Page 27 of Familiar Things New

“William,” Andrew called out cautiously. “Is Edwin here?”

William paused near the room’s entrance before turning back around.

“Unfortunately, no, he’s not. In fact, he and his family haven’t come to one of our parties in a long time. Agnes says she’s worried people might consider it improper for her to come without a chaperone, and her mother has had some difficulty leaving the house lately with how much her illness has progressed. And Edwin refuses to come because . . . well, Edwin has his reasons.” He sighed. “Edwin won’t come because he’s Edwin. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Oh.” Every ounce of nervousness left Andrew’s body with his next breath. But so, too, did that foolish flutter of hope. “I was . . . only wondering,” he said softly before clearly his throat. “I’ll, uhm, I’ll come up in a few.”

William continued into the hall, leaving Andrew alone with his equipment.

And with his nonsensical disappointment, too.

Chapter Seven

Edwin

Edwin fought back a shiver as he trudged up the walkway to the Whitney Estate, his fingers numb even though he was wearing his leather gloves. Heavy snow was falling, blanketing the expansive front yard, concrete walkway, and limestone steps. When a rush of wind blew past, Edwin clenched his teeth, fighting back a wince as its frigidity burned his cheeks. It was surprising that his face hadn’t gone completely numb yet as well.

After letting himself inside, Edwin kicked the snow off of his shoes by banging his heels on the mat near the doorway. He brushed the snow off of his overcoat as well and then scowled as it fell onto the hardwood. Soon, one of the servants would come by to clean it up, but it was a pity that his coming over in the middle of the storm had caused more work for someone. Still, Edwin needed to be here to check on the plants, no matter the weather. Especially because he had forgotten to check on the purple coneflower plants on Friday.

He’d sown the seeds shortly after the first frost and had been checking on them weekly ever since so that he could make sure they’d geminate, keeping the soil moist and moving them about the conservatory for optimal light to hopefully ensure their survival. But he had somehow forgotten about them for the past week. He’d not only forgotten to move them but maybe even to water them. According to the forecast, the snow was supposed to continue for a whole twenty-four more hours (or longer). Braving the storm when there were still only a few inches of snow on the ground was Edwin’s only hope for saving the poor plants from his ineptitude.

Despite being wet and chilled and slightly irate as a result of those things, Edwin felt some tension leave his shoulders as he strode through the hall toward the conservatory. Even though he hadn’t definitively saved the purple coneflower seedlings from a horrible fate, he was still relieved that he’d made it to the estate in the storm and could therefore at least try to save them (which wouldn’t entail much aside from watering them and saying a prayer or two, but, well, it was something).

In the conservatory, Edwin hurried to the four pots of purple coneflowers. Kneeling down, he breathed a long sigh of relief when he saw the little seedlings that had sprouted out of the soil, one in each pot. Using two of his fingers, Edwin poked the soil to see how dry it was, though he knew by both the color of it—lighter brown that it ought to have been—and the way it was pulling away from the edge of the pot that he had indeed forgotten to water the poor plants. Sure enough, the soil was crumbly to the touch. Edwin’s frown deepened.

All of a sudden, the empty metal watering can he’d left on the worktable fell to the floor, landing with a loud clang. He looked over his shoulder, expecting to see William.

But saw Andrew instead.

Edwin’s breath caught.

“Sorry, sorry,” Andrew spluttered.

He scooped the watering can off the floor and placed it on the worktable before backing away slowly, holding up his hands as though the object might leap out at him. Thunderstruck, Edwin merely stared. Why was Andrew here at the estate? At nine o’clock in the morning? During a blizzard?

“I came here for the party. Last night. It was William’s idea. But, well, the snow . . .” Andrew blurted out, seemingly having read Edwin’s mind. “Anyway, I stayed the night in one of the spare rooms. I think William is still asleep. I should be sleeping myself, too, since I went to bed at four. But I never sleep. Well, not never. Of course I sleep. Everyone sleeps. But I never sleep . . . enough.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged a boyish shrug. And, oh God, something about it made Edwin’s stomach flutter. Dammit, he hated this hold that Andrew had on him.

Andrew’s face pinched. “I know I probably shouldn’t have come in here again. I was just wandering through the house, hoping to pass the time, but then I heard someone enter the conservatory and I thought that someone might be you, so I . . .” Slinking into himself a little, Andrew took another measured step backward. “Anyway, sorry to intrude. I’ll go.”

Edwin briefly squeezed his eyes shut.

Dammit. Again.

“Wait. Andrew.” Edwin pushed himself to stand. “I’m not . . . mad at you for coming in here, if that’s what you’re thinking. I mean, I hadn’t expected to see you, but it’s not . . . unpleasant to have the company. I am mad at myself, though. I forgot to water the coneflower plants last week.”

“Oh.” Andrew’s expression softened, but stayed sorrowful. “I’m sorry. Did they . . . die?”

“Thankfully, no.” Edwin bent back down and motioned for Andrew to come closer. Andrew knelt beside him, and Edwin touched one of the sprouted seedings with the very tip of his finger. “Somehow, they managed to germinate. Even though I’ve essentially been neglecting them.”

Andrew reached out to touch the same leaf, and Edwin reflexively retracted his hand. He hadn’t forgotten the frightening truths that had been unearthed the last time he and Andrew had been huddled around a plant like this in the conservatory, like the fact that their fingers brushing had sent his heart aflutter, or that Andrew’s reddening cheeks had seemed to communicate that perhaps he’d been experiencing the same fluttery feelings himself.

Edwin had no interest in letting a second of Andrew’s light touches spark another, nearly equivalent experience that he could then torture himself with later.

Andrew poked the leaf and then lowered his hand to prod at the soil.

“You haven’t watered them yet, have you?” Andrew asked.