Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Thomas had his own rooms.
A small, comfortable sitting room just outside his bedchamber—for what purpose, he did not know. A sizable bedroom with a beautiful four-poster bed, and an attached bathroom with both a standing claw-footed tub and separate shower area.
It was luxurious and he was beside himself.
Even as the eldest child, his personal room at the castle hadn’t been nearly as generous.
Best of all, that warm, curiously comforting sensation flowed in the air here as well.
Not as powerfully as in the sitting and banquet rooms downstairs but still faintly present.
This is Lord Ashford’s essence, Thomas contemplated, sitting on the tufted sofa in his antechamber and absently caressing the velvety material with his palm as if it were a beloved cat.
There had been other vampires around them, but an enticing scent had radiated brightly from the lord of the manor, like the fragrant center of a freshly bloomed rose.
Lord Ashford had dropped Thomas off here and hastily dashed away a couple hours ago.
After that, Mira had entered and helped him unpack and settle his things.
She had babbled on and on about how nice everyone seemed thus far, and that the entire estate was charming, well lit and clean.
The heavy insinuation being, “Much better than the antiquated, clammy and shitty cave we used to live in.”
Thomas hadn’t responded to her at all, and she didn’t seem to care.
It irritated him deeply—that she spoke to him with such alacrity and ease, as if the whole starvation and imprisonment thing had never happened.
As if their relationship hadn’t been forever destroyed by the fact that she, along with his younger father, siblings and everyone else employed by their estate, had left him to rot in a dungeon beneath the castle for three months.
Thomas had felt relieved when she finally left him alone. He’d kicked off his shoes and climbed atop the bed, which had felt to his achy muscles and bones like scaling a giant cloud. He’d slept for a short while, comfortably and peacefully.
Now, he wondered what he was supposed to be doing with himself. With the days being shorter, the sky was already darkening beyond his windows. The expanse was still shrouded by an opaque gray murkiness, but much deeper now and swished with violet from the setting sun.
A soft knock at the door snagged his attention. He brushed the thighs of his pants as he stood from the couch, the gesture useless in addressing the wrinkles acquired from his short nap. He briefly detested his overall shabby and pathetic state. “Yes? Come in.”
The door opened and the manservant from earlier, Lennon, stepped inside. “Good evening, Sir Thomas. Are you feeling rested? I tried knocking earlier, but I believe you were asleep.”
“I was,” Thomas confirmed. “I’m feeling better now, thank you.”
“Better” being a relative term. He hadn’t been choked nor humiliated within the past few hours, so that was a marked improvement in his general state of being.
“Wonderful. Would you like a brief tour of the estate before dinner?” The older man smiled. He was cleanly dressed in a gray blazer, white shirt and black slacks. His skin was bronzed and aged around the corners of his mouth and eyes. Permanent laugh and smile lines.
Something about him mirrored the welcoming and gentle air of the home, and it made Thomas feel strangely at ease. “Yes, I’d like that, please.”
“Follow me, your grace.”
Lennon guided Thomas around the rooms of the upper floor first, which mostly consisted of tastefully decorated guest bedrooms with minimal clutter—a watercolor landscape portrait framed on a wall, a healthy potted plant set on a table nearest to the window.
No coats of arms or suits of armor. No beheaded animals mounted on plaques—a favorite of Thomas’s elder father.
Thank God, Thomas thought, pleased with the overall aesthetic of the home.
“And… where are Lord Ashford’s chambers?” He should know, shouldn’t he? Thomas had no underlying objective in gleaning this information, but it was odd that Lennon hadn’t mentioned it.
“On the lower floor, in the westernmost corner of the estate,” Lennon replied. “I’ll point them out to you when we pass by.”
Thomas nodded. Strange, though, that they were set so far away from each other.
Were they not supposed to be attempting to secure a mated bond at some point?
What good would it be for Thomas to be tucked upstairs on one side of the estate while Lord Ashford resided downstairs on the opposite side?
Like two boxers in their respective corners, refusing to fight.
Not that he cared, anyway.
Down the curved staircase and on the lower floors, Thomas was shown a new, larger banquet room for the purpose of hosting ten or more guests, the small sitting room where he and his fathers had sat earlier, Lord Ashford’s office (a closed door that Lennon made no attempt to open), the kitchen, a hallway of rooms for the estate’s serving staff and a quaint library.
Here, Thomas paused the tour and lingered for a moment. The space was smaller than what he would have expected for an estate of this size and grandeur. When Thomas said as much, Lennon chuckled brightly.
“Ah, yes, Lord Ashford much prefers these more intimate spaces and had this room redesigned when he became the administrator to the property,” Lennon said, watching as Thomas scanned the packed dark-wood shelves lining the walls.
“I suppose you’ll learn more about his unique preferences as time goes on… and he will learn yours, of course.”
“Of course,” Thomas said distractedly as he pulled a particularly old-looking tome from the shelf. It was a classic—leather-bound and well worn around the edges. “May I borrow this one?”
“You are welcome to use this space as you please, my lord. The estate is your home from today onward. We do wish for you to be contented here.”
Thomas tucked the book protectively underneath his arm.
My home… The sentiment was nice, but truly, it would have been better coming from the lord of the manor himself.
Thomas’s new environment largely depended upon what Lord Ashford had planned for him—whether he’d simply gone from one torture chamber to another, but this one dressed up nicer on the surface.
Only time would tell.
To his surprise, Thomas had dinner alone that night, in the smaller banquet room where he, Lord Ashford and his fathers had dined. When he casually inquired about Lord Ashford and whether or not he’d be joining him, Lennon bowed apologetically and told him that Lord Ashford was resting.
As was the case the next morning at breakfast.
And during lunch.
And dinner.
On his second morning at the estate, Thomas didn’t bother to ask.
Instead, he opted to simply wait, lest he seem like a puppy eagerly anticipating the return of its master.
He wasn’t even sure that he cared about this apparent cold-shouldering.
Rather, it was peculiar. Lord Ashford had initiated this arrangement.
He was the reason why Thomas was here, and now, he was nowhere to be found.
After picking over his breakfast, Thomas spent the morning slumped in one of the tufted armchairs within the cozy library, reading. It was another dreary day, heavy with fog. Rain droplets showered the windows in a soft, ambient pitter-patter that soothed Thomas’s mind.
When the door to the library clicked open, he pulled his attention away from his book to see Mira stepping inside.
“There’s a slight chill in here,” she said quietly. “Should I light the fire?”
Thomas turned his attention back to his book. It felt childish to outright ignore her when she asked him a direct question. “If you wish.”
She crept past him, as if not wanting to further disturb his reading. At the stone hearth, she bent to her knees and went about setting a dry log inside. Her dark curls were pulled into a low ponytail at the nape of her neck. The length of it trailed down to the middle of her back.
Mira had been young when she was assigned as Thomas’s primary maidservant—only seventeen at the time. When he was too small to understand the dynamics of Eden’s social system and hierarchy, he’d thought of her as a big sister.
Now, he thought nothing of her. He made no demands of her, and she was essentially free to do whatever the hell she wanted. For all he cared, she could leave and never come back.
“There’s some quiet commotion taking place throughout the estate,” she offered tentatively, glancing over her shoulder at him. “Would you like to hear about it?”
Thomas’s knee-jerk reaction was to say no out of spite, because it was obvious that she was baiting him. She knew he loved a good bit of gossip and would always tell him about the goings-on within his home estate and among the staff there.
Stubborn, he kept his eyes on the pages of his book. “Not particularly.”
Mira struck a match and set the small ember to the log. Slowly, the flame caught and licked its way up the wood. “So… is that a no, my lord?”
Thomas sighed, closed the book and set it in his lap. He rested his head back, resigned. “Go on, then.”
Mira smiled. She brightened, as if he were a genie that had just granted her sincerest wish. “Three things. First, Lady Rachelle is coming for a visit at the end of this week—she is Lord Ashford’s younger sister. Apparently, she’s… a force.”
Thomas frowned. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked because I don’t want to seem nosy.
I am nosy, of course, but I don’t want to appear so this early on.
Second, the chef is bewildered and a little stressed over you because, quote, ‘I keep sending him food and he keeps sending it right back.’ I expressed my concern over this as well…
Sir Thomas, why are you still not eating? You need to recover your physical—”
“And what’s the third issue?” Thomas asked, his expression flat. He was alive, wasn’t he? He was doing the best he could. He didn’t want to talk about it.
Mira took a breath with her lips pursed, as if considering whether she should push the issue.
In the past, she absolutely would have nagged Thomas about this until he’d given in to her demands.
Now, though, their relationship was too precarious.
They were already treading on thin ice, and any sudden move might break them.
After a stagnant moment, she dropped her shoulders in defeat. “The third is that Lennon seems to be upset with Lord Ashford.”
Thomas’s eyebrow lifted. “Is he?”
Mira nodded. “I went looking for him this morning. He was inside Lord Ashford’s bedchamber, and I heard him yelling at Lord Ashford through the door.”
“Yelling?”
“Yes. Chastising him.”
Thomas blinked, totally taken aback. “About what?”
“About you. That he’s been ignoring you for almost two days now.”
“And why is he ignoring me?”
Mira shook her head. “I don’t know. I couldn’t hear anything Lord Ashford said, and I didn’t linger because I was worried about being caught eavesdropping.”
“Huh.” Thomas stared blankly across the room. What kind of relationship did Lord Ashford have with his manservant that Lennon was permitted to chastise him? And in his master bedchambers. Thomas’s elder father would have a servant flogged and dismissed for much, much less.
“I think you’ll see him soon,” Mira went on. She stood and dusted the front of her trousers at the knees. The slim-fitted pants were tapered at her ankles. “Perhaps not for lunch, but by dinner, I would bet.”
Thomas took her in for the first time since she’d come into the room. “They gave you new clothes?”
Her eyes widened as she looked down at herself. She lifted her arms. “Yes, they have lots of comfortable, nicely tailored options for uniforms here—I… D-do you mind if I wear them? Is it alright?”
He shrugged and reopened his book, glancing down at the page he was on. “Do whatever you want.” What did he care if she wore trousers? He was just surprised to see her so smartly put together for the purpose of setting wood into a fireplace.
She took a step closer. “Lord Ashford would probably have clothes made for you, too. You used to enjoy keeping up with the latest fashion trends. It… Perhaps if you ate meals properly, you’d return to your—”
“Why do you do this?” Thomas asked sharply, his anger churning as he met her gaze. “Pretending as if you care about me.”
“I do care about you.”
“You don’t. None of you do. If you did, you wouldn’t have left me in that hole beneath the castle to die for three months. Where was all your concern then?”
He waited as she opened her mouth, then shut it. She twisted her hands.
Thomas went on. “I don’t need you to feign compassion for my well-being. Even if it isn’t fake, it is absolutely misplaced and much too late.” Thomas snapped the book shut and pushed himself up from the chair.
“No, my lord, don’t—if you’re comfortable here, please stay! I’ll go…”
It was too late. Thomas stalked across the threshold, into the hallway and toward the curving staircase leading to his rooms.
After being betrayed and abandoned by every creature within his home estate, Lord Ashford had brought him here to this new place to pretend he didn’t even exist.
Perfect.
As Thomas climbed the stairs, the dark bitterness overcame his senses.
Maybe it would be better if he didn’t exist?
Then no one would need to ignore him or pretend to feel sorry for him.
Nor worry about his eating habits or lack thereof.
He’d no longer feel shame over being shabby and gaunt and useless.
He’d stay in his antechamber and slowly fade away. Maybe that was what the odd room was for?
The notion suited him just fine.