“You didn’t have to rush back before Year’s End,” I say, realizing how close we are to the holiday. “You and Mr. Fletcher always spend the week with Shirley and her husband.”
Mrs. Fletcher waves her hand. “Nonsense. I needed to come back and make sure the news was true. Imagine you returning to the house, Miss Alice. You must have worked some magic to make that come to pass.”
She gives me a pointed look, silently informing me we will be having a long chat later.
“I’ll tell you everything,” I promise, shivering when a cool gust of wind blows snow in our direction. “But let’s go inside first.”
Mrs. Fletcher frowns as if finally taking a good look at me. “Good heavens, you must be freezing! Inside with you. Go along.”
She lets out a small gasp when she sees the accumulating pile of furniture in the entry.
“I’m surprised he didn’t try to sell the drapes,” she mutters under her breath, her eyes narrowing to slits. “Nasty wretch of a—”
“Lord Ambrose let me return to the house,” I point out gently. “And he gave me room and board this last month, asking for nothing in return.”
“Why did you go to him?” she asks, looking like I’ve ripped out her heart. “Mr. Fletcher and I talked—we were going to take you with us. I would have had you married by now, but you disappeared.”
“I’m sorry for worrying you,” I say with a catch in my throat, not realizing how much she cared. It eases some of the sadness that’s nestled itself in my heart, the one that’s buried so deeply, I don’t even realize it’s there most of the time.
Mrs. Fletcher’s eyes soften, and she scrunches her face. “Now don’t you go and start crying again, or I’ll start too, and the men will come in and find a blubbering mess, and everyone will be uncomfortable.”
I suppress a laugh, nodding toward her parcels. “I don’t suppose you have food in one of those?”
Her mouth falls open. “How long have you been here alone, starving to death?”
“Just a night.”
She bustles toward the kitchen, muttering about wretched Fae men. When we walk through the swinging doors, we both stop short.
The kitchen has been stripped clean.
“Oh,” she says with a soft exhale. “Have you ever seen a more depressing sight?”
“They’re bringing everything back,” I try to say brightly, but the truth is she’s right. The kitchen was once the liveliest room in the house.
Mrs. Yaley always kept hard candies in a cut-glass jar on the counter, different types for different seasons. There would be peppermints now, each wrapped in tiny squares of white paper and twisted at the ends.
There was always bread in the oven, and I can’t remember a time when there wasn’t a cake under a dome on the glass stand.
But mostly, I miss Mrs. Yaley.
“I don’t think Nancy is going to come back,” Mrs. Fletcher says as if reading my mind. “She found a little cottage near her son by the coast. The weather is more temperate there—you know how she complained about the cold.”
I try to smile. “I’m glad she found somewhere nice.”
“I’m not a terrible cook.” Mrs. Fletcher gives my arm a nudge. “We’ll make do until after the holidays, and then we’ll find someone proper.”
I smile. “You should probably speak to Lord Ambrose before you begin making too many plans. The house is his property, even though he’s been kind enough to let me return.”
She gives me a sideways look. “I’m not sure I care for the way you say that man’s name.”
Laughing softly, I motion again to her packages. “Am I going to have to snoop through them myself?”
Making a tsking noise, she sets her things on the workbench and produces half a dozen scones. “I bought them at a bakery in Bailen. I remember pumpkin has always been your favorite.”
I gratefully accept one and breathe in the aroma, savoring it slowly. “You have no idea how lovely it is to eat without worrying if the food is laced with Faerie magic.”
Mrs. Fletcher’s approving smile becomes a scowl. “What were you doing in West Faerie, Alice?”