Chapter 17
Elinor should not be exposed to . . . such insinuations. —Sense and Sensibility
Elinor
Melancholy music drifts into my office. Annie has been in a sad song phase ever since Hunter, her park ranger boyfriend, told her two days ago that he’s taking a job at Glacier National Park in September.
They’ve been casually dating since June, but I don’t think Annie cares that much for the guy. She just enjoys the drama.
I, on the other hand, am allergic to it, despite the current drama playing between my head and my heart. My head is trying to forget all about Edward, but my heart can’t let go.
This morning I caved and put my stupid note to him in the mailbox.
I can’t explain why. It makes no sense. The thought of someone other than Edward reading it fills me with terror, yet the thought of him reading it makes me equally uncomfortable.
I’m not sure why poets and songwriters act like falling in love is such a beautiful thing—for me it’s been mostly mortification and regret, and a not inconsiderable drain on my attention.
I have a resort to run. I don’t have time to dwell on a possible relationship that has no future.
I remind myself of this as I find myself staring off into space, once again replaying every key moment with Edward. I give myself a shake and return to reviewing accounts payable.
A polite knock interrupts me. My treacherous heart leaps at the thought that it’s Edward—he did say he’d come back—but I quickly return to reality when an icy blonde woman of indeterminate age sashays into my office.
Is she Edward’s mom? If so, I can’t trace any resemblance.
“Are you Elinor Greenwood?” she asks, coldly assessing me and probably finding me wanting.
“Yes,” I stand to shake her perfectly manicured hand. “Do you have an appointment?”
“You are not at all what I was expecting,” she says, limply shaking my hand.
“And I wasn’t expecting you at all. You are . . . ?”
“Lucinda Steele of Steele Properties. I’m Edward Frechette’s boss.”
“I see,” I say, returning to my seat.
“I bet you do,” she says with undue innuendo.
“I understand you’re the one in charge around here.
You seem like a smart woman, Elinor. Too smart to be taken in by the likes of Edward.
But then again, who can blame you? I, too, once fell for his charms.” Is she insinuating that she once dated Edward?
I don’t think I want to know. “He is, you must admit, quite appealing,” Lucinda says with a knowing smile.
“I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”
“Oh, I think you do. Edward visited Norland Park with one object, which he failed to accomplish. The only reasonable explanation is you.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I’m not sure what he told you, but we have a plan—investors and a major hotel chain on board to makeover this whole place.
We must have Bumble Cottage. We’ve been waiting years for this project.
And then he meets you and—well . . . you must be very convincing.
” She sniffs. “Which I wouldn’t have guessed, looking at you. ”
I think she’s trying to insult me, but I’m still missing something.
“You clearly have the wrong idea about Edward and me.”
“Do I?” asks Lucinda. “Are you going to tell me that there’s nothing going on between you and Mr. Frechette?” For a moment I’m frozen under her intense stare. I struggle for words.
“We—we are barely acquaintances.”
“That’s not how he made it sound.” What did Edward tell this woman? There’s no way he told her about the almost kiss. He would never. “You know Edward . . . sometimes he can be too much of a ‘nice guy’—especially when a pretty face is involved.”
Again, I don’t know what to say. I’m so taken aback by the whole encounter.
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Then I’ll spell it out. Edward refuses to sell Bumble Cottage. Which leaves our whole project at a standstill.”
“Are you saying Edward owns Bumble Cottage? I thought his mom did.”
“Are you kidding me? If Barbara Norland owned the cottage, she would have sent you packing. Instead, you seduced sweet Edward, and now he’s not cooperating.”
I cannot believe I’m hearing this. My mind is reeling. Edward owns Bumble Cottage. He’s my landlord. The fact that I almost kissed him feels a million times worse. It looks like I was trying to influence him.
There’s a tap on the door, and before I can say anything, Edward walks in, carrying a large flat package under his arm. “Ellie!” His smile is so warm and so personal that I almost forget I’m upset with him.
“Ellie?” his boss echoes, raising a brow at me like it’s a dirty joke before swiveling in her chair to face him. “Hello, Edward.”
“Ah!” He starts back like he’s seen a large spider. “Lucinda! What are you doing here?”
His boss turns the chair back around to face me. “I’m doing what you should have done last week: settling this deal.”
“She says you own Bumble Cottage,” I address Edward, sitting up straighter. “Is this true?”
“Yes.” His eyes meet mine, brimming with a thousand apologies. I can’t believe he put me in this situation—completely blindsided by his boss.
“Ms. Steele seems to think I’ve tricked you into letting my family stay in the cottage,” I say to Edward. “I want to make it clear that we are willing to move out immediately.”
“Wait! Elinor! Nobody’s asking you to move. I don’t want to sell Bumble Cottage—I love it.”
“Edward! You have to sell the cottage,” says Lucinda.
“I don’t—and if you pull any more stunts like this, I won’t sell the rest of the land that comes with it.”
“You told me I needed to visit Norland Park, and now I’m here. I don’t see why you are angry.”
“Fine, I’ll show you around the park” he says in a calm, cool voice, but his jaw ticks with repressed anger. I didn’t think it was possible for Edward to get this angry. “Just give me a few minutes with Elinor.”
“I wouldn’t trust him, dear. He’s broken so many hearts.” She stands up and picks up her purse. “So lovely meeting you, Elinor.” She throws Edward a pointed look. “I’ll just give you two some privacy.”
“Lucinda!” Edward says exasperated.
His boss laughs carelessly and gives me a small wave goodbye before turning to Edward. “Ed, darling, I’ll be waiting for you in the lobby. Don’t be long.”
As angry as I am at Edward, I loathe this woman. She came here purposely to turn me against him. And though she may have succeeded, I still despise her methods.
Edward slumps down in the chair she vacated. He looks miserable—as he should.
“How much do you hate me?” he asks.
“Please tell me you never dated that woman.”
“No! Did she say that?”
“She implied it. Then again, she implied . . . never mind. But why didn’t you tell me you own Bumble Cottage?”
“I don’t know—I thought if I told you, it would complicate things and you might insist on moving out.”
“I do insist on moving out. I can’t take free rent from you.”
“But you could take it from my grandpa?”
“While I was working for him, yes—and when I thought you were speaking for your mom, my boss. I assumed living in Bumble cottage was still a perk of my job. But now that I know it’s your house . . . it makes no sense for me, a mere acquaintance, to live rent-free in your house.”
“Are you saying I should kick you out—while you’ve worked hard your entire life supporting your family, and I’ve had everything handed to me?”
“Yes! That’s exactly what you should do.”
“It doesn’t seem right to me.”
“Edward, you are very kind. But you can’t just let me squat in your multi-million dollar home. That’s not how the world works. And it puts me in an awkward position.”
“I don’t see . . .” For a minute he looks truly confused, and then the penny drops and he turns beet red.
“Oh . . . I do see—I mean . . . that’s not .
. .” I would find Edward’s awkward embarrassment adorable if I weren’t currently so frustrated with him.
“But I promise I don’t expect anything . . . nothing like—”
“Just stop talking; you’re making it worse.”
“Sorry,” he fiddles with his cufflinks, because of course he’s wearing a suit today—and looking so good in it.
“What were you thinking, telling me we could stay?” I ask. How did you plan to make this work?”
“I wasn’t thinking. I threw out my original plan the moment I met you.”
“Edward, please!” I put my head in my hand. “This is not the time to flirt.”
“I’m not flirting. I’m telling you how it was. How it is. I came here last week with the express purpose of giving you a month’s notice, and I—I just couldn’t do it. I figured there had to be some way to save the cottage. I can’t bear to see it torn down”
“At least that’s something we agree on.”
“I had planned to tell you when you gave me the tour of the park. But then we just started talking about life and feelings. It never seemed like the right moment. And then I lost my head there on the beach . . . and . . .” He rakes his fingers through his hair.
“You know what happened. . . . And now I’ve ruined everything. ”
I do feel a little sorry for him. I bring out the tin of cookies and slide it across my desk. He takes one out distractedly.
“What are we going to do?” I ask.
“I’m still working on the plans for the park. I believe there’s a way we can keep the cottage and still develop the park.”
“Those plans for the park are further along than you hinted, aren’t they?”
He pauses before biting the chocolate chip cookie.
“Nothing’s settled. Lucinda exaggerated about where we are in the planning phase. But yeah, I may have understated how far along we are.”
“If you renovate the park, I won’t have a job here, will I?”
“I’ll make sure you have one.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep. You have already misled me enough about the property and . . . everything else.”
“Elinor.” He says my name soft and gentle like he cares. And maybe he does. He says he’ll make things right, but can I believe him? “I planned to tell you all of this today. But then Lucinda beat me here.”
“It’s fine . . . I mean it’s not.”
“I brought something for you.” He sets a large flat package on my desk.
“Should I open it?” I ask with trepidation. The shape of the package makes me suspect that it’s a painting, maybe the one I gave him. And it makes me sad to think of him giving it back to me.
“If you like.”
“I’d rather not right now.” I’m feeling too much right now. I need some time alone.
“Okay, I get it. Time for me to go.” He stands up, jamming his hands in his pockets. “I really am sorry.”
“I know.” I wave him out the door. “Go . . . I might be angry with you, but I don’t want you fired.”
As soon as he is gone, I open the note card attached to the parcel. There’s no reason for my heart to flutter at the sight of his handwriting, but it still does.
Elinor,
I thought you should have this.
Yours,
Edward
Yours. Was that word intentional or is it his standard sign off? It feels intentional.
I tear open the brown paper to find a painting wrapped in bubble wrap and archival tissue paper. I pull back the paper and take in the painting. This might be the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.
It’s the portrait of my grandma Nora. The one Reginald Norland kept in his study.
She’s sitting in a straight back chair, wearing a black dress and large pearls with her hair up in a bun.
Her red lips twist in a knowing smile, and her dark eyes hold so much—mirth, and affection, and a weary sadness.
I have no idea how my mom captured so much emotion with a few strokes of a brush.
This is why I refuse to call myself an artist—because my mom is truly gifted.
I absolutely adore the painting. It’s some of my mom’s best work.
Plus, I’ve always felt a closeness for this grandmother I’ve never met.
My dad was always telling Grandma Nora stories.
If there is such a thing as guardian angels, I’d like to think Grandma Nora is mine.
Admiring the painting, my heart softens toward Edward. It was good of him to give it to me. It’s far too generous of a gift for a mere acquaintance, but I find I don’t care. I’m keeping it. Because I love it so much, but also because he knew that I would love it.