42

Once I had gotten Wes and Koen organized enough for their road trip, I changed into a clean dress shirt and trousers before wandering through the Manor in search of Florence. Missing her was an odd feeling; it sank deep in my bones, and I hadn’t even realized it was there until I hadn’t seen her for a few days. The days turned to a week and, in that week, I found myself catching glimpses of auburn hair or hearing soft echoes of her voice but never finding her.

It was starting to worry me.

But when Wes suggested a hunt, I took the opportunity to empty the Manor.

I needed to find her.

My only plan? To get lost.

“Are you turned around again?” Her voice floated down the hall after about an hour of mindless walking up and down the stairs, exploring the Manor’s rooms as I had never seen them before.

“It seems I am.” I smiled at her.

I had missed those emerald eyes more than I expected and found my tongue brushing over my bottom lip as I fought the urge to blush under her gaze. Her hair was loose around her face, bundles of reddish brown hair half pulled back in a satin ribbon. She wore a pale yellow dress with a scalloped neckline that was so different from her usual skirts and corsets.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear that,” I told her, and her gaze dropped to the fabric.

“It’s so warm out today, I just thought—”

“It’s beautiful.”

Her eyes snapped up to mine, a smile creeping as she inhaled slowly and stepped forward. I could tell she was nervous about the interaction, keeping her distance again even after all our time spent in the library. Whatever Wes had said to her had driven a wedge tightly down between her and us.

“I admit I was looking for you,” I said, stepping closer to her.

Her shoulders pulled back as her body tensed from my approach.

“I was wondering if you might show me the grounds today?” I asked her. “Outside?”

“I don’t think that would be appropriate.” She swallowed tightly.

“Wes is gone for the week. He’s taken Koen with him, and I could use the company.” I tried to convince her.

“The sun shines so bright in the garden, I’m sure you’ll manage.” She nodded and turned to walk away, but I caught her wrist in my fingers. “Mr. Dunn.”

“Clay,” I corrected her. She looked down at my hand and narrowed her eyes. “Sorry,” I said and let go. She pulled back from me and turned away on her heels, making her way down the hall faster than I could think up what to say next. “I don’t know what he said to you, but he just doesn’t understand!” I called after her, trying to keep her in sight as she rounded a corner. “Florence!”

She was gone.

I huffed, shaking my head, and looked around the empty hall.

Taking her up on the suggestion to bask in the sun, I wandered into the back half of the property. It was hot today, and I regretted the dark shirt I had picked out but, regardless, I decided to set out into the long maze of shrubbery and flowers.

Had this maze always been so thick with leaves… I stopped to look around at it. Swearing to myself that it had been dead not the week before.

Tricky, I thought, staring at the lush bushes before I turned back to look up at the Manor. The building itself–or the third of it that I could see looming above the shrubbery–did not seem as decrepit as it had before. The shingles were straighter almost, with none missing or hanging off at odd angles. The shutters surrounding the topmost windows were brighter and the windows themselves were clean and not covered with the thick film of grime they had been. Very tricky.

It wasn’t long before I could feel the sweat starting to lick at the space between my shoulder blades and pool at the nape of my neck. I broke through the maze of bushes into a sprawling wildflower field that I had mapped from the back balcony of the Manor, but it looked three times the size in person.

It was different from the rest of the house, which was cloaked in a gothic darkness I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Even the library was cold most of the time, despite its beautiful condition. This was… I inhaled slowly and scanned the field. There was a lightness here that didn’t exist within the Manor’s walls, all the flowers in soft pastels and long flowing grasses that seemed to sway regardless of the breeze.

“This is my favorite place in the warmer months,” her voice blanketed over my shoulders, and I smiled to myself before turning back to look at her. She was even more beautiful, bathed in the sunlight that poured through the fluffy clouds above us.

“I can see why,” I said to her.

Her brows furrowed adorably and the urge to rub my finger in the scrunched space down the bridge of her nose to the cupid bow of her upper lip was palpable.

“This place feels different from the rest of the property. It’s as if you’re infused into each petal, soaking up the sun and thriving in the breeze.” I brushed my hand against a small flower, popping it off the stem and walking toward her. I ignored the stack of books she had cradled against her chest and stared at her beautiful, round face as I tucked the tiny blossom into her hair behind her ear.

“It seems as though the Manor creates it for you,” I whispered, angling my chin down to meet her eyes.

“Koen spoke to you about the bathing room?” She asked with a sweet smile, but when she did it didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“He did.” I nodded. “Did the house create the library in the same way?” I asked her. When she had first shown me, she simply said that it took her a while to find the room. Not that the room hadn’t existed until she’d found it.

“I’m unsure. In the early days of my confinement everything was so confusing I may have stumbled across the doors too overwhelmed to venture further,” she explained. “The conservatory was a gift,” she added.

“So when you behave the house gives you rooms?” I asked her, not meaning to sound arrogant or annoyed.

“It’s not like that,” she said, pausing for a moment. “The Manor provides.”

The Manor provides… I swallowed tightly and nodded. I made a mental note to look into what she meant by that later.

“What do you have there?” I extended my hand to the books, and she tore her eyes from mine to look at the stack before handing them over to me.

“They’re my favorites.”

There were three books, all a different shade, all made of old-fashioned hand-bound leather. Poetry.

“These are…” I swallowed and turned the spines to look at the titles. “Old.”

“I’m old,” she laughed, and I swear the sound rivaled that of any songbird.

“Fair point, Florence,” I hummed.

“On days like today, I come out here and read them to the flowers,” she explained. “I believe it makes them grow a little taller.”

Given what supernatural properties the house already displayed, it would be relatively uneducated of me to argue her wrong. Moving walls, protective barriers, unexplained accidents. So it wasn’t unrealistic to think that the flowers did grow taller from the sound of her voice, but the likelihood of it seemed unlikely to my habitually logical mind.

“How long was it before the Manor allowed you out to smell the flowers?” I asked her.

“A while,” she confessed. “It took a moment to learn, but once I stopped trying to escape the Manor gave me much more freedom.”

I studied her for a moment. It was clear that she was complacent with her cage now, perhaps only having moments of needing or wanting freedom, but Florence seemed to truly believed that the Manor was caring for her, protecting her…

“What did you mean when you said ‘the house puts you to sleep?’” I asked, remembering her comment from weeks before in the library. My hands itched to grab the nearest pen and paper and jot down everything she said, any little clue to unravel the mysteries that were held behind her eyes. But I could not bear to break the ease of our conversation by taking notes. She seldom opened up to me and I didn’t want to ruin it by having her feel as though she was nothing but a test subject.

She turned to me and I could see in the way she chewed the inside of her cheek that she was carefully mulling over her words, deciding how to best explain. It was refreshing, conversing with someone who was so thoughtful when they spoke. Her manner was always poised, and she carried an air of intelligence about her that she did not seem to be aware of.

“There have been times when I would,” she paused, her nose scrunched captivatingly while she again thought through her next words, “get angry.” She shifted in the grass. “Being isolated for so long, it isn’t normal, it’s not good for a person. I would often fall into pits of despair, when I could feel nothing but darkness and rage and I acted violently towards the Manor… and myself.” Her hand absently traced what I imagined to be invisible scars down her forearm. “The Manor will always intervene, forcing me unconscious until the worst of the darkness passes. When I’d wake next, I would still be alone but feel less… broken? I don’t know how best to explain.”

Her eyes stayed on the Manor, tracing the details of it slowly in almost a caress. “As lonesome as this place is, it has also provided me with a home. With everything I could want for.” She paused and her gaze seemed to harden slightly. “Well, almost everything.”

I nodded solemnly. My heart broke at the thought of her alone here for so long, so desperate to escape that she had been driven to try and take her own life and, for the first time, I had a feeling of strange gratitude towards the Manor and whatever powers that were within it that kept her from succeeding.

“I apologize for earlier,” Florence said when I didn't respond. She passed by me and wandered into the field, an invitation to follow her as she looked over her shoulder at me. “It’s been difficult to adjust to having you all in the house and, while you and Koen are willing to share the space, it seems Mr. Cameron would prefer to be anywhere else.”

“Wes has been through a lot in his life,” I paused to consider my words, “and it’s a life barely lived when he’s spent it taking care of us. He doesn’t know how to be still, I suppose.” I let the flowers tickle the pads of my fingers as I followed her back towards one of the large trees on the property.

“One might think him jaded.” She sighed. “What do you think?”

“I’ve known Wes half my life and there is not a single person on this earth that I would trust my life with other than him, but he can be…” I murmured, “short tempered.”

“Now you’re being gracious, Mr. Dunn.”

“Clay,” I insisted, and Florence laughed.

“I apologize,” she said.

“Two things you need to stop doing.” I followed her so closely I could smell a warm citrus scent wafting from her hair. My chest nearly pressed to her back as we navigated the field. I lowered my voice a touch and leaned toward her. “Calling me Mr. Dunn and apologizing.”

“I’ll work on one at a time. Perhaps by the time you figure out if I’m dangerous, I’ll have figured out how to stop apologizing to men for their own indiscretions,” she teased, and I was taken aback by the sarcasm in her voice.

So sharp for such a soft flower.