Heart of the Beholder

13

THE NEXT FEW DAYS WERE uneventful. Bridgette thought she had made progress with Lord Thornwood, but the next time she had brought him his lunch, he’d only given her one word responses or grunts in answer to her questions. Maybe she’d imagined it, but she could have sworn she’d heard softness and sincerity in his voice when he’d asked about her scar. Then the moment ended when Edgar had entered the room, and it was as if Lord Thornwood couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

She wasn’t going to give up so easily; she would just have to try harder, for her mother and for Sir Raspberry. She took a deep breath, then knocked lightly on the study door and waited for a response.

“Enter.”

Bridgette entered and set the tray gracefully on the desk. She had to hand it to herself, she was getting better at keeping her balance; but now that she had acknowledged it, she would probably trip over nothing before the day was through.

“What is that?” Lord Thornwood asked, motioning to Bridgette’s personal touch to his lunch tray: a single yellow daisy in a glass vase.

“A flower,” she said with a smile. Three whole words was progress from yesterday.

“Why is it on my lunch tray?”

“Because I thought it might brighten your day a little bit, though you can hardly see the beautiful color in the dark,” she said.

“Where did you get it?” he asked with suspicion.

“From the meadow. I gathered a bunch to put in the large vase in the entrance hall, but I saved one for you,” Bridgette said as she twisted her apron around her fingers.

“It’s a weed.”

Bridgette didn’t let his words stick. “It is all a matter of opinion. Some people think daisies are beautiful and plant them in their gardens.”

“And you are some people?” he gruffed.

“Yes. If I had the means to plant them in a garden that I wish I had, I would,” she said, forcing her smile to stay.

“Where is Edgar? Has he suddenly become unavailable to bring me my lunch tray every day?” he grumbled. He was in a dark mood today.

“No, he is available. I just offer to do it, and he lets me,” Bridgette said lightly.

“Why?”

“Why not?”

He was silent for a moment, then said, “You may leave.”

“Actually, there was one more thing,” she said quickly.

“What?” he sighed.

“I brought more salve,” Bridgette said, taking the small jar out of her apron pocket. “Edgar said you haven’t let him apply more or even see your hand for that matter.”

“My hand is fine. You can go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Most definitely.”

“Can I see it?”

“Do you not believe me?”

“I have not decided whether I can completely trust you,” she said carefully. “But I am not trying to prove you a liar. I just want to make sure it is healing. I helped treat it in the beginning, I’d like to see it through to the end.” He didn’t respond. “Please,” she added.

Bridgette counted five heartbeats before he muttered, “Fine.”

She couldn’t contain her excitement as she made for the window. “Excellent, my lord. I just need to open the curtain for a moment to get some light so I can see.” Bridgette didn’t want to give him the chance to object, so she hurried; but before her hand could find the curtain, her hip found something solid. She yelped as the object she hit shifted, and several items fell to the floor with loud thunks.

Oh no. Bridgette was too stunned to move. She had an idea of what she just did, but didn’t want it confirmed.

A soft breeze brushed the back of her neck as someone passed behind her and stopped at the window. The curtain was opened, and Bridgette blinked at the bright light. After a moment, her eyes focused on the small table in front of her, and the game which had been set up so neatly was now in chaos, with several pieces on the floor. She fell to her knees and immediately started to pick up the pieces and put them on the board. “I am so sorry, my lord,” she said as she clumsily finished picking up the pieces. “Oh no,” she whispered. “I broke it.” She cradled the pieces in her hands and looked up at the figure by the window. “I am so sorry.”

Lord Thornwood’s cloaked figure stood in front of the window. The beams of light from the early afternoon sun made it almost as impossible to see him as it was in the dark.

By all that is holy, Bridgette. You don’t make friends by breaking their nice things. Her hands shook as she waited for him to start yelling.

“Are you hurt?”

That was not what she was expecting, but her shoulders relaxed, and she laughed. “No. Just a bruised hip. It will be fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, echoing her words from before.

“Most definitely,” she said, then blushed. “But please believe me, because I am not going to show my wound to you.”

He shifted and cleared his throat. “I believe you.” He stepped closer to her and pulled one of the chairs out from the table, his face still in the shadow of his hood. “Please, have a seat.” He held out one gloved hand to her, and she took it. He helped her stand and be seated. She nervously looked down at the broken piece in her hand as he walked around and sat across from her in the chair still in shadow.

“Do you play?” he asked lightly. The roughness that was usually in his voice was barely noticeable.

Bridgette’s brows pulled together as she tried to understand what he meant, then realized what he was referring to when she watched him right all the pieces that had been tipped over.

“Oh, um, no,” she said and blushed deeper. “I don’t even know what it is called.”

His gloved hand paused. “You have never heard of chess?” he asked in disbelief.

“Oh, wait, I think that does sound familiar,” Bridgette said. She thought back to her childhood, and the conversations she had overheard between adults at dinners her family was invited to. “I suppose I never learned about it because I was always outside. I never really stayed inside for long. I never really sat still, to be honest.”

“You have been deprived of a truly thrilling experience,” he said. Bridgette couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or serious.

“Do you play?” she asked, then silently chastised herself. That was a stupid question, Bridgette. He obviously plays chess.

“Yes. But I don’t just play—I win.”

Bridgette wanted to see his expression at that moment. Was he jesting? Was he dead serious? Should she run for the hills? Or should she take a risk and hope it turned out well?

Take the risk, a voice in her head prompted. “Then you must be an excellent teacher,” she blurted out.

He pulled his hand back and straightened his posture.

“The only one I have taught is Edgar, and he doesn’t even try, which makes for a rather dull game,” he said.

Bridgette could tell he wanted to say something else, but he didn’t. “If Edgar doesn’t play well, then you have no one to have a truly thrilling experience with,” she said carefully.

“That is true. It has been several years since I had a worthy opponent.”

It seemed they both were dancing around the same topic, or Lord Thornwood was absolutely oblivious. “It is very unfortunate I do not know how to play.”

“I—” He paused. “I could teach you.”

“I think I would like that very much. I hate missing out on truly thrilling experiences.”

“Lesson one, white on the right,” he said and pointed to the white corner square on his side of the board.

Bridgette looked down at the right corner on her side and saw that it was white. “White on the right,” she repeated.

“Next is the name, placement, and movement for each piece,” he said and picked up a black piece which looked like a tower. “The rooks, or castles, take the corner positions.” He placed the black pieces on both of his corners. Bridgette found her white rooks and moved them to her own corners with her free hand. “They move by ranks and files.”

“By what and what?”

“Sorry,” he said. The tone of his voice made Bridgette think he was smiling under his hood. “I jumped ahead of myself. A row that goes up and down is called a file. A row that goes across is called a rank. The rook can only move up and down or across on the board. They can move as many spaces as they want, but they can’t change directions in the middle of their turn.”

“Up and down or across,” she said and nodded.

“Next to the rooks are the knights.”

Bridgette followed Lord Thornwood’s lead and placed the horses next to the towers.

“They are the only piece that can jump over other pieces, and they move in an ‘L’ shape. Two spaces one way, then one to the side.” He demonstrated with one of his black knights. Bridgette concentrated on the movement and committed it to memory. “Next to the knights are the bishops.” Bridgette picked up the piece that looked like it wore a funny hat and placed it by one of the knights. “Bishops only move diagonally, so one will always be on the black squares and the other on the white squares.”

Bridgette nodded, but knew she was probably going to forget it all the moment she left the room.

“The bishops flank the queen and king.” Lord Thornwood delicately placed a piece with a pointy crown on a black square. Bridgette found the same piece in white and placed it on a black square. “That is wrong,” he said simply. She quickly took the piece off the board. “The queen always starts on her own color. Black on black and white on white. Our pieces should mirror each other.”

Bridgette put her queen on the white square and asked, “And how does she move?”

“With finesse and purpose,” he said in a witty tone.

A laugh bubbled out of Bridgette. She covered her mouth with her hand.

To Bridgette’s surprise, Lord Thornwood chuckled. “She can move in any direction, however many spaces she would like.”

“Finesse and purpose, indeed,” Bridgette said with a smile. “I suppose the space next to her is for the king?”

“That is correct.” He picked up a white piece close to him, and reached across the board to place it on her side, next to her queen. The king was taller than the other pieces, like the queen, but instead of a pointy crown, he had a traditional king’s crown with a cross.

Bridgette’s heart sank as she looked back at the broken chess piece in her hand. The black king’s crown was no longer attached to his body. “I seem to have decapitated your king,” she said sheepishly, holding it out to him.

He took the broken piece from her. She could feel the heat through his glove. He turned the pieces in his hands and set the bottom half on the board. Its short stature looked ridiculous next to the tall queen. “I actually think it is more fitting.”

Bridgette tilted her head, “How do you mean?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, waving away her question.

“What are all these little pieces that are left?” she asked, motioning to the remaining pieces scattered on the board.

“These are pawns,” he said. “They take up the rank in front of everyone else, almost like the front line in battle.” They both took a moment to set up the pawns in front of their other pieces. “A pawn always moves forward. The first move each pawn makes can either be one or two spaces. After their first move, they can only move one space at a time. Unless they are to capture one of the opponent’s pieces, in which case they move one space diagonally.” Lord Thornwood demonstrated the movement with one of his own pawns, then replaced it back in its rank.

Bridgette blinked many times as she looked over the board. It all seemed simple, but also overwhelming. Without actually practicing and playing the game, she had no context or experience to pull from.

“I can see you might be a little overwhelmed with the information,” he said.

Bridgette smiled. “It is a lot to think about, but perhaps it is a good place to stop for now. I am sure Edgar is wondering what happened to me.” She might have imagined it, but his shoulder’s seemed to drop an inch as if in disappointment.

“I suppose you are right. I am distracting you from your work.” Was that disappointment in his voice too? Bridgette wouldn’t put it past herself to hear things that weren’t really there.

She did have work to finish, and she wanted to finish it quickly so she could work on the garden for an hour before heading home. “Perhaps we can plan a time for my next lesson?”

“We can do that, yes,” he said quickly.

“Are you available any time tomorrow?”

“I am available all day. I have nothing planned.” He was quiet for a moment, then grunted. “That sounds absolutely pathetic, doesn’t it?”

“It doesn’t sound pathetic when you are actually making plans to fill the time,” she said lightly. “I am not sure what my work schedule will be like tomorrow, but it is the day Edgar will be gone for a few hours, so maybe I can find an hour to have you give me my second lesson.”

“That would be good,” he said, turning the broken piece in his hand.

Bridgette rose from her chair, and Lord Thornwood hurriedly stood up from his. A small smile spread on her lips as she remembered watching men stand when the women got up at dinner parties when she was young. She had often daydreamed of the day a man would stand for her. Her smile faded as a different memory was brought to the front of her mind.

Fool girl. You don’t know how to sit or eat like a proper lady. No man will ever look twice at you. Your hair is a mess, and you have dirt under your fingernails. What a waste you are.

Bridgette clenched her fists. She gave Lord Thornwood a quick curtsy. “Tomorrow then,” she mumbled, then turned to leave.

“Miss Meadowbrooke, wait,” he called out softly. She froze. He had never said her name before.

She turned back toward him. “Yes, my lord?”

He stepped toward her and tugged one of his gloves off. “You were going to look at my hand.”

Despite the terrible words that were swirling in her head, she laughed. “Oh my, I was so preoccupied with chess, I completely forgot.” She picked up the little jar of salve she had left on his desk, then went to him. She set the salve on the chess table as he held out his hand to her. She took it in both of hers and angled it so she could examine it in the sunlight. She gently ran a finger over the small scabs. It seemed everything was healing just fine, but she could hardly think past how warm his skin was without his glove in the way. She hadn’t noticed it the other day as she had pulled the glass shards out of his hand.

Bridgette thought of a cat she saw once curled up in the warm sun, so at peace and cozy. Would she curl up like a cat if Lord Thornwood touched her cheek with his strong, warm hand—

Stop it! Stop it right now, Bridgette. This is your employer. Control your thoughts.

She cleared her throat and somehow opened the salve without dropping it on the floor. She dabbed a little on his palm, making sure not to touch any other part of his hand with hers. She closed the jar and shoved it in her pocket. “It looks like you are healing well. No need to worry,” she said.

“Thank you, Miss Meadowbrooke.”

She looked up and tried to make out the lines of his face in the shadow of his hood. It was pointless. Who wore a hood so ridiculously large? And why did it sound so nice to hear him say her name?

“Of course, my lord,” she said with another curtsy.

“Tomorrow then,” he said.

“Tomorrow,” she replied, then hurried from the room.

“Get a grip, Bridgette,” she said quietly to herself as she flew down the stairs. “Just because a man shows you a little bit of kindness does not mean you need to go weak in the knees.”

THANE WASN’T SURE HOW LONG he stood and stared at the door after she left, but it had to be more than several minutes. Eventually, he started pacing. There were too many thoughts to make sense of any of them. He pulled at the clasp of the cloak at his neck. When did the room get so warm? He actually considered removing it, but he shouldn’t. What if she came back?

He passed the desk and stopped when something yellow caught his eye. The daisy. He reached for it and hesitated when he saw his ungloved hand. Where was his glove? It was on the ground by the chess table. He must have dropped it when she was examining his palm. He looked at his bare hand again. It didn’t really look like the hand of a monster. In the half-shadowed room, it was hard to make out the paleness of his skin, and his fingernails didn’t look as dark as he remembered them being. He had made sure Miss Meadowbrooke had only seen the palm side of his hand for that purpose. He couldn’t believe he was so willing to take his glove off for her, to ask her to stay just a few moments longer.

Thane fetched his glove, put it on, then returned to the daisy. He picked it up and twirled it between his fingers. Its petals were bright yellow, and the texture of the stem was calling to something inside of him. He rushed through his bedchamber and entered into his spare room with the flower in his grasp. He set it on the table and dug out a blank canvas. He picked up each paint jar that was scattered across the room but didn’t find what he wanted. He rummaged through a cupboard and could only find some white, some red, and a lot of black. He cursed and slammed the cupboard shut. There was only one more place where he kept paint.

He grabbed the case and flipped the latch open. Carefully, he lifted the lid and squinted at the bright blue light that burst out of its prison. He pulled out the only paint jar in the case and slammed the case shut. It was blue, which was helpful, but it wasn’t yellow. He would have to ask Edgar to get more paint.

No. That was a bad idea.

The old valet still hadn’t approached him about the scene he’d walked in on a few days before. If he asked Edgar to get brightly colored paint, the man would surely start asking questions Thane didn’t want to answer.

He leaned forward with his hands on the table and let his head drop. He needed to make sense of the storm in his mind. He had told her to go, and somehow ended up teaching her the basics of chess. The corner of his mouth twitched as he thought about the face she made when she concentrated on what he was telling her. Her brows pulled in, and she bit her bottom lip. Dare he admit it was charming?

He shook his head. He was losing his mind. Not even a year ago, he only gave noble women the time of day, and usually that meant secret rendezvous in places that would have made his mother ashamed. He had a maid fired for spilling soup on him. Now, he had just been sitting with a maid who made a mess of nearly everything she touched. Yet, he found himself fighting a smile, and trying to find yellow paint.

Thane spun around and marched back through his bedchamber and into his study. He kept a few books about chess behind his desk. He would need to plan what he would teach her when she came for her next lesson. He sat down at his desk and opened a book. He looked up at his lunch tray and the empty vase. He stood and walked back to his spare room. If he wasn’t ready to paint, he needed to put the daisy back in the water. He picked up the daisy and froze when he heard something. It was coming from outside.

With the chess book and flower in hand, he quietly stepped over to the window and pulled back the curtain. Miss Meadowbrooke was below, talking to herself. He had watched her attempt to throw rugs over a line to clean, but she ended up getting knocked to the ground. It had been such an absurd thing to see, but now it seemed humorous. She wasn’t cleaning rugs this time—she was digging in the dirt in the raised flower beds. A pile of dead weeds sat at her feet as she continued to have what seemed to be a full conversation with no one.

Thane carefully pulled the window open an inch so he could hear what she was saying.

She dug with a little shovel, then set it aside to grab something with both hands. She heaved and grunted and pulled out a weed with roots at least a foot long. She stumbled back a few steps, but caught herself.

“Gotcha!” she exclaimed and held the plant up like a trophy. She threw it down on her pile and wiped her sleeve across her damp forehead. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes.” She picked up her little shovel and started to dig again. “The rooks move up and down or across. The bishops—no, the knights move—” she trailed off and set her shovel down again. She stepped back, and Thane realized she placed herself in the middle of a stone square. The floor of the garden was made up of squares which very much resembled a chessboard. “Two spaces forward and one to the side,” she said out loud as she moved herself from square to square. “Or was it one space forward and two spaces to the side?”

Thane smiled as he watched her walk through all the movements of the game pieces.

Miss Meadowbrooke was the most peculiar creature he had ever met.