Chapter 22
CHAPTER
TWENTY-TWO
Reece
The cellar at the Ashford estate is smaller than I remember.
Maybe it’s because I’ve grown up in the years since I first started hiding down here. Or maybe it’s because I’m carrying more baggage now other than a few boxes of tools and half-finished inventions.
Either way, it feels different.
I stand in the middle of the space, looking around.
Everything is exactly as it was when I left.
The old wooden table still sits against the stone wall.
Shelves line both sides of the cellar, crowded with bottles of wine older than I am.
Dust coats everything, and a dim yellow light flickers overhead.
It’s familiar. Comforting in a way. Still, my chest tightens because this isn’t the Gardeners’ shed and it never will be. Instead, the air carries the scent of damp stone, old wood, and aging wine.
Sharp. Bitter. Earthy.
I inhale slowly. Not a hint of a springtime flower anywhere.
I place another one of my boxes on the table-turned-workbench, trying to remember how I had set it up as my workstation before moving to the Gardeners’ townhouse.
“Right,” I mutter to myself. “Get over yourself, Reece. You’d think it’s been decades.”
I unpack tools first. Then my notebooks and blueprints and sketches. When I find the prototype, I carefully place the little shiny box right in the center.
The damn thing that started everything. Or ruined everything. Depending on how I’m feeling at any particular moment.
I shouldn’t blame the box. I’m the one who messed things up with Mari. I should have been satisfied with being her friend and not pushed for more.
The unmistakable tap, tap, tap of a cane against stone makes me turn. I glance over to the cellar stairs, and a moment later Pen appears, using the railing and her cane to hobble her way down.
I abandon what I’m doing and hurry over to her. “Hold on. Let me help you.”
Taking her elbow, I let her lean on me for the last few steps. When we reach the bottom, she pats the top of my hand and smiles.
“You shouldn’t have come down,” I say. “Those steps are too steep for you.”
“I wanted to check on you,” she says as she continues to walk with me to my unfinished setup.
She glances at the cot with the pile of clean blankets.
“Are you sure you want to sleep down here alone, instead of in the attic with the others? I know there’s a bathroom and the cot, but it’s so cold and damp. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“I’ll be okay,” I assure her. It’s going to be weird without Derrick around, but I think I can handle it. “This way, I can focus on getting this project done for Mr. Stockton.”
“Ah, yes. Your heat regulator,” Pen says as a smile touches her lips. “Have you come up with a name for it yet?”
“Uh, no. I haven’t really thought about what to call it.”
“You’ll think of something.” She surveys the cellar with all my gadgets, tools, and the one suitcase Derrick and I share that carries my clothes. “I’m glad to have you back. I know the rest of the staff is excited, but I’ll admit I was surprised when Rita called.”
“You were?”
“I assumed you had attached yourself permanently to the Gardeners,” she says. “I’m sure they are missing you. Especially Marigold.”
“I doubt it,” I mutter, my heart stuttering.
“Oh?” Pen’s head tilts. “And why do you say that? You two have been thick as thieves since you met.”
I glance at the floor. This isn’t really the kind of conversation I want to have with my employer, even if Pen is a different sort.
She points her cane toward me. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Mr. Moreau spending so much time with her, does it? There’s even talk about a mark coming soon.”
Yup, I might throw up. “Where did you—?”
“I might be old, but I try to stay up to date on the socials.” Pen sighs. “You know, Reece, if what they are saying is true and Mr. Moreau does claim Marigold, there’s nothing more you can do.”
I rub the back of my neck. Even though I’ve never told anyone about my feelings toward Mari, it doesn’t surprise me that Pen knows. She always seems to be tuned in to things in a way I can’t explain.
And when Moreau helped her up in the café, when she walked away with him, anyone might have seen my heartache. I wore it right there on my sleeve. Does Pen know about that, too?
“I know…” I whisper, but I recover quickly. “But it’s good to be back helping you. This is home.”
That part is true. Being here hurts less than staying where I was, even if I don’t like admitting it.
Pen nods. “How did your brother take the news?”
I bark out a laugh. “Poorly, as expected. He wasn’t happy about it. Said I’d be back within a month because you’ll be sick of me.”
And that is an understatement. Derrick acted like I was abandoning him, which is far from the truth. If my place at Pen’s ends up being permanent, I’m sure he can ask to be switched with one of Pen’s other servants.
It’s not like I’m leaving him forever. This is the right step to take for now.
“Perhaps he feels you are.”
I stare at her. Had I said that thought out loud? Or maybe Pen can read minds now. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could.
“Derrick?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“He hates me.”
Pen looks genuinely puzzled. “No, he doesn’t.”
I snort, but when she taps her cane against the floor, I look at her fully.
“People are complicated, Reece,” she says.
“Derrick isn’t.”
“Everyone is. He’s always tried to keep a tight leash on you, but it’s been you and him against the world for some time now. You two are each other’s pack. And if I’m allowed to be honest?”
“Of course.”
“I believe Derrick is jealous.”
I nearly choke on my laughter. “Jealous! Of me? There’s no way. He calls me Reece’s Pieces.”
“He also follows you everywhere.”
I open my mouth. Then close it again.
“He cares about you a lot. He just has…an interesting way of showing it. But even so, I think it’s good for you to start making a way for yourself. This potential partnership with Mr. Stockton can be very good for you.”
Partnership? I’m not sure I’d go that far. But it is an exciting thing to think about.
“That’s what Rita said,” I say. “That it’ll be good for me.”
“She’s a wise woman.” Pen looks somewhere far away. Somewhere decades in the past although the rest of her is here, out of place in the dank basement. “When I was younger, my sister and I had similar issues.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “The Monarch? You were jealous of her?”
Pen laughs. “Oh, no. It was actually the other way around. Although I’m sure she’ll never admit it.”
I grin even though it’s difficult to picture.
“But enough with me and my nonsense. Back to the here and now,” Pen says. “I’m going to need you quite a bit tomorrow because I am expecting a visitor. A very important one.”
I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. And I don’t push. It’s not my place to.
Pen smiles. “They’ll be staying for a few days, so we need to make sure we’re ready.”
“Absolutely. Do we know what time they’ll be arriving?”
“Between breakfast and lunch, if I were to guess,” she says. “Zara and Nichole already prepared a guest room upstairs. But I’ll need you as another hand during the day. To tend to things as they come, like you do so well.”
I nod at the mention of the familiar maids’ names. For me, Pen means being on hand for whatever the guest needs while they’re here. At their beck and call. I can do that. At the very least it will keep me distracted with busy work.
Before I can ask another question, Pen starts toward the stairs. I hurry over to help her again.
Halfway up, she glances toward me and then to the worktable. “Get some rest, Reece,” she says gently. “You’re going to need it.”
I don’t know why but it sounds like there’s some double meaning to her words. Almost like a threat but in a playful way, if those two things can exist at the same time.
My brows knit together.
When she reaches the top and closes the door, leaving me alone in the cellar, I hurry back to the worktable. Feeling newly inspired, I grab a screwdriver, a few scraps of wires, resisters, and the soldering gun I’d fixed up a few years ago and get to work.
And for the first time in days, I lose myself in it.
The next morning dawns strangely normal.
I wake to the sounds of Ashford estate instead of the Gardener house.
No Dahlia practicing piano or violin before breakfast. No Rue thundering down hallways like a tiny hurricane.
No Heath barking orders from somewhere in the house.
Just the familiar creaks of the old estate and the muffled sounds of servants already starting their day.
I stare at the ceiling for a long moment before forcing myself out of bed. The old routine of this place is still engrained in my psyche. It’s like I never left, and there’s comfort in that.
It helps keep me from thinking, from remembering, from wondering what Mari is doing. Like whether she’s officially accepted Luca’s claim or is still angry at me for what I did.
Whether she misses me at all.
I shove those thoughts aside and continue with the morning chores. The kitchens are already alive with activity early in the morning, and there are whispers of who Pen’s mysterious guest may be. It seems she’s been keeping it a secret from everyone.
“Look who finally came home!” Zara smiles at me over the pile of clean folded sheets in her arms. She’s a middle-aged Delta with dirty-blonde hair and dimples. “Reece!”
I flash her a grin. “Miss me?”
“Depends…” She leans in closer. “Where’s Derrick?”
“He stayed with the Gardeners. It’s just me here helping out for the summer.”
Her smile blooms to a full-out beam. “Good, he needs to stay there. They can deal with his nastiness there. But I’m glad you’re back, though!”
My thoughts drift to what Pen said about Derrick being jealous of me.
Something warm touches my hand, and when I spin, I see Theo sliding a freshly baked croissant into my palm.
“You know Rita would want me to give this to you and tell you to eat,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with mischief.
Theo was Rita’s apprentice and second hand when she was here at the Ashford estate. He’s about my age, but knows his way around the kitchen better than anyone—well, anyone besides Rita, of course. Pen must’ve thought so too, because it seems he’s taken over since Rita’s been away at the Gardeners’.
I grin and take a bite of the flaky croissant. It’s buttery and light and absolutely delicious. Rita would be proud.
The familiar teasing continues as I make my way through the first floor of the main house. Unlike the Gardener townhouse, the Ashford estate employs enough staff to populate a small village. Groundskeepers. Drivers. Housekeepers. Maids. Kitchen staff. Footmen.
Some of them I’ve known since I was a kid. Others joined more recently. But everyone is kind and welcomes me back like an adoptive pack.
By midmorning, the estate is buzzing with excitement and whispers are flying faster than anyone could ever post on Stitch. Normally I tune most of it out, but one particular bit of gossip catches my attention.
“She already left?” someone asks.
“Yeah, early this morning, right before the storm hit,” comes the reply.
I glance over from stacking dinner plates in the glass cabinet. “Who left?”
“Mrs. Ashford,” a maid says. “Pen.”
I frown. “Wait, Pen left?”
The maid nods. “She’s gone to Emporia to visit her nephew and his family for the week.”
Stephan? But that makes no sense. Pen had specifically told me she was expecting an important visitor today. Why would she leave?
The thought nags at me for the rest of the morning. By lunchtime, I’m still trying to figure it out and the only conclusion I come to is that the guest canceled and Pen forgot to inform us. It doesn’t seem like Pen at all. Everyone’s been working hard to get the place ready and—
The doorbell rings. The sound echoes through the entrance hall and I glance around. Most of the nearby servants are occupied, so unfortunately I’m closest.
With a sigh, I head toward the front doors.
The main foyer is huge, with a domed ceiling and twinkling crystal chandelier. Gleaming marble floors, a double-sided staircase, and massive iron doors that have beautiful stained glass artwork inset—it’s like a modern castle.
I unlock one side and pull it open. A gust of cold wind blasts into the foyer and rain lashes the front steps. The sky beyond is gray and furious, and for a second all I see is water.
Then I realize someone is standing there, drenched from head to toe, with hair plastered to her face and clothes dripping.
Her eyes lift to mine as water drips from the ends of her hair. Then my brain finally catches up with what my eyes are seeing.
My entire body locks up. There is absolutely no way—no possible way.
Yet there she is, standing on Pen’s doorstep, and I come alive even as my heartrate spikes.
“Mari?”