Firethorne

Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Maya

“ I ’m so sorry about my father, and... my brother ,” Lysander said apologetically, saying the last part a little quieter and rolling his eyes as he glanced over his shoulder. Then he turned back around, dazzling us with his smile and a kindness that shone from within. “And I’m so sorry, but I didn’t catch your names.” He stuck his arm out for my father to shake his hand.

“I’m Arthur. Arthur Cole,” my father said, gripping Lysander’s hand firmly to give the handshake he’d wanted to give and been denied only moments ago. “And this is my daughter, Maya.”

Lysander’s gaze moved to me.

“Maya Cole.” He said my name like he was testing how it sounded on his tongue, and the way he said it made the blush I’d stifled earlier start to bloom on my cheeks.

What the hell was wrong with me?

“The pleasure is all mine,” he said as he picked up my outstretched hand and dipped his head to kiss the back of it.

I didn’t know how to react to his old school charm, but I smiled back at him sweetly. He was making an effort—effort that’d been lacking from the other Firethorne men.

He stared at me for a few seconds longer than I expected, his eyes twinkling with forbidden promises as he held my hand in his. The warmth of his palm sent sparks of electricity into mine, and I tried not to show he was affecting me as I kept my breathing regular and my smile neutral and friendly. Then he shook his head as if he were waking himself from a daze, gently let go of my hand, and gestured to the door behind us.

“Shall we?” he asked, then he winked, and a flutter erupted inside me.

I really needed to get a grip.

There was a boyish charm on his face as he strode past us and headed out of the house with a spring in his step.

“It’s not far, just across the park,” he announced, and then turned and peered down at my black boots, and his smile widened. “You wore the perfect shoes for this estate, Maya Cole. Miriam is always complaining about her heels whenever she has to venture outside. I can already tell you’re a wise woman.”

I didn’t own a pair of high heels. These were the only boots I had, the only shoes I owned. But I smiled back at him and nodded in response. I liked being called wise, and they were the perfect boots. They’d lasted longer than my last pair.

“Can I take your luggage?” Lysander asked, ever the gallant gentleman, but he didn’t try to grab it like the driver had.

“No, it’s fine,” I replied.

“We can manage,” my father chipped in.

I didn’t want us to appear ungrateful, so I quickly added, “Thank you, though,” as I tried to keep up with Lysander’s long, confident strides on the pebbled path.

“I feel a little awkward, walking you to your cabin while you both carry suitcases. It’s not very gentlemanly of me, is it?” He glanced back at us, slowing his steps when he saw we were struggling to keep up. “But you’re an independent woman. I like that. I won’t insult you by forcing the subject.”

The way his eyes stayed locked on mine, and the playful warmth that burned in his gaze made me feel like he was flirting with me. It wasn’t something I was used to, and I was a little unnerved about how to react. So, I pushed the thought away, concentrating instead on keeping in step with him and my father, and taking in our surroundings, despite the darkness around us. The grounds had an eerie presence, mist and fog looming in the distance as the gravel crunched under our feet.

“How long has your family lived at the manor?” my father asked, making small talk and asking a question I was sure he already knew the answer to.

“Our family have owned this estate since it was originally built back in eighteen thirty-four,” Lysander stated proudly, and proceeded to tell my father the history of the building, pointing out recent renovations and restoration work that’d been carried out. Lysander was attentive, answering my father’s questions and taking an interest in everything he said.

I couldn’t help but zone out, leaving them to chatter as I glanced around, wondering how far away the closest neighbours were. The only lights I could see came from the main house and the streetlamps leading up the drive. But we were heading away from those, and in front of us lay nothing but darkness. The irony wasn’t lost on me. We were heading into the unknown. But with Lysander leading us, I felt a little less wary.

After a while, as the glow from the house faded behind us, Lysander remarked, “It’s so dark out here. I need to talk to my father about installing more lights in this part of the grounds. We can’t have you wandering out here alone in the night like this. God knows what could happen. You could fall and hurt yourselves. It’s a liability.”

He seemed genuinely concerned, but I frowned. Surely, they’d had other live-in employees? Ones that had used this cabin that we were heading to. Why was the lack of lighting suddenly a surprise to him?

But before I could question it, Lysander turned to me and asked, “Are you excited to start work tomorrow, Maya?”

“I would be...” I shrugged my shoulders, huffing as plumes of cold air clouded in front of me. “If I knew what I was doing.”

Lysander threw his head back and laughed.

But I hadn’t meant it as a joke. I really was struggling to get my head around all of this. But I was keeping it together, for my father’s sake.

Lysander tilted his head, moving it closer to mine as we walked, and whispered, “Didn’t they tell you?” He paused, his eyes narrowing, questioning, waiting to see if I’d take the bait.

I didn’t.

I just stared back at him and waited.

“They hired you to come to the main house and look pretty.” He winked, and his eyes moved subtly up and down my body, but not so subtle that I didn’t notice.

“Nice to see misogyny is still thriving in this county,” I shot back without a second thought, as Lysander hung his head and laughed quietly.

“Maya!” my father snapped, but Lysander butted in.

“It’s okay, Arthur. If telling a lady she’s beautiful is misogyny, then yes”—he held his hands up—“I’m guilty. But I am sorry if I’ve caused any offence. I’d hate to get off on the wrong foot. I speak before I think sometimes. It’s my greatest downfall. I will try harder and do better, though. I don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

I began to feel guilty for biting back, but before I could speak, my father spoke first.

“I apologise for my daughter,” he said, sounding ashamed, but Lysander cut him off.

“Not at all. A woman needs to stand up for herself in this world. Never criticise her for that. It’s a good thing.”

“Thank you,” I replied.

I liked that he was defending me.

I was warming to Lysander with every minute I spent in his company.

“All joking aside,” Lysander went on sincerely. “If you do happen to find yourself in the main house at any time, come and find me. I’d love to paint you.”

Instantly, he had my attention.

“You paint?” I asked, curiosity brimming as I pictured him standing in a bohemian artist’s studio, probably in an attic or a conservatory with the perfect lighting, painting whatever his current muse was. Passion rolling off him as he created a masterpiece.

I peered at him out of the corner of my eye as he walked beside me, a Greek God with hidden depths. First impressions could be misleading sometimes. He was beautiful, but he was so much more than that. And then I realised, my first impressions were no better than the misogynistic comments he’d made earlier, and I bit my lip, inwardly cursing. I had to learn to do better, too.

He had a candid yet proud smile on his face as he lowered his head. His hair fell in soft waves, covering his eyes, and he reached up to push it behind his ear.

“Painting is what I live for.” He lifted his head then, and glanced up at the starry night sky as he added, “I specialise in landscapes, but I’m trying to improve my portrait skills. Dad wants me to paint something he can feel proud to hang in his study.” He tilted his head towards me, and with a smirk, he added, “A portrait of himself.”

I gave a low chuckle and felt myself warming to him even more. He was easy to talk to and easy to be around. I could tell it’d be effortless to be friends with Lysander because he was so laid back and amiable.

He started to talk about the landscapes he’d painted on the estate and in the area. We nodded, responding with impressive sounds, even though we didn’t know what those landscapes looked like. But Lysander was drawing us in, lulling us, casting his spell as we headed closer to the cabin.

“I’m not sure I could do you justice in a painting,” he declared. “The ebony of your hair. The way the light catches the different shades of darkness, almost inky blue and black. Pure perfection,” he said, swirling his hands in front of him like he was trying to capture the night sky.

“I’m sure you have some black paint stored away somewhere,” I replied, then snapped my mouth shut at how rude that sounded. My mouth seemed to have a habit of running away before my brain could engage. I guess Lysander and I were alike in that respect.

“And your eyes,” he went on, not reacting to what I’d said. “The hazel with delicate flecks of gold.” He sighed. “I could paint them a thousand times and they would never be right. Never be... perfectly stunning... like the real thing.”

“My eyes are blue,” I stated plainly, and my father hissed, “Maya,” chiding me for my rudeness once again.

“Are you sure?” Lysander spoke with a hint of humour, and he narrowed his eyes as he peered down at me, even though he couldn’t see the colour in the dimness of the grounds we were walking through. “I could’ve sworn they were hazel when I looked into them back at the house.”

“They’re definitely blue,” I replied, bowing my head. My cheeks were bright red, but I wouldn’t disclose that fact any time soon.

He’d looked into my eyes.

“Blue eyes, black hair. The perfect combination,” he stated. “And that smile.” He pointed at me, at the smile that seemed to appear of its own accord whenever he was speaking. “The way it tilts up at the corner, and the shine in your eyes. That would be the crowning glory for my portrait.”

Some might say he could be a little cringey, but I had to admit, I liked it. I’d never met anyone like Lysander Firethorne before. I found him to be refreshing.

Just then, the delicate glow of a lamp lighting up the porch of a small wooden lodge came into view, and I couldn’t deny I was glad to see it.

“Ah! Here we are,” Lysander announced jovially, and he strode ahead as we both stayed back to take in our new home.

It was a single-story cabin. Small but cosy, with three small steps leading onto the porch area.

We took each step slowly as Lysander opened the door and turned the inside lights on, getting everything ready for us to see.

“Mrs Richardson made sure it was heated for you. And as my father said, she’s left some supper here, too.”

He stepped back to let us walk through the door.

The interior was simple and plainly decorated, with blue gingham curtains at the windows and well-worn woven rugs on the wooden floors. It was open-plan, with a small galley kitchen against one wall, a table with two chairs against another, and a small, blue sofa with a matching armchair in front of the fireplace. It was a little shabby, but it was clean, and I walked across the room to explore further.

There was a tiny hallway at the back of the room with three doors leading off it. Opening each one, I found two single bedrooms and a small, sparse bathroom. Adequate, that’s what it was. Quaint, even. Not at all like the main house we’d left, because unlike that cold, soulless building, this cabin had the potential to be... a home.

“It’s perfect,” my father remarked, and I agreed.

“Well, if there’s anything you need.” Lysander’s eyes met mine. “Anything at all, just dial zero and we’ll have you sorted out right away.” He tapped his finger on an old landline phone on a side table by the door. “That’s your hot line.” He winked.

“Thank you,” I told him. “But I think we need to settle in and get some rest now. It’s been a long day.”

“Of course.” He bowed his head, and then he stepped towards the door. “I’ll see you both tomorrow,” he said before he shut the door.