Chapter Ten

The Cullen's departure left the house quiet again. Though there were extra linens to wash and guest bedrooms to return to order, there was a markedly more relaxed atmosphere among the staff. The noon meal lasted a few minutes longer, the scullery maid laughed a little bit louder at a bawdy joke told by a stable hand and even Mrs. Mallory looked the other way when Mrs. Cope served cake to the staff – an unexpected treat.

The holiday feel was infectious and Bella found herself singing along with Lizzie as they carried down comforters outside to be aired on the lines.

Where have you been all the day,
my boy Willie?
Where have you been all the day,
Willie, won't you tell me now?
I have been all the day
Courtin' of a lady gay.
But she is too young to be
Taken from her mother.

Is she fit to be a wife?
my boy Willie.
Is she fit to be a wife,
Willie won't you tell me now?
She's as fit to be a wife
As a fork fits to a knife,
But she is too young to be
Taken from her mother.

But at the back of mind a series of questions ran constantly: Will he come tonight? What will he say? What did last night mean? Does he even remember it? Has he recovered from his evening's indulgences or does he have a pounding headache like Father always had the next day? She was more than a little embarrassed when she found herself daydreaming about his head resting in her lap, stroking his temples to ease the ache. She was embarrassed – but found she could not stop imagining it nonetheless.

By the time evening came, she found herself so worked up over the thought of seeing Edward that she couldn't face her customary hour or two in the kitchen with Mrs. Cope and Lizzie. She knew she would be distracted and nervous and the thought of deflecting the well-meaning queries that were sure to come was too much to handle. Feigning exhaustion and a headache, Bella headed to bed earlier than normal.

For three hours, Bella lay curled up on her bed, fully clothed, alternating between replaying last night's events and falling into a restless sleep, all the while waiting and listening for the noises of the staff to recede and for the familiar soft knock at the door.

At midnight, Bella woke with a start from a brief sleep. She sat up and waited – there it was, the quiet knock she had been anticipating.

She pulled her shawl tight around her, noticing how cold the room had grown, and opened the door.

Edward stood in the doorway, holding a large lump in his hands, looking uncertain.

"May I come in?" he whispered.

Bella nodded and he entered.

For a moment the two stood uncomfortably.

"How do you feel, sir?" Bella asked softly, looking into his eyes.

It took Edward a moment to realize she was asking about his physical and not his mental state. If he had answered the latter, he would have had to confess he felt embarrassed, nervous and unjustifiably giddy all at once. But he quickly understood that she was concerned for his health and answered accordingly.

"Well, I have had better mornings but I feel very much recovered now," he said ruefully.

Bella smiled. "I'm glad."

Edward took a breath and looked at Bella full in the face.

"I need to apologize for last night. I…overindulged….and it was inexcusable for me to come to you in that state. I am embarrassed and I promise you that nothing of that sort will ever, ever happen again. You have my word."

His eyes looked pleadingly at Bella, imploring her to forgive his trespass.

She smiled. "Of course I forgive you, sir," she said simply, and took her customary seat on her bed. "It's forgotten."

But of course it would never be. Bella had already realized that if she lived to be one hundred, she would never forget the day that Lord Edward Masen had touched her face and called her sweet Bella. Her heart ached when she realized that in all likelihood, the only time she would ever be touched by him was when he was drunk and not in full control of his faculties, when he was confused and lonely. But for right now, she would carefully file that memory away with the others she cherished, like sharing the picnic on the rock or any number of nights they got lost in conversation, forgetting that she was the servant and he the master.

Edward stood still, debating whether to sit in his chair or leave her for the evening. After a moment, he made a choice.

"I won't stay tonight. You need your rest." And I need to let you know you can trust me, that I won't be grabbing at you again.

Bella's face clouded with disappointment as she made a movement to stand.

"No, please, don't get up," he said, extending his arm as if to stay her. "I've brought you something," and he handed her the lump that was in his hand.

Bella reached up and received the softest, finest wool blanket she had ever held in her two hands. It was scarlet red and knotted with fringe at the ends. She ran her hands over the gorgeous weave and looked up questioningly.

"It's turned quite cold today," he said by way of explanation. "This room gets so chilly."

He paused.

"It was my mother's," he added.

Bella looked startled.

"She would have liked you," he said, softly. "This is for you to keep. It's yours."

Bella opened her mouth but no sound came out.

Edward moved to the door.

"I apologize again, Bella." And he closed the door.

Bella sat on the bed with the red blanket in her lap, fingering the tassels. She was overwhelmed at the sentiment associated with the gift. Slowly, she unfolded the blanket and wrapped herself in its warmth, sitting on the bed like that for a long time before she finally put herself to bed.

-xxx-

Over the next week, Bella and Edward's nighttime routine eased back into normalcy. As soon as the house was quiet, usually around 10 p.m., Edward would slip up the stairs and into Bella's room. Sometimes he brought a slice of cake from the kitchen pantry, sometimes his chessboard or a deck of cards, and nearly always a book.

One evening he brought a thick book with color plates depicting Italian renaissance art and architecture.

"I bought it two years ago while visiting the Uffizi Gallery in Florence," Edward said, watching from his wooden chair as Bella reverently turned each page, drinking in the reproductions of the works of Botticelli, Titian, da Vinci and Michelangelo.

"It's just so…" Bella was at a loss for words. "I've never seen anything so glorious." She lifted her head to look at him. "What is it like to see these masterpieces?" she asked.

Edward considered his words before speaking. "It's like sitting down to the most sumptuous and exquisite feast imaginable. Every dish seems better than the last and you can't imagine how any mortal could create such perfection."

Bella was quiet for a minute. "I'm going to go someday," she whispered, almost a confession. "I'm going to see the Duomo in Florence and the Uffizi Gallery for myself. I'm going to Venice and going to take a gondola ride and feed the birds in San Marco Piazza. I'm going to visit Rome and walk through St. Peter's Basilica and see the Colosseum and the Pantheon. I may be old and gray before I get there, but I will get there."

"I'm sure you will," Edward replied quietly.

Bella turned another page, studying it, and then looked up again. "Did you know Raphael is buried in the Pantheon and that his fiancée is buried next to him? She died before they could marry."

Edward shook his head. "There's a lot in this world I don't know."

He looked up at the small print of San Marco Piazza that hung on Bella's wall.

"I've always been curious about this. Where did you get it?" he asked.

"Oh…well, I committed a nearly criminal act to get that," Bella said, looking slightly abashed.

Edward raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

"It's not really as bad as all that," Bella said, hastily. "It- it was in a book that belonged to my father. I cut it out right before I left my home and came here. I had to leave the library with the house but I had to take something…a memento."

Bella's eyes brightened suddenly with tears and she swallowed hard and lowered her head again to the book.

"Tell me about leaving your home," Edward said quietly. "About your father."

Bella's head didn't move.

"Sometimes it helps to share the hurt," he whispered, leaning forward, his forearms resting on his knees, hands clasped.

Bella still didn't look up. But after a moment, she began to speak. She told him of how her father worried that she had no mama to sew her pretty dresses or put the right ribbon in her hair. How he was a man of few words but that he read to her every night at bedtime and how he never objected if she brought a book to the table at mealtimes. She told him of the walks they would take on summer evenings and of their Sunday afternoon picnics. She told him of Christmas Eve and how he always brought a small tree into their home that she would decorate with paper stars and the chocolate she always found on her plate at Christmas dinner.

Then she told him of how she came home one day from visiting with Angela to find her father asleep in his favorite chair, a book open in his lap. Only he wouldn't wake up. She told him how she shook when she touched his hand and found it cold, how she screamed or maybe she didn't, she never could remember. How she sat on the floor at his feet for hours, silent tears streaming down her face until she finally rose, covered her father with a blanket and walked the short distance to Angela's house to tell the Webbers what she had found.

She related the horror she felt when she realized that her cousin, Michael Newton, would take possession of the house and the repulsion at his offer of marriage. She told of the numbness she felt when walked out of her home for the last time, her small black case carrying the few possessions she dared to take from the home.

Finally Bella stopped. She looked up at Edward who was still leaning forward, watching her intently.

"So that's how I came here," she ended.

Edward was silent. Then he spoke.

"I'm so sorry. I…I understand. I miss my parents, too," he said.

For a long minute, the two pairs of eyes were locked on each other, understanding passing between them.

Bella suddenly looked away and sniffed, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket and wiping her nose. She looked at Edward who was still watching her closely and she gave a short embarrassed laugh. Edward smiled, too, and looked away.

She returned her attention to the book and after a few minutes she held the open book up for Edward to see.

"This painting…it reminds me of my mother," she said with a small wondering smile.

Edward looked. It was Madonna in Sorrow by Giovanni Battista Salvi da Sassoferrato. It was Mary, cloaked in a dark robe, crimson sleeves showing, hands clasped in front of her breast. But it was the look on her face that drew in Edward, the look of serene grief.

"It's mostly her eyes," said Bella, as she turned the book back to herself. "My mother had eyes like that. I think."

"How old were you when she died?" asked Edward quietly.

"Six," she answered. "She was to have another child - my sister - and something went wrong. They say it was quick, that they both died within a few minutes but I don't know. I wasn't there. I was at Angela's house and her mother was at mine, helping birth the baby…or trying to help."

She shrugged. "Sometimes I feel bad that I don't miss her more. But I was just a child. Most of my memories are of my father."

"But I do have a few memories. If I even smell baking apples, I am five years old again," she said with a smile. "Warm baked apples, with honey and cream poured on top..." Bella's voice trailed off.

"It's the clearest memory I have of my mother," she said quietly, her voice almost a whisper.

She stared at her knees, drawn up to her chest with her hands clasped around them. The book was now on the bed at her side.

"Go on," prompted Edward softly. He watched her as her head dropped to her knees.

In a muffled voice she quietly said, "I remember her serving them to us, in our little kitchen..."

She stopped and took a breath, face still in her knees.

"She was so beautiful...and I know she loved us. She loved me."

Bella's voice broke on the last words and a sob worked its way up from deep in her chest and threatened to erupt, but Bella breathed deeply, fighting it.

Edward could no longer sit, an island in that chair. In an instant he was at her side on the bed, gathering her in his arms, crushing her body to his chest.

Bella felt simultaneous pleasure and pain, the thrill of being in Edward's arms, finally, mingled with the deep sorrow of being a motherless child. "I'm sorry, sir," she whispered, burrowing her head further into his arms and clutching his shirt in her fists. "I'm sorry...I'll be alright."

Edward's voice was low in her ear, warm breath tickling into her hair.

"Don't say that," he said quietly. "Don't call me sir. Right now, I am just Edward, just a friend. A friend who understands what it is to lose a mother and a father."

With that, the dam broke. The sob that hovered at the top of her chest found voice and Bella began to cry. She cried for her mother, who she knew she loved but could scarcely remember. She cried for the loss of her father, for his companionship and faith in her. She cried because she was exhausted from her days of manual labor and because she missed Angela and because she was afraid she would soon lose Lizzie, too, and that she would again be alone.

But mostly she cried because she at once knew that she was irrevocably in love with Edward Masen and that he would not, could not, ever love her back in the way she so desperately craved.

Some time later Bella's crying subsided and she began to doze in Edward's arms, her fists relaxing their grip on his shirt. Edward's eyes were wide open. As her breathing slowed and regulated, he stared at the sampler on the wall opposite him.

"Hear the instruction of the father and forsake not the law of thy mother." It was a passage from Proverbs. Stitched carefully below the verse were the words "Isabella Marie Swan 1864."

He thought of nine-year-old Bella, head bowed over her work, brow furrowed with concentration. He thought of her trying so hard to make the stitches correctly, with no mother to gently guide her through her mistakes. He thought of her now, with no family to call her own, no home but this small room. His hand slowly slid up her back and found a lock of smooth chestnut hair and as he began to stroke it, he felt Bella's breathing change minutely...she was aware.

He could not. He wanted to, badly. He wanted to hold her in his arms all night, to brush away the pain and hurt, to feel her warm body curled against his, to be her refuge, her safety.

But he knew that the closer they were now, the more it would hurt when they were separated.

And so he gently distentangled himself from her, encouraged her to lie down, covered her small body with the red wool coverlet and quietly left the room.

-xxx-

THWACK! Thwack! THWACK! Thwack!

The rhythmic sound of wicker rug beaters on carpet was almost meditative to Bella as she and Lizzie alternated hits on the rug that was hung over the line between two large oak trees behind the house.

Or rather, would have been meditative were it not for the choking clouds of dust that swirled around Bella and Lizzie with each strike. It coated their white caps and aprons, giving them a dingy gray appearance and settled on the backs of their necks, their hair and the creases of their eyelids. Bella's neck and back ached from hours of beating rug after rug but her hands were the most painful. A morning of scrubbing the marble floor in the entrance hall had left the skin on her hands fragile and vulnerable, and an afternoon of beating rugs had given her blisters that by now had ripped open, exposing the raw, stinging flesh below. Lizzie had wrapped rags around Bella's hands, which had helped, but she still winced every time she gripped the handle of the rug beater.

But they were nearly done with their last rug. She could endure.

As the final blows were landed on the rug, Lizzie looked behind Bella and furrowed her brow.

"Janet is coming this way," she said. "I wonder why."

Bella turned to see the older housemaid hurrying out from the back entrance of Wrenfield Hall and over to where they stood.

She arrived breathless.

"Mr. James is here," she wheezed. "He's just arrived. Bring that rug in as soon as you are able and change your aprons and caps."

She picked up her skirts and rushed back to the house.

Lizzie looked annoyed. "He never tells anyone when he is coming, just shows up and expects that everyone will be prepared for his arrival. Poor Mrs. Cope. She's probably frantic now to come up with a suitable welcome dinner in an hour."

She clucked her tongue in disapproval as she and Bella hoisted the carpet off of the line and strained their muscles carrying it back to the great house.

Thirty minutes later, the rug had been replaced in the library and Bella's face was freshly scrubbed, her hair combed and put up again and she was wearing a clean apron and cap.

As she walked into the staff dining room, Mrs. Mallory's head snapped up from the list she held in her hand.

"You," she called to Bella. "Bring fresh towels to Mr. James room, now, and draw him a bath."

Bella looked startled.

"Yes, yes, I know the valet would normally do that but he's off today and we weren't expecting Mr. James, as you know. Just draw the bath and leave the stack of towels next to the bathing tub."

A few minutes later, Bella knocked on James Masen's door. Hearing no answer, Bella let herself in.

At the exact moment that she walked in, Mr. Masen also entered the room, coming from the bathroom. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned and he stopped short when he saw Bella.

"Hello," he said, a slow smile spreading over his handsome face. He looked at Bella, his eyes taking in every inch of her.

"Sir," she said, curtseying quickly. She felt heat rise up her neck and into her face as he stood, continuing to look at her appraisingly.

She bit her lip slightly, then made a movement toward the bathroom. "I've come to draw your bath," she said, uncertainly.

"By all means," said James, bowing slightly and sweeping his arm toward the open door. But he didn't move from his spot, forcing Bella had to brush past him on her way through the door.

Bella's hands shook slightly and her heart beat faster as she fumbled with the taps. Running water was still enough of a novelty that Bella wasn't completely familiar with the system and she took a few moments to adjust the water temperature.

James stood just outside the doorway, watching Bella. After a few minutes, he removed his shirt and lay it over the back of a chair. Bella studied the tile on the wall behind the bathing tub, willing the tub to fill faster.

"What is your name?" James finally asked. Bella turned to see him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed against his finely sculpted bare chest.

"Bella," she said, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes looking everywhere but at him.

"Welcome to Wrenfield Hall, Bella," said James in a voice that nearly made Bella shiver. "You are new?" he asked.

"Yes. I mean, I've been here a little over two months, so…yes, new."

"And how do you like it?" he asked. His voice was smooth, like his brother's, but instead of sounding warm, like velvet, his was more like a cold, slippery satin.

"It's beautiful," she replied, now looking at a painting over James' right shoulder. "It's a lovely home."

"Well then, you should see the London house," he said with a grin. "It's very nice."

Bella nodded and noticed with relief that the tub was sufficiently full. She turned her attention to the taps and as quickly as she could, headed for the door to leave.

But James' body was blocking the doorway.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" Bella asked, standing in front of James.

James shook his head lazily and slowly moved out of her way.

"Thank you so much for the bath, Bella," he said, watching her as she neared the door.

She turned and curtseyed. "Sir." And she left the room.

In the hall, Bella walked as quickly away from James' room as she was able. Her heart was still beating fast and she couldn't shake the chill she felt. He had done nothing inappropriate, said nothing inappropriate. But still…

As she quickly rounded a corner, she almost walked straight into a man who was approaching from the opposite direction.

"Edward!" she exclaimed, then blushed and quickly corrected herself. "Pardon me, Lord Masen."

Edward gave a short, quiet laugh. "Edward is fine," he said, smiling at her.

Embarrassed, Bella opened her mouth to apologize again, then just returned his smile.

"Where are you coming from?" he asked, suddenly concerned as he picked up on Bella's nervousness.

"Drawing a bath for your brother," she said with false brightness. No need for Edward to know that his brother had made her heart beat faster in the worst possible way.

A dark look crossed over Edward's face. "Yes, I've heard he is here. I am on my way to see him now - I was out when he arrived."

He looked closely at Bella. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"Of course," said Bella forcing a smile.

Edward did not look convinced. But he nodded. "I don't know about tonight," he said, quietly. "I may be…visiting…with my brother."

"You should spend time with your brother," said Bella, encouragingly, masking her disappointment. "Family is important."

Edward sighed heavily. "I'll see you soon."

Bella smiled and curtsied. Edward bowed slightly.

And they continued in their opposite directions.

Finally! I feel like it's been forever since I posted a chapter but I guess it's only been about a week. Still - I'm happy to be putting this chapter up. I had a bit of writer's block for a few days but then the dam burst.

Big, big thanks to my husband (who now knows the deep, dark secret that his wife is writing Twilight fanfic and who was unbelievably supportive - who knew?). He has let me ramble through the ideas in my head and even offered a few really good suggestions of his own. Also, thanks, dear, for the advice on legal terms and concepts. It's nice to have an attorney on staff here at the house. :)

Also: the flickr page is up. It's flickr(dot)com/wrenfieldhall. I have pictures there of locales and obects that inspired/enhance this story. Be sure to check out the favorites section. There are some super great photos there, including pictures of some amazing libraries, country houses and the English countryside.

One last thing - one alert reader pointed me in the direction of a new British TV series called Downton Abbey which I am now obsessed with, after only seeing the trailer on YouTube! Check it out, seriously. The time period is off by about 35 years but still, the feel, the sets, the house, the costumes are all AMAZING. Here's to hoping I can figure out how to watch the series on the internet.

THANK YOU for all of the reviews and messages. I don't know why they help so much, but they do.