
That suited her well enough.
"You are already familiar with your wing I believe, my lady," the housekeeper said as they turned a corner. "He has told me that he showed you it before summoning me."
"He did indeed," Eleanor replied. "Though I imagine I shall learn it properly now."
There was the faintest suggestion of approval in the woman’s expression.
"I do hope so. I do not suppose that he has told you, but he has expressed that you are welcome to change the rooms as you see fit."
Eleanor was grateful for that, but in truth she had no such intentions. The furnishings were in pale green, her favorite color, and everything was light and clean which was to her taste already. There was no need to change what already felt like her own.
They continued a little further, though Eleanor no longer needed direction. She recognized the rooms as they passed them far more than she had anticipated.
By the time the introductions concluded, the afternoon had begun to fade into the evening.
Eleanor excused herself without difficulty. There were no expectations placed upon her yet, nothing that required her immediate attention beyond what had already been done.
She found her way to the gardens without assistance.
The air outside was cooler, the quiet offering a sense of seclusion that she had not expected to want.
The grounds stretched out in careful order, but they were somehow less rigid than the house itself.
She followed the path without particular direction until she found her.
Lily sat on the grass near a cluster of low shrubs, her attention fixed on something in her hands. She did not notice Eleanor at first.
Eleanor did not interrupt. She approached slowly, then lowered herself to sit beside her, not too close, but not too distant either.
"What have you found?"
Lily looked up at once, brightening in an instant. Eleanor was more than pleased to see that she had such an effect.
"A flower," she said, holding it out. "Though I do not know what it is called."
Eleanor examined it, turning the stem slightly between her fingers.
"I do not recognize it either," Eleanor replied. "I was never any good with my flowers. I think they are pretty, but when it came to naming them I was useless. We may name it ourselves, if you like. That is what explorers do."
Lily considered this with interest. There was a pause, thoughtful rather than uncertain.
"Then it should have a proper name," Lily said. "Not something ordinary."
"Of course not."
Eleanor glanced at the small cluster of similar flowers nearby.
"They seem inclined to appear where they are not expected," she said. "That suggests something with persistence."
Lily’s expression brightened further.
"Then it should be called that. Persistence."
"Persistence is not a particularly elegant name."
"No," Lily agreed. "But it is accurate."
Eleanor allowed a small smile.
"Accuracy certainly has its merits."
Lily shifted slightly, looking around them now as though seeing the garden differently.
"There are more, by the way," she said. "More flowers that I do not know yet."
"Then we have a great deal of naming to do."
They moved a little further along the grass, the conversation unfolding without effort. Each new flower required consideration, each suggestion weighed with surprising seriousness. Some names were dismissed immediately, others debated briefly before being accepted.
Eleanor had not anticipated that she would enjoy her honeymoon so much, given the circumstances.
At one point, Lily grew quieter, her gaze settling on a small patch of white blossoms near the edge of the path.
"I like these the most."
Eleanor followed her gaze. The flowers were delicate and small, the sort that others would trample without second thought.
"They do not attempt to be noticed," she said. "Is that why?"
Lily nodded, as though that confirmed something she had already suspected.
"Then they should have the best name."
Lily turned to her, expectant.
"What should it be?"
"You may decide. Perhaps something simple, like the flowers themselves?"
Lily thought about it, her expression intent, before settling on something with quiet satisfaction.
"Yes," she said to herself quietly. "That will do."
"Have you decided?"
"Yes. I shall call it Fragility. My brother taught me that word. He says that I am not to have any."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at that without thinking. The game continued, the afternoon passing without her noticing. There was no need to direct it, no need to shape it into anything more than what it was.
For the first time since her arrival, the house felt less like something she had entered and more like something she might, in time, belong to.
"You will not go back," she said. "Will you?"
Eleanor lowered herself slightly so they were level again.
"No," she replied. "I will not. I do not mean to stake any claim, but this is my home too now."
Lily watched her for another moment, then nodded once, as if that settled it. The concern did not disappear entirely, though, and Eleanor wondered why she was so concerned about such a thing.
"Good," she said. "Because I showed you the white flowers and I do not show those to everyone."
"I am honored," Eleanor replied.
"You should be," Lily said, very seriously, before turning away again.
She moved a few steps ahead, then stopped suddenly.
"Oh," she said, crouching down. "This one is hiding."
Eleanor followed, looking down at a small flower half-tucked beneath a leaf.
"It has chosen a poor place if it wishes to be admired," she said.
"No, it is hiding on purpose," Lily insisted. "So that nobody picks it. It is shy, but not scared."
Eleanor considered the small flower, the way it remained half-hidden, undisturbed.
She tried not to think too deeply into it, but she could not help but think that Lily was like the little flower.
She was only half hidden, but hidden away all the same for her protection, but that did not mean that she was frightened.
Lily stood again, brushing her hands together, then reached out without thinking and took Eleanor’s hand.
"Come," she said. "There are more."
Eleanor allowed it without hesitation. They walked further along the path together, the garden opening slightly ahead of them. The game resumed at once, Lily pointing out flowers with quick certainty, deciding things as she went and changing her mind just as easily.
It required nothing from Eleanor except attention. That, she found, was not difficult. And when Lily laughed, unrestrained, entirely unselfconscious, it carried through the quiet garden in such a way that it was a miracle that it did not disturb the wildlife.
For the first time since arriving, Eleanor did not think about the decision that she had made, or what had been left behind. She only followed where Lily led.
And Lily did not let go of her hand. They wandered further into the garden, no longer following the paths with any real intention.
The game had shifted without either of them marking when it had happened.
Naming flowers had become inventing stories for them, and the stories had become increasingly improbable.
"That one is a queen," Lily said, pointing at a tall, slightly crooked stem.
"A very unstable queen," Eleanor observed. "She appears to be in danger of falling."
"No," Lily said quickly. "She is pretending, so that nobody is afraid of her."
They continued on, seeing one blue flower among pink ones.
"That one," Lily said, pointing again, "is a spy."
"A spy," Eleanor repeated. "And what information does it gather?"
"Everything," Lily said. "It listens, even to us."
"Then we must be careful."
Lily’s eyes widened, then she broke into a quiet laugh, unable to hold the seriousness for too long. It seemed to surprise her, though she did not try to stop it.
"We could confuse it," Lily decided. "Then it cannot possibly listen to us."
"How do you propose that we do that?"
"We say things that do not make sense."
"That will not be difficult."
Lily grinned at that.
"You go first."
Eleanor considered this briefly, then again, with a serious look on her face.
"The roses are plotting against the strawberries."
Lily stared at her for a moment, then laughed again, this time unable to contain it at all.
"They are not even near each other," she said.
"That is what makes it suspicious."
"That makes no sense!"
"Exactly."
Lily shook her head, still laughing for a moment before settling as she prepared to continue the game, then pointed at another flower.
"That one eats clouds."
"An ambitious diet."
"It only eats the small ones," she added.