In my tread towards the east hall, I realize that I haven’t yet explored this part of the estate. The hall is lined with the same forest green wallpaper, but seems to allow for more natural lighting with its plentiful window panes. Peering outside through the glass, the rays of the morning sun cascade gently over the treetops. Nearing the end of the corridor, I spot a petite handmaid holding a broom. Assuming it must be Adela, I hasten to reach her.
“Greetings, Adela!” I say, cheerful in my stride. Adela takes notice of me and pauses her sweeping.
“Greetings, My Lady,” she replies, curtseying, “How are you, this morning?”
“Well, that all depends,” I reply eagerly, clasping my hands, “I actually have a question for you.”
“Certainly, My Lady,” she nods, “What might you wish to know?” In truth, I desired to know if His Grace meant what he said when he left, earlier… or if his words were at least partially true. I felt certain that his sudden departure wasn’t merely out of business as he had claimed it to be. Rather, it seemed the thought of his burnt love letters was just a little too heavy a burden to bear. However, in my recount, such a shameful retreat may signal an unwillingness to see me. The prospect that he might actually be avoiding rather than seeking me, and all because of my ridicule, felt more than reassuring–it was liberating. As my expression threatens to curve into an assured smile, though, I feel the need to ground myself. Alas, to consolidate a potentially premature victory would be a pity of mine. I needed to know for certain that he had lied about a meeting within the House of Lords, thus validating my suspicions.
“Well,” I begin, motioning with an outstretched palm, “Soon after you and Rebecca had been dismissed, His Grace had followed suit and left my room.” “As you may have heard, we were to engage in plans this morning. Unfortunately, though,” I lie, rather content with the events that followed, “It would appear His Grace sadly left for reasons of forgotten business. Although he had mentioned reuniting later, he neglected to inform me of when, and I haven’t the faintest idea of his whereabouts now.” In my forced sigh, Adela seems sympathetic to my cause. “I was merely hoping you might have seen him on his way out so that I might ask him,” I clarify, hoping she may have lingered before heading off for her next task.
“Oh,” she says, sounding as though she may have seen him, “I actually did see him.”
“Did you, now?” I ask, struggling to stifle the intrigue behind my widened eyes. “Well,” I continue, with a new composure, “Where might you have seen him last?”
“Yes, it would appear he was off to his study down the previous hall,” she instructs, referring to the way that I had just come from, “His study is the main door along the right wall.” I follow her gaze behind me. Not the House of Lords?
“His study?” I repeat, more excited than curious.
"Yes,” she answers softly, “Though he appeared… oddly distressed.”
“Really?” I ask. She nods. “Hmmph,” I smile, bringing a hand to my heart, “Ah, well, the workload takes quite a toll on my beloved.” “Yes,” I say, turning a dreamy gaze up at the ceiling, “it’s quite unfortunate for him.”
“Of course,” Adela says in consolation.
“Well,” I affirm, “I must make haste for my plans, today.” “However,” I allude, motioning to clasp my hands around hers in gratitude, “I thank you ever so much for your insight, Adela.” Seemingly startled by my embrace, she peers up at me innocently.
“Oh, that’s not necessary, My Lady,” she answers, bowing her head.
“But it is, Adela,” I assure her, certain she is deserving of the praise, “I give you my thanks.” She then nods her head. Letting go of her hands, I begin my merry leave, humming past the previous corridor Adela had pointed out to me.
“My Lady.” The soft tone of a familiar voice beckons me to look back at her.
“Yes, Adela?” I ask. Raising her index finger towards the hall beside me, she answers.
“That is the hall leading to his study, My Lady.” I look down the hall and then back at her.
“Of course,” I nod egregiously, recalling the supposed intention of my quest. “Yes, I will be heading there now.” With a smile, she returns to her morning chore. Meanwhile, I resign myself to hiding past the corner to wait out her task. Considering I had found her at the end of the hall, I’m hopeful this heralded the end of her assignment. I remain still for a moment before deciding to assess her progress. Gathering my hair back so as to prevent it from hanging liberally in my glance, I draw my gaze past the wall. Although I assumed she would have moved on to the next corridor, I’m startled to see she’s drawn closer and quickly dart back. What was she doing? I could’ve sworn she was nearly finished… unless, she’s only just started. I pause at the revelation, furrowing my brows at the implication of her encroachment. She would be passing this hall soon and I would still be here, oddly positioned just outside his study. Peering over at the main entrance along my hall, I consider the alternative. I did tell her I was searching for him. In light of this morning’s events, she may even reserve her own suspicions of my behavior. To find me here would likely only add to it.
Creeping towards his door, I assure myself I’ll only linger a brief while. He’s been trying to avoid me since our last meeting, implying our potential conversation will be short. As my hand clasps around the doorknob though, I hesitate. The gilded iron feels cold against my grasp, tempting me to let go. From behind me, however, the sound of brush strokes grow louder, cluing me into her approach. My hand motions to turn, rotating the knob along with it. Then, the lock clicks, releasing the bolt. I haltingly push open the door and slip inside.
“I don’t want any more tea,” His Grace answers despondently, unaware of my presence. I watch as he remains facing down at his desk, hunched over with his hands run through his hair. Loose strands of carob brown hang past his head, obstructing his gaze. On the mahogany lies several porcelain tea cups, a disheveled stack of blank papers, as well as a spilt ink bottle on its side. I notice by the reveal of his blouse that his coat has been removed, draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. In my motion to close the door, my hand glides along the square ridges, softly pushing against it. The sound of his entrance’s shut stirs his attention, causing the sudden flick of his head. Likely confused by a supposed maid’s actions, he turns to address me.
“I thought I had told you I–” He pauses at the sight of me. “Avalor?” he asks, furrowing his brows. His stare lingers before glancing around at the state of affairs atop his desk, hastening to make it appear presentable. “I didn’t recognize you at first, Avalor,” he offers, smoothing back his hair. While attempting to deter from the mess, he simultaneously begins tidying the loose pages into a neat pile. “What might you be doing, here?” he asks aloofly, eyeing the puddle of ink dripping off the side. His focus switches between me and the black pool as he presses paper onto it, uncoordinated in his effort to sop up the wet ink.
“I thought I might ask you the same, Nikkolas,” I counter, nonchalant in my lean towards him for a closer inspection of his aftermath. He swiftly motions in front of the desk, trying to obscure my view.
“Alright,” he assures me, before peering over at the ink’s persistence in its bleed through the many pages he has piled on. He then scrambles to stifle it, and is seemingly successful. I watch as he purses his lips, however, having noticed the ink staining his palms. Muttering under his breath, he reaches for even more paper, utilizing it as a napkin. “Forgive me, Avalor,” he smiles, crumpling it between his hands, “I’ve been having a bit of trouble with the ink.” I find his cordiality unsettling. “As for your question, though–well,” he chuckles, gesturing with either hand outstretched, “it is my study.” “What might you be doing here, though?” he asks, playfully narrowing his gaze at me.
“Well,” I answer, unwilling to entertain him, “although I never intended to visit, I was told I might find you here, Nikkolas.” He perks up at my indication I had asked for his whereabouts as I hasten to extinguish his frivolous hopes. “This news, however, didn’t sit well with me, though as I was under the impression you would be attending a meeting within the House of Lords.” “So tell me, Nikkolas,” I press, gesturing with a wave of my hand to his study, “Were you not being truthful when you said you had other business to attend to?”
“The meeting,” he recalls ambiguously in my approach. “Yes, I attended it–it was brief,” he answers aloofly, before a smirk creeps over his lips, “Perhaps you were looking forward to our outing and missed me?” His flirtation fails to deter me for I’ve taken notice of his strange attempt to try and change the subject.
“No” I say plainly, “I merely thought it strange how brief of a meeting it must have been for you to have ended up back in your study so soon.”
“Ah, well,” he replies, leaning casually against his desk, “It must just seem that way, I suppose.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound particularly sincere, Nikkolas,” I quip, for once knowing better. “Alas,” I lament, with the innocent pouting of my lips, “I would have thought you wouldn’t be so cowardly as to cancel on a lady.” His expression falls flat upon my contention.
“No,” he asserts, adamant as he furrows his brows. “No, that is not–” he continues, shaking his head, for once at a loss for words, “you misunderstand completely, Avalor.” I briefly smirk at the redness burning his cheeks. I seem to have struck more than a mere chord with His Grace this time.
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