Page 68 of Bane Bloom

“I thought to finish with the cooking,” Thomas said, “but I can come back.”

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m only making tea. Would you like a cup?”

Stepping to the stockpot and removing its lid, he said, “Thank you, no.”

I moved with my cup to the end of the worktable to give him more room, then watched as he transferred the potatoes to the pot. I was glad he’d grown more comfortable in the house. I liked having him here.

“Yesterday you told me that you wished to become an apothecary,” Thomas said without preamble, and without pausing in his task. “I had assumed that you were one.”

I eyed him curiously; it wasn’t like him to start a conversation.

“No,” I replied. “I went to the curator of the Chelsea Physic Garden, in London, and all but begged him to publish a book of my illustrations and keep the proceeds, hoping that in exchange he would allow me to join the Society as an apprentice. I have some botany knowledge, and I had the notion of working for them as an illustrator.”

His gaze flickered up. “To support your father, you said.”

“That’s right. My father is an artist, too. He earns money by painting portraits of wealthy patrons and their family members. But his joints pain him, and he won’t be able to do it indefinitely.”

“And the curator sent you here instead?”

I nodded. “It’s meant to be a sort of trial of my skills. Mr. Harding agreed to consider my proposal after I’ve completed my work here.”

Thomas transferred the pot to the cookstove, and he wiped his hands on a kitchen towel. He leaned against the worktable and folded his arms. What a sturdy piece of furniture it must have been to be able to hold its ground.

“I believe the apothecaries mean to sell Pine Cottage,” he said.

My brows lifted. “What makes you think that?”

“In all the time since my grandfather died, they never took any interest in the place. My mother worked a spell to keep us safe and forgotten here, but also I don’t think they ever saw much value in it. They indulged my grandfather, because they respected him. But he’s gone, as is his daughter. Her spell has weakened, and Londoners have discovered the Lake Country.”

It surprised me how disturbed I was by this—for more reasons than the fact the place was essentially a fairy trap.

“I think they sent Carroll,” he continued, “and then you, to help them figure out what’s here that might be worth preserving before the sale.”

I let out a quiet groan. “They are in financial difficulty, too. I read it in the newspaper. It’s what gave me the idea to offer them my book.” I looked at him. “Where would you go if that happened?”

He shook his head. “Nowhere. I would stay.”

“You mean you would hope to work for the new owners?”

He pressed his lips together. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know.”

How I wanted to shake him and tell him he was a fool to remain here, living at the whims of the Society. He was strong and able bodied. With people from London buying homes in the area, he might find another groundskeeper position, or perhaps one as a groom or gamekeeper. He wasn’t born to a laboring family, but I didn’t think pride would hold him back. And he could be agreeable with others when he chose to be.

I’d tried such a tack before, however. “Well,” I said, “they would have no idea what they’d be letting themselves in for, moving here. But perhaps they might pull down the house. Maybe that would break its connection with the fairies.”

Only, I well knew that wasn’t what happened in the stories when someone did something that offended the fairies.

I recalled our earlier conversation. Though it soured my stomach—and caused my heart to flop pitifully—I said, “An offer has been made to you. Perhaps one you might find more palatable than taking a position among strangers.”

His eyes slowly lifted to my face. His gaze was flat. “Would you marry for such a reason?”

I flinched, but I refused to let him cow me. “I would, Thomas. It might not be my first choice, but I would do it if it ensured my father was taken care of.”

“Then why haven’t you already?”

Coolly, I replied, “I’m afraid that even in London, a girl must be asked.”

He blinked. “You’re telling me no one has wanted to marry you.”