Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

“ Y ou cannot go there alone.”

Amelia sighed, knowing that Charlie had a point, but what was she supposed to do?

After the party, a night in which she hadn’t seen the earl again after their encounter in the study, she had received a message inviting her to his country home along with his offer for the restoration of the painting – one that was far too generous to even consider turning down.

“Charlie, there are likely more servants living at Blackwood Manor than there are people in the entirety of my building.”

She motioned to the room around her, one which Charlie was going to inhabit while she was gone. He had been interested in moving into this building for months now, although she hadn’t been certain whether it was her or the accommodations that enticed him.

“I should come with you.”

“You are more than welcome to, but the earl is not going to pay you for any further work. He seems intent upon this painting and this painting alone.”

“His pieces at the exhibition would be worth a fortune. Why does he care so much about this one?”

“That,” she said, grunting as she tugged her heavy valise out the door, “is what I shall soon find out.”

“Will he be in residence?”

She paused, realizing that she had assumed he would be in the country with her, and distressingly finding herself perturbed by the suggestion that he might not. “I am not actually sure,” she said. “He offered me the job at the party, and then I received a note the next day formally hiring me.”

“Have you ever seen Blackwood Manor?”

“Of course not.”

“It is in Norfolk. That is a rather far distance to travel.”

“Why? Are you planning to visit me, Charlie?”

“What if I was?” His question caused the air between them to suddenly fill with uncomfortable tension, and Amelia realized with a sinking heart that this man, who she considered one of her very best friends, might have an inkling there actually could be more between them.

She had suspected it for a time but had convinced herself that she was reading too much into it, that it was just surface level.

She had always wanted to share her life with another and could be called a romantic, even if she showed no outward sign of having such an affliction or had any urge to settle. She didn’t have to – she did just fine on her own.

But she didn’t feel that way toward Charlie. She wished she did, for he made her laugh and was always such a vibrant presence in her life, but when they touched, there was no spark there.

This reminded her of her circumstances with the earl – a spark that had ignited.

She shook off the thought as she leaned over and placed a hand on Charlie’s arm. He was still one of her closest friends.

“I have something for you,” she said, walking over to the armoire in the corner, finding the few pieces of charcoal she had left behind along with a piece of parchment. She had considered that Charlie was likely to use them, and she had included the supplies on the list she had sent back to the earl for purchase.

She took the charcoal in her hand and, closing her eyes, envisioned another woman, one who would be perfect for Charlie. She hoped that she was creating someone who could make him happy. She placed all of her wishes for him into the drawing as he silently watched her before she lifted it and held it outward to him.

“For you.”

He looked down in awe.

“You drew that so quickly.”

“It’s just a sketch,” she said with a slightly embarrassed shrug. “I’ll make you another. With color next time.”

“No need,” he said, his throat seemingly clogged with emotion. “It’s…. more than enough. Who is it?”

She beamed, happy that she had been able to spread the hope and joy that she had been meaning to. “I thought of what happiness would mean to you and that emerged.”

“Let me walk you to the coach?”

“The earl has sent a carriage for me.”

“How fancy,” he said, ire in his tone.

“Tell me, Charlie,” she said, changing the subject. “Did you receive the commission from the Andersons that you were chasing at the party?”

“I did, actually,” he said, cheery once more. “I start right away.”

“I’m so glad.” She leaned in once they reached the bottom of the stairs. “Will you still allow a kiss on the cheek?” He turned his cheek to her before she quickly pressed her lips upon it and then leaned in toward him and squeezed. “I do love you, Charlie. Be good while I’m gone. You’re such a good friend.”

“Don’t be too long, you hear?” he said as the carriage rolled up in front of them, and Amelia blinked at its grandeur. As an artist, the nobility usually appreciated her skills, and yet that didn’t mean they would consider her value significant enough to send such a carriage for her.

“Write to me when you arrive,” Charlie called out as the coach’s driver hefted her valise onto the boot and she climbed in, running her hand over the velvet cushions beneath her.

“I will,” she said, waving out the window. “I promise.”

And with that, the coach rolled away, soon leaving London behind.

Max shouldn’t be here.

He should have remained in Hampstead while the woman was in the manor, working with the cursed painting.

It would have been far better that way, especially after what had happened the last time they had touched.

But he didn’t seem to have it within him to stay away.

At least he hadn’t insisted they ride to Blackwood Manor together, although he had made sure that his carriage would see her safely there. He couldn’t stand the thought of her crammed into a stagecoach for hours on end, even if her comfort should have no bearing on him whatsoever, so long as she was able to perform her duties.

He had set the painting in what had been, at one time, the music room, although no one alive had used it for years now.

He had been told she had loved it. Isolde. Which made it fitting that this was where she would find new life.

“Enjoy this,” he said to the painting as he walked out of the door. “For it will be the last you will see of this house.”

He tripped over apparently nothing as he crossed the threshold, and he cursed as he shivered. “Damn ghosts,” he muttered.

“My lord,” came a voice – a human one, thank goodness – from the adjacent drawing room. “I hear we are to have a visitor.”

“We are. An artist who will be seeing to the restoration of the portrait.”

“I see,” said the ever-stoic Whitaker. “It will be good to have company. Will she be eating with you or with us downstairs?”

Max paused. She was performing a service for him, like anyone else in the household. A comfortable guest bedroom would be fitting, although perhaps not in his wing. And yet…. He met the butler’s inquisitive stare, his response formulating itself.

“With me,” he said, that fiery feeling washing over him once more. The moment he had laid eyes on her, he had known that she belonged with him – as an artist, of course, restoring the painting.

Nothing more.

No one could ever mean anything more to him. This curse was dying with him, he reminded himself. No love story had ever ended well in his family. No life, for that matter, not since the curse had been set. Chances were that he wouldn’t make it to the following year, let alone long enough to sire any children.

But he could enjoy some company for a while, could he not?

You should tell her.

That certainly wasn’t the butler’s voice. Max inwardly sighed, as he had hoped the voices had silenced themselves for a time, but it seemed they had returned.

There is nothing to tell, he thought back, although to whom, he had no idea.

Together, you were so powerful she lost consciousness. Think what you could do. What you could be.

“Nonsense,” he said out loud, so forcefully that the normally nonplussed butler, who had begun to walk away, jumped across the foyer.

“Apologies, Whitaker,” he said grimly. “I just… tripped.”

Not a lie.

He wasn’t going to have to worry about keeping himself away from this woman once she arrived.

For a short bit of time with him would likely have her running away.

Amelia didn’t have to look out the carriage window to know that they were nearing Blackwood Manor. There was a change in the air, one that the impending nightfall couldn’t explain.

It was cooler here. The air was filled with a muted silence and oppression had fallen over them like a protective shield.

She pushed herself off the seat, leaning out the window as the woodland moved by her, craning her neck to see the house itself better.

The sprawling manor had obviously sat here for decades, if not centuries, its opulence at once both terrifying and amazing. Yet, somewhere beneath it was an underlying gloom, the same that she had sensed within the earl as well as the painting itself.

Interesting.

She was still staring up at the grand estate when the carriage pulled to a stop at the end of the long, winding gravel road, which was lined with ancient trees and empty, decorative lanterns. Here at the end of the driveway, the tall wrought-iron gates with intricate designs marked the entrance, flanked by stone pillars topped with statues of heraldic animals.

The manor's light-colored stone gave it a timeless appearance. Amelia walked under the grand portico of the front entrance, which was supported by tall Corinthian columns. Empty urns lined the broad stone steps, these flanked by untrimmed topiary that gave a rather menacing look to what had likely been a welcoming entrance at one point in time.

It had obviously been built to exude history and timelessness, but there was more here.

There was magic beyond it all. Had it always been this way?

“Miss Lennox, how wonderful to have you with us,” said an overly cheerful butler as he opened the door to her, surprising her. Amelia would have guessed that a butler of such a manor would be a hulking giant of a man, lurking in his motions and as grim in the face as the vegetation beyond.

“Thank you,” she said with equal cheerfulness. “I am happy to be here.”

An additional three servants greeted her, each with such interest that she wondered whether they had seen anyone besides one another in a time.

The housekeeper was warm as she led her up the stairs to what would be her bedroom for her stay.

“I am surprised that I am staying in a guest room, actually,” Amelia said. “I would have been happy in the servants' quarters.”

“It’s good for the earl to have company,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Bloom, said. “He has been so lonely. Ever since?—”

She stopped, sensing she was saying too much, although Amelia silently urged her on. She wished she had her paints in her hands and not in her bag so that she could physically ask her for more. She knew better than to push at the moment, however.

“I would be happy to be some company for him, although I am here to restore a painting.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Bloom said, her smile now strained as she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket and opened the bedroom doors, slightly disconcerting to Amelia as she wondered why a bedroom might need to be locked in a manor consisting only of an earl and his servants. “The painting.”

“Where is it?” Amelia asked as she pushed through and took in what would be her home for the next few months. The bedroom, which had likely been grand at one point in time, was showing signs of neglect. The faded floral wallpaper was peeling at the edges, while the slightly sagging four-poster bed was draped in threadbare light blue velvet curtains. A few pieces of mahogany furniture sat by the fireplace while the worn rug underfoot bore the marks of age.

“In the music room, I’m told,” the housekeeper said. “It is a pretty room. There are many windows overlooking the back garden.”

“Lovely,” Amelia murmured, sensing more to the story but knowing that this was not the time nor the person to ask.

“It is rather late,” Mrs. Bloom said. “Would you like help unpacking?”

“No, thank you,” Amelia said. “I am accustomed to taking care of myself.”

And she didn’t want anyone else touching her supplies.

“Very good. If you’d like dinner, we could bring it here.”

“Perhaps I will take it in the music room if you don’t mind,” Amelia said. She had no intentions of touching the painting with food close by, but she would prefer to sit with it for a time before actually taking a brush to it.

It was time to speak to Isolde again.