Chapter 3
Igrowl as I enter the library, barefoot. I left my dirty boots in the foyer for the maids to take care of. I know Mildred will give me an earful for it later, but I don’t care. I feel a headache coming on and I think I know where it’s coming from.
I just got rid of the last girl two days ago.
“Can’t a man have some blasted peace?” I snarl, slamming my palm on the table, rattling a stack of books. Narcissus, my cat, lifts his orange head from where he was sleeping on top of my notes and hisses at me.
He has a plush bed by the fireplace, and I’ve tried to convince him to sleep on my own bed many times, but he prefers to snooze in places where he can damage my things.
“Brat,” I say to him. He simply meows and lays his head back down, crumpling a page of notes beneath him.
This room is dimmer than others in the manor, every tall window cloaked in drapes, leaving the space to be lit by sconces on the walls. Bookshelves line the room and more stand free, creating rows and rows of books on a multitude of subjects. History, geography, poetry, fiction, I have it all.
There are two sofas and a few armchairs in front of the fireplace, and despite being filled to the brim with books, the room has always felt somewhat unwelcoming to me. Perhaps it’s because I’ve been seeking its help for four years and come up empty.
My hands tangle in my shaggy hair, locking onto the smooth strands as I fume over my new houseguest. The longest I’ve gone without one of these unwanted females demanding my attention has been two weeks. Two weeks in the last four years without some miserable girl simpering around my home, moony eyed or half crazed.
Sometimes both.
Four years ago, I would have welcomed the attention. Even from women as unfortunate looking as the ones haunting my halls. But after four years, my nerves are too raw, too overstimulated to be bothered with niceties for people who can offer me nothing but annoyance or danger.
In the beginning of my purgatory, I thought the loneliness would cause me to entertain a flirtation with anything in a dress, regardless of their usefulness. But with every day that passes between these dark stone walls, my desperation turns itself away from pleasure and toward revenge.
“What are you stomping around the manor for?” Mildred demands. I turn to see her enter my domain.
Her blonde hair is speckled with grey and pulled back into its customary bun. An apron is tied around her waist and her expression is stern, her kind face lined with age.
“There’s a new one,” I snap, my eyes wide with frustration. I know I look like I’ve gone mad, but that’s because I have. It’s all these women! “I won’t do it again, Milly. Not so soon. I can barely stomach it when I’ve got time between them.”
“Calm down. Where is the poor thing?”
I scowl at her. Why she insists on acting like these women—not me—are the victims, I’ll never understand. Yet time after time, she dotes on them and tries to push us together. As if my happiness could be satiated by the waif I saw in the woods this morning. The only thing that will bring me contentment is making my neglectful brother suffer for leaving me here to rot. Not a half-mad runaway.
“Outside hiding in the bushes like a rabbit,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “If we’re lucky, she’s ill and will be dead by tomorrow.”
“She’s what?”
Mildred bustles off to the only window that isn’t covered in drapes, peeking out into the morning sunlight. The window faces the east side of the property where there’s a small lake and a grove of dogwood trees that are in full bloom. A ten-foot wall lines the entire estate, and even if the woman manages to get over the wall, the curse won’t let her out.
I would know. I’ve tried to force more than one young woman from my property.
After the woman ran from me this morning, I spent a quarter of an hour walking around the forest, making sure she left no trail that could lead someone to the manor.
I’ve had enough fathers and brothers come demanding their daughters and sisters to last me a lifetime. Granted, they always forget about me and the manor once they leave, but the last thing I want to deal with is more people.
They”re always more irritating than they are entertaining. And after four years, my good humor is dead anyway.
“She doesn’t look like the usual ones,” Mildred hums to herself. I don’t like the thoughtful look on her face. It’s full of scheming. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so determined to get away…Maybe this one will be different.”
“No.”
Milly turns to me. “I’m sorry?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.”
She raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t going to ask you a question.”
“Don’t play with me Milly,” I say to her, slumping down into my usual chair at the table as I point a finger her way. “I want her out of here. This one doesn’t seem like she’s playing with a full set and I’m too pretty to die young when she stabs me in my sleep. We’ve already been down that road before.”
Mildred goes serious at the mention of Leeta. She shakes her head disapprovingly, crossing her arms. “That was one time three years ago. And you use it as an excuse not to give any of these girls a chance. But if you would stop being so ridiculous and give the girls the benefit of the doubt, you might find that you can actually be happy for once.”
“You know when I’ll be happy, Milly? When my brother is suffering, freedom is mine, and I never have to endure the company of a parade of ugly party crashers ever again.”
“Alistair Godfrey!” Mildred gasps, her pale face going red. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
I smirk dispassionately. “And you ought to realize how lucky you are that I love you. No one else would get away with such talk.”
Her face hardens as she puts her fists on her hips. “No, you ought to realize how lucky you are that you love me. If you didn’t, I wouldn’t put up with you.”
I don’t argue with her. She’s right. Few people get the treatment from me that Mildred does. Though I’m positive that she would love me even if I were cruel. She’s too compassionate to help it.
“Fine. Will you please deal with her and keep her out of my way?” I ask with a sarcastic smile.
“The most I can do is give her a room.”
“Ugh, just make sure it’s in the west wing and keep her out of my sight during the day. You set the last one up down the hall from me and I found our houseguest half-dressed in my chambers on three occasions.”
Mildred says nothing, shaking her head as she walks away, but I know she’ll take care of the matter. She’s done it many times before.
My eyes drift to the pages and pages of notes scattered across the table. Four years of research. Four years of plotting and planning, refusing to die stored away like an unused coat left to the moths, and I have so little to show for it. But I’ll rise up again. I do it all the time. A lifetime of being oppressed by my brother has given me that much.
I glance at the gilded mirror set against the wall beside the fireplace. The scene through the unblocked window reflects on the glass and I watch as the young woman weaves through the bushes, her dark hair a mess and dirt on her cheeks.
But there’s something about her face that I recognize. A hard, unyielding look that I’ve seen many times on my own features. Whoever this woman is, she may be unattractive, but she knows what it is to never give up.
Probably the only thing we have in common.