Chapter 8
eight
. . .
peony
Ispend the rest of the day debating how best to go about bringing Mr. Edgewood out into the open.
As he suggested, I go for a leisurely walk after breakfast to settle my meal, and though it’s chilly out, the autumn leaves are a beautiful kaleidoscope of reds and oranges and yellows.
I pull my cardigan tighter around me as I explore the gardens, admiring how the koi fish all swim to the surface as I pass, expecting food.
Does Mr. Edgewood also walk around these gardens, feeding the fish?
It’s odd how much he’s consumed my thoughts, being someone I’ve never met.
I’m infinitely curious about him, about what’s keeping him hidden up in the east wing.
How did he come to be so wealthy? What did he do before isolating himself in the manor?
I have so many questions that I don’t think Kellen would answer.
I follow the path beyond the gardens, through the open meadow toward the woods.
Ducking under the trees, I’m reminded of Tennysville, the small town where I lived with Andy.
We had a single-wide in a trailer park right on the edge of a patch of undeveloped forest, where I often tried to go walking.
But he didn’t like me going alone, citing “all those bums putting up tents out there.” I’d never seen that, but I saved my walks alone for when Andy was at work.
Still, he found out when one of our neighbors ratted on me. I’ve never been sure who it was, because I had considered most of them to be neutral or friendly.
That was the first time I thought Andy might hit me. He had been so wound up, slamming doors, throwing around pots and pans, and ranting at me about how unsafe it was, how anything could happen to me, how I should be spending my day cleaning and not out wandering around the woods.
But Mr. Edgewood encouraged me to go on a walk, so I don’t think anyone will shout at me for taking a leisurely stroll.
I catch sight of all sorts of wildlife on my walk. A fox darts away when I disturb him, and birds sing high up in the trees. A deer and her fawn cross the path before noticing me, and then they flee.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so… at peace. There’s no Andy waiting for me when I get back to the manor, though I probably should think about making lunch soon. Still, I take my time looping around the path before heading home.
Home. That’s an interesting word. I’ve only been here for one night, and I’ve worked at the manor for less than a week, but it already feels more like home to me than the single-wide ever did.
After such a carb-heavy breakfast, I decide to cook a light lunch of walnut and cranberry salad with a balsamic vinaigrette, with slices of marinated chicken breast for protein.
When Kellen doesn’t show up, I pack up Mr. Edgewood’s lunch myself on a tray and carry it up to his quarters.
I set the tray down in front of his door and knock lightly.
“Mr. Edgewood!” I call out. “Your lunch is here.”
I hear shuffling on the other side of the door and realize I ought to make myself scarce so he can come out and get it. As I head down the hall to eat my own lunch back in the kitchen, I hear the door behind me open.
I turn around, knowing I shouldn’t. Mr. Edgewood has been very clear that he doesn’t want me to see him. But all I catch sight of is the door closing, the tray now gone.
I’m eating at the counter when Kellen finally appears carrying bags of groceries.
He nods appreciatively as I help him unload, noting what ingredients he’s managed to find and substituting in my head for those he couldn’t.
Immediately, I get to work preparing pickles and marinated steak for the coming week.
Kellen fetches Mr. Edgewood’s plate, raising his eyebrows as he presents it to me with a note on top.
Please don’t feel the need to cook on the weekends. You deserve some time to put your feet up. Mr. Castle can take care of things.
It was, however, a delightful salad, and I’ve never been much for salads.
-R
I puzzle over the note as Kellen takes the dish away and cleans up after me again. I like to cook for Mr. Edgewood, and I find myself surprisingly disappointed that he doesn’t want me to do it.
That afternoon, I curl up on the couch in my suite with one of the books Mr. Edgewood lent me. It’s a mystery novel, and within a few pages I’m totally engrossed. The hours fly past until the sun has set, and it’s past six, when I usually make dinner.
I get up and shoot down the stairs to the kitchen. Andy would be furious if I didn’t have dinner ready when he got home, and panic rises in my throat as I skid at the bottom of the steps.
But a strange smell greets me—the smell of cooked cheese and pepperoni. When I get into the kitchen, there are two big boxes of pizza sitting on the counter, and Kellen sits on a stool eating a piece.
“Thought I’d give you a break tonight,” he says. “I already took one up to Mr. Edgewood.”
Well, don’t mind if I do.
I have been working on a plan in the back of my mind, something that would appeal specifically to someone like Mr. Edgewood, so I decide to bring it up with Kellen while I have him.
“What if we had an in-person dinner?” I ask him, sitting at the next stool with my pizza. “I could cook a big feast, and perhaps Mr. Edgewood would come down to the dining room.”
He glances at me over his pizza. “Hmm. Food is a good way to entice him, if there is one.”
“I can come up with a menu in advance if you think that will help. What are his favorite foods?”
Kellen lists off a few items, and some surprise me—chicken-fried steak, enchiladas, even sushi.
“Before you, I got him a lot of takeout,” Kellen admits. “Almost every night.”
I consider this. What could I make at home, from scratch, that would tickle Mr. Edgewood’s tastes? What would be worth him coming down from his rooms to experience?
I think I know just the thing.
“How long has it been since he went to a restaurant?” I ask.
“More than a decade.”
A lot has changed in the business since then, especially in regard to presentation.
“Then let’s aim to provide a restaurant experience.
” I grab a notebook out of the drawer and start jotting down ingredients.
“I could do a three-course meal. Something interactive.” Already I’m coming up with ideas for how to construct a dessert with a chocolate dome that he could pour warm cream sauce over, causing it to melt and expose the cake inside.
Kellen watches me with interest as I put together the list of what I’ll need, but his mouth steadily forms into a frown.
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” he says cautiously. “No matter what you dream up, Mr. Edgewood will probably decline your invitation. He has been very adamant that—”
“I know, I know. But you said you’d try to help, right?” I clench the notebook, excited about what kinds of culinary wonders I could show him.
“I did.” Kellen sighs, then glances over the list once more. “If he agrees to this, you ought to come to the store with me. Then you can pick out exactly the right size of… silicone molds?”
“For the chocolate shell and the savory flan.” Custards can be tricky, but I like the idea of a challenge. I’ll have to practice a few times to make sure I can get it right.
Kellen nods. “All right. If I can convince Mr. Edgewood, we’ll go shopping tomorrow.”
I don’t even notice when he leaves because I’m too enthralled in coming up with my menu. It’s been ages since I used any of the techniques I learned at the restaurant, so I hope I don’t screw it up.
That night, I put on my new pajamas and slide into bed with my book. I feel like perhaps I could belong here someday. I’m not worried about Andy rolling over in the night to put his cock in me. In fact, I don’t worry about anything as I slip off into sleep, the book lying on my chest.
rupert
Most unexpectedly, Kellen comes to my door that night and knocks.
“Mr. Edgewood,” he calls through it. “I have a proposal from Ms. Austin.”
A proposal? What sort of proposal?
Though Kellen knows what I look like, I still hesitate to open the door for him. It won’t shock him, not after all this time, and yet it fills my gut with panic to imagine anyone seeing me.
I make sure my clothes are all in order before I answer. Kellen steps inside, and I hastily shut the door behind him.
“What is this proposal?” I ask before he’s even taken a seat. The fire is gently burning in the hearth, casting his silver hair and gray suit in an orange glow.
“Ms. Austin would very, very much like to meet you.” Kellen raises his eyes to mine, and it’s clear that he knows what a monumental request this is.
“No,” I say, without thought.
“She’s planning a big dinner,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken. “A three-course meal, she says. We will be going shopping tomorrow for what she needs. All sorts of odd things on the list.”
“Odd things?” I can’t help my curiosity peeking out. “What’s on it?”
“Silicone molds, tapioca emulsifier…” He searches his memory. “Strange radishes I’ve never heard of. Fennel. A whole list of spices. Some sort of device for creating wood smoke?”
I am intrigued by that. What could she be planning?
I remember the last time I went to a restaurant, before I became this, but the details have faded with time. I wonder what it would be like for Ms. Austin to serve me interesting dishes, showing me all of her skills. It would certainly give me insight into who she is, where she came from.
If I went to a dinner with her, I could have all my questions answered—if she could tolerate what I look like.
“Sir,” Kellen begins, hesitant, “I think she might surprise you. Perhaps it’s worth the risk. She seemed very eager to cook for you, to please you. It will hurt her feelings if you refuse.”
The words are like a knife to my heart. The last thing I want to do is hurt Ms. Austin. What will she think if I turn down her thoughtful idea? She may come to believe I don’t like her, and that is not what I want.
But the potential of her seeing me, fearing me, being disgusted by me, is equally paralyzing. I don’t want to cock up what we already have. If only I weren’t this monster, if only I hadn’t made that deal, everything would be different. But it’s too late.
“I can’t,” I finally say. “I can’t! You know that, Kellen. You know how she would react.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know that!” My voice is rising with my fear, with my hatred of myself. “Stop tormenting me with what I can’t have.”
I want to break something, to funnel all my frustration at this impossible situation.
“You are making a lot of assumptions about someone you’ve never met.” Kellen is calm, even in the face of my thrashing tail and rising mane. “Ms. Austin is a unique woman, and I think you owe her a chance.”
“I owe her bugger all!” I snap, ripping off one of the ribbons that Ms. Austin used to tie back my curtains.
“You know…”
When I turn around, Kellen is tapping his chin thoughtfully.
“She said to me that she doesn’t feel quite safe, not knowing who you are. She’s worried you’re hiding something.”
The knife in my gut twists at the suggestion that Ms. Austin fears me already, that she doesn’t feel comfortable in the manor yet because I won’t show myself. That’s the last thing I want.
It’s as if I am standing on a crack in the earth as it widens into a crevasse. I can jump to either side to save myself, or I could fall in and see what awaits at the bottom.
“You may find a friend if you give her the opportunity,” Kellen continues. “I think you need that. I worry about you.”
It’s not good that I would upset Kellen, too. I didn’t know that it bothered him so much, how I keep to myself. I thought he had accepted it.
With a sigh that feels as deep as the ocean, I say, “Fine. Let her plan her dinner. But… is there a way to prepare her? So that she won’t jump ship when she sees me?”
Kellen studies my face, then nods.
“I can try. I don’t know how much I can do, but I will try.”
“The night after next, then. If she can have everything ready in time.”
He can’t hide his surprise.
“I will let her know. I believe you are in for a treat.”
I want to let myself hope that Ms. Austin will accept me for what I am, but hope is generally foolish.