Chapter 15
Enid
Istood in my living room with Ceri, Niamh, Fiona, and a painting of a woman that Niamh held. This was the most people I’d ever had in my cottage, and I wanted to throw them all into the bog.
“Wow.” Ceri’s eyes were wide as she tugged her blond curls, her round cheeks pink. “The back of your cottage opens up to the bog? It’s beautiful.”
Niamh reached out to touch one of the flowers on the moss-covered walls. “Your cottage is like a forest.”
“Or a cave,” Ceri said.
“A forest cave!” Fiona yelled.
“Oh, I like that,” the woman in the painting said.
I jumped. “What was that? That painting just talked.” I pointed a finger at the woman with angular catlike eyes and long dark hair.
“I’m Margaret.” She waved. “I hope you don’t mind that I came along. I really wanted to meet you.”
“Came for what, exactly?” I asked. They had yet to explain why they were here.
Vine slithered in front of me, a tray perched on its tail, full of berries and an assortment of veggies from my garden of edible food. It hadn’t even brought the poisonous stuff.
“What are you doing?” I hissed as it set the tray on the little table in front of my couch.
“We’re here for your date.” Fiona clapped and jumped up and down.
I shot a glare at Vine, who was currently dropping berries into everyone’s hands.
“Oh, thank you.” Ceri popped one into her mouth. “Mmm, this is delicious.”
This was getting ridiculous. Vine was acting like the perfect little host for a gathering I didn’t even want.
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but the date is canceled,” I said.
Niamh’s face fell. “What? Why?”
Vine poked me in the back, and I bared my teeth at it, making it slither behind the couch. Good riddance.
“Because Nevan is mad at me.” I twined my hands together, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. I hadn’t meant to admit that.
I didn’t need any of them snooping around in my business, but I also desperately wanted to be left alone, and maybe if they knew the whole story, they’d see I was a hopeless case and wouldn’t return.
“Mad at you?” Margaret put a hand over her mouth. “Is this about Mr. Porter?”
People had already heard. Just perfect. “How do you know about that?”
“What?” Fiona asked. “What happened with Mr. Porter?”
“Nothing,” I snapped.
“One of Enid’s plants shot him with its spindles,” Margaret said in a cheery tone. “Nevan was not happy.”
My heart sank. I knew it. I knew he’d be upset with me, but mostly I was upset with myself for caring.
“He was upset?” Niamh shot a concerned glance my way.
Margaret nodded. “Oh yes, he gave Mr. Porter a piece of his mind.”
Niamh set the painting on the couch facing us. “Margaret, have you been snooping again? I told you that you can’t just hop from painting to painting and spy on people.”
“I wasn’t!” Margaret held up her hands. “I just slipped into the lab to ask Nevan a question about ointment for a bad rash that I’m pretty sure one of the maids has, and I happened to walk in right when he was reprimanding Mr. Porter.”
The berry I was eating got lodged in my throat, and I coughed, banging my chest, not sure I’d heard Margaret correctly.
“Someone needs to,” Ceri muttered. “Mr. Porter is so grumpy all the time.”
“He reprimanded Mr. Porter?” I finally asked after swallowing the berry. “What did he say?”
Margaret’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, it was so good. Nevan told the blacksmith that maybe he should try being nicer and then the plants wouldn’t attack him. He told Mr. Porter to go and apologize to your plant for calling it ugly.”
“He did what?” I asked, sinking onto the couch next to the painting, mind in a daze.
“What is this couch made of?” Margaret pointed down at it. “It looks like vines twined together. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Nevan wasn’t mad. He wasn’t planning on ending things. He’d stood up for me. Those odd flutters started up in my stomach again, and I clutched it tight.
“Are you okay?” Niamh sat on my other side.
“You look pale,” Margaret said. “Well, a paler green, at least. Maybe a lime green instead of a mossy green.”
“Do you need some broccoli?” Fiona whispered.
Ceri grabbed the little girl and shushed her.
“I’m fine,” I said slowly. “I must have misunderstood the situation is all.”
“So you are going on the date?” Fiona asked with a sly smile.
“I brought a few dresses.” Ceri gestured to the fabrics slung across my kitchen table. “And I think the maroon is going to look absolutely fabulous with your skin tone.”
“What’s wrong with what I have on?” I gestured to my black dress.
Fiona wrinkled her nose. “You look like you’re going to a funeral.”
Ceri shushed her again, sending me an apologetic smile.
“But she does,” Fiona whispered loudly.
“You can’t wear that on your date.” Margaret frowned. “You have to dress up, really wow Nevan.”
I worried at my bottom lip. This was out of my comfort zone. In the time of the godwitches, there was no such thing as courting. Marriages were arranged, overseen by parents. I was in over my head.
Niamh stood and held out her hand. “So what do you say?”
The more I looked like a woman on a date, the more the town would believe Nevan and I were really a couple.
Maybe it wasn’t just that. I needed to learn about courting—and quickly. These women would have no problem giving me all their unsolicited opinions while I allowed them to dress me. It was only for a few hours. I could handle one night of this if it meant collecting intel.
I grabbed Niamh’s hand and let her haul me to my feet. “Fine, then. Let’s start with that maroon dress.”