The sight of a woman in his study took Alden by surprise: he had hardly expected Philemona to appear there this late at night. She had been in the midst of thumbing through a large tomes on demonic forces, one of the few written in common English. The sound of the door opening had startled her however, and she quickly shut the book and placed it on his desk. Alden let her wallow in her guiltiness for a while, now she had been caught red handed; all he did was straighten his back and smile.
“I apologise, Milord.” She said softly, while making a deep curtsey.
Alden did not respond, instead he walked over to her. She looked down at him quite confused and slightly fearful, but he simply moved by her and picked up the heavy book that did not belong on his desk.
“I really did not mean to upset you.” Philemona asked, rather concerned. He raised one hand to tell her to be quiet, before scaling the wooden step ladder to put the book back from whence it had come – it’s rightful place. In doing so he caught a glance of the title: ‘A Catalogue of the Infernal: Demons and Fiends Sorted by Their Physical Characteristics’. It explained to him all he needed to know.
“The demonic has a certain allure to it, does it not, young Miss Reaves?” He said, referring to her by her father’s last name, rather than his title.
“Pardon me?” She asked softly, slightly puzzled by his enquiry, perhaps expecting some hidden meaning behind it. Alden instead lifted the book in his hands and smiled.
“Was that not what you wished to know about?”
“Well, your tale had me curious about what creature could do such a thing.”
“You would not find it in this book, I am afraid.” Alden retorted, before putting it back on the shelves.
“Why not?” Philemona asked in a sharp tone, as if willing to cut him if only he bled answers.
“Because it is full of nonsense, a fake written for the whims of ladies bored with their trite life who cling to the occult as if it were an exciting afternoon activity.”
“So then why do you own it?”
“Because a good tale, no matter how false, has value.”
“Was your tale false?”
“I do not believe you have earned the right to so aggressively ask away, when caught shamelessly rummaging through my private study. Why do you want to know these things, that you would go so far?”
“Am I not allowed to know? Or are you like my father, who believes us women too frail and delicate for even a mention of the supernatural?” She threw the words out into the conversation, not because they fit there, but because she had waited desperately for a moment to vent her frustrations.
“Hardly, only a fool would believe the same knife less sharp in the hand of a woman than in a man’s.” He said as he leant against the steps of the ladder, and took off his glasses so he could clean them with a soft handkerchief. “Even if I did, your steadfast questioning would have proven me wrong – there appears to be little frailty about you. So tell me why do you wish to know?”
“Why should I not wish to know?”
“You see that?” Alden said as he gestured in the direction of his door.
“See what?” She asked, when she turned around but found nothing.
“That is a door, my dear, if you wish to ask inane questions, the other side of it will make for a more patient listener – because frankly I am starting to grow weary, and you deserve better than my inattentiveness.”
“I apologise, Milord.” She said, her voice calmer and her tone all the sweeter for it. “I will be more honest, it is merely…” she paused for a moment, and from the corner of his blurred eyesight he saw that she leant in over his desk, before speaking her mind. “I have lived my entire life an accessory to my father, a pretty gem to be pawned to the best man that passes by. I do not wish to live my life like an asset. I want to know, and learn what there is outside the manor gates.”
“I would advise you not to share such sentiments too freely.” Alden said as he checked his glasses over once more to make sure they were clean. Satisfied he put them back on. “However I do understand your frustrations, and under normal circumstances I would encourage you to learn, even as a woman.” Philemona had already opened her mouth to retort, but he quickly held up his hand to silence her so he count continue. “This is not knowledge I can give freely, not to anyone. Even if I were to trust you would not try and communicate, or God forbid summon such things out of misplaced curiosity, it would still open you up to dangers that are not worth the knowledge. And that’s the snippets that aren’t horribly boring ramblings. If you wish to apply your intellect, things such as history, poetry or music are certainly better suited, even logics or anatomy would be.”
For a short while, Philemona remained silent, her gaze drifting over the many titles and objects he kept in his personal library. At long last it seemed she resigned to his arguments, no longer objecting against them.
“I merely hoped to be of use.” She sighed.
“It is clear to me why you would be interested, but it is a dangerous interest to hold.” Alden said, as his good hand drifted to his bad hand and squeezed it slightly as if he could simply rub away the loss of fingers like it were a cramp. “What else did you wish to ask of me?”
Philemona opened her mouth, but closed it quickly again, apparently having a change of heart.
“Nothing, Milord.”
“Nonsense, if you had wanted only knowledge, you would have simply taken the book and be gone with it.”
“I came here, wishing to make a proposal.” Philemona admitted, her gaze drifting down to her hands clasped together, and it seemed that with the change of topic her earlier shyness returned. Instead of a fiery straightforwardness, she now waited for his permission.
“Yes?” He asked, intrigued by what she may had to offer him. “Speak freely.”
“I wanted to propose a marriage.” She said a bit firmer, so as to not appear uncertain. Meanwhile it required Alden all of his will to not go slack jawed from the sheer brazenness of her making such a suggestion toward him. “My father would be delighted to see our families unified, my future would be secure, and you would be left free to pursue and do anything without any objections.”
“Philemona…” He began, not quite sure yet how to retort, since at its core her proposal made sense – but sometimes the things that made sense weren’t right.
“You may call me Phyllis, Milord.” She interjected him with a slight smile, but he just took the time to think out his wording better so as to not accidentally scorn her.
“Phyllis…” He began once more. “You appear to me bright, and determined, and clearly you put thought into this proposal. But even if you do make a sound argument, we both know that it’s hardly the entirety of the situation. Besides, it would be wrong of me to rush you into a marriage with a man you do not know because it seemed a good idea at the time. It would take away your chance for a far more caring, involved husband,-”
“I see, I have misjudged you Milord; I did not expect you to be a romantic man.” Her smile belied that she took some amusement from his words, and for once in his life, he was the one left speechless. “I will not push the matter onto you, it was only a suggestion after all.”
“I would appreciate that.” He nodded, having found his voice again.
“May I take my leave then? It is getting rather late.” Philemona asked with a light bow of her head.
“Not yet.” Alden quickly retorted, as he stretched out his good hand towards her with his palm facing up. “First I wish for that book back.”
“But you took it from the desk and put it back.” Philemona said with a confused shake of her head.
“Not that one, the one you put in your pocket while you lamented your trite life.”
“How did you,-”
“I am as blind as you are stupid, Miss Reaves. Please hand it back before you get yourself into trouble.”
With a soft, displeased huff, she reached into the folds of her skirt, and took a small, letter-sized notebook out. He took it from her.
“The notes as well.”
Again she reached in, and laid a few folded papers on top of the book.
“Thank you Miss Reaves, feel free to go now.” Alden said, as he quickly looked through the numbered pages to make sure none were missing.
“Will you tell father?” Philemona asked, a tinge of fear in her voice.
“If I were to catch you again, and I will if you were to try.” He gave her a stern look over the rims of his glasses, his icy blue-grey eyes piercing hers as a warning. She nodded quickly and took her leave, afraid to actually draw his ire, since she knew she was treading on his patience and forgivingness.
As she walked toward the door and went to open it, Alden decided that he did not want to leave their conversation on such a hostile note.
“Phyllis?”
“Yes Milord?” She asked cautiously with her hand already on the doorknob. His gaze met hers, and he let the quiet settle in for a moment to give his words weight.
“I know you may be frustrated by your father and mother, but I am sure they only mean you well. Tell them you love them, before it’s too late and you regret it.”
Philemona gave him a slightly puzzled, somewhat worried look, before the corners of her mouth lifted in a well-meaning smile.
“I will.”
“Then I bid you a good night Miss Reaves.”
“Good night, Milord.” She said with a curtsey towards him, before leaving the room.

The moment the door fell closed, Alden let out a loud groan and started to frantically count the pages she had taken. Once,- twice,- thrice. Until he was sure they were all there. He ran over to his desk and opened every book he had, flipping every single page afraid to find one missing. Book one... book two... book three...

...

this family is going to be the death of me

...

book twenty-seven.

With a relieved but exhausted sigh he dropped into his chair, letting himself take a deep breath as the knowledge that everything was still there washed over him.
And then he checked the time, only to find it was one o’clock in the morning and this whole ordeal had wasted two hours of his time, throwing off his whole schedule. Deeply frustrated he slammed the thick book he still held in his hands onto his desk, which sent a loud wham throughout the room – and all the papers he had just neatly sorted.
No! God damn it no no no! He lifted both hands to his face, as if he wanted to tear his own eyes out, and barely held back a scream of frustration as he knew he had to count all the papers again. It meant he would waste even more of his time on these nonsensical compulsions that he couldn’t stop. He sank to his knees and hastily grabbed all the papers, scurrying about pick them up; afraid one would forever be lost if he didn’t sort and count them quickly enough.

One, two, three,-