"Well, have you made your decision?"
Beast stared out the window, his eyes following the descending droplets of rain, his paws clasped tightly behind his back. "No. Not yet."
Chesterton rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air. "You're impossible. I can't believe you."
"Well, what am I supposed to say?! I don't want to turn her down completely. That would be awfully rude."
Chesterton pressed his palms into his forehead to keep it from exploding with frustration. "You're supposed to say 'No'! Don't you remember our little conversation we had earlier? About how we would never let women into our lives?"
"I'm not letting her into my life, Chesterton. All she asked for was a longer stay in the castle." A tiny smirk fell across his lips. "I thought she would have been scared away by your antics last night. But it seems your… charms only made her want to stay."
"Ugh…" he groaned. "I still have a blistering headache from last night."
"I still can hardly believe you did that," Beast said, stifling a laugh. "Even if it's not totally out of character for you."
Chesterton pursed his lips together. "Well, I still can hardly believe that she asked to stay for a longer period of time! What's next? Will she be bringing her wardrobe to the castle? Moving in with us?"
Beast lifted his brow and crossed his arms, turning away from the window and pacing toward Chesterton. "And would that be such a devastating turn of events?"
The man squinted. "You've been having more audiences with Mrs. Kensington as of late, haven't you?"
"Who has been having more audiences with me as of late?" suddenly the high-strung voice of the older woman called out from across the room.
Chesterton looked back and forth between her and Beast. "You knew she was coming? And you didn't say a word?!" he whispered.
Beast shook his head and laughed, his mane flowing from one side to the other like a lion's. "Do come in, Mrs. Kensington. What's the matter?" he asked, taking a seat at his desk.
The woman walked in, shutting the tall doors behind her. "It's Miss Bourne, Your Lordship."
"Changed her mind about staying, I presume?" Beast pulled a business paper out of his desk and put on his reading glasses.
Chesterton's eyes darted back to Mrs. Kensington.
"No," she replied.
Beast lifted a brow, looking up at the woman. "Says she wishes not to dine with Chesterton anymore?"
"Ashworth!"
"It's a possibility, my good man."
"Ahem," Mrs. Kensington cleared her throat.
Beast and Chesterton settled down.
She lifted her head and stuck her nose up in the air. "Miss Bourne wishes to have a private audience with you, Your Lordship."
Beast rose out of his desk chair. "What the devil for?"
Mrs. Kensington shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure, but I heard she wants to know more about your many accomplishments."
"'Accomplishments'." He scoffed. "What a load of overheated puffery from my mother." His eyes faltered and fell to the floor as he spoke the last word.
"Miss Bourne does not seem to think so. I showed her one of your paintings, and she wanted to see more." A mischievous gleam arose in her otherwise calm and collected eyes.
"You did, didn't you?" he said with a sour tone. Beast paced around the room, his ears pressed down against his head. He snarled and sneered but then the fury lifted, his face morphing into a puzzled and pondering look. He gripped his chin, tipping his head downward, thinking.
"You know, this might not be so bad, Ashworth," Chesterton commented, his tenor voice breaking the silence.
"And why is that?" Beast replied in his dark bass.
"Well, once she sees all of your paintings…" he smiled smugly, "they might be just the things to scare her away."
"Die." Beast rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.
"So, what will it be, Your Lordship? Shall I tell Miss Bourne you're coming to the atelier or no?" the older woman asked.
Beast's ears pricked and then fell slowly; he rubbed the back of his neck, glancing between Chesterton and Mrs. Kensington.
◜❦︎◞
Upon entering the atelier, Rose felt as though she were in a forest. But not the bright, yellow, birdsong part of the forest, like her room. It was the dark, deep part of the forest, with evergreens so thick that the whole ground was in a black shadow. With branches that twisted all along the ground floor, making it impossible to trudge through. And mossy and covered in thickets.
The dark green wallpaper had small engravings in it, with swirling designs. But there were white columns leading up to the ceiling that broke through the green wallpaper. They went all around the room. Rose's eyes shifted to the curtains at the far side of the atelier, where large, dark green—almost black—curtains covered what she presumed were French doors and windows leading to a balcony.
And then, there was the art—unfinished pieces just left sitting there on easels, in addition to finished pieces hanging up in frames on the walls.
But there was something off about them. It was so stuffy in the room and dark that she could hardly see. But through the layers of dust on each painting, and even without any sunlight, she knew that the paintings were nothing like she had ever seen before. A skull peeped out at her from one of them at the end of the room. And in another one, two bright yellow eyes watched her; they seemed to follow her as she traversed around the room.
Oh, why did Mrs. Kensington have to leave her here alone…
She had shown the girl one painting before she left: a lovely little Romantic piece. A landscape painting of the grounds around the castle. Full of flourishing details of the forest. She noticed how careful Lord Ashworth's eye and hand were. He had observed and depicted every living detail of the forest: every falling leaf, every skittering squirrel, even the motion of the branches as they swayed in the wind. It was all there, captured in one piece.
Surely, only a man could do this, Rose thought.
But these other pieces… it almost seemed like another artist had done them. The same attention to detail was there, but the mood and tone of the pieces were entirely opposite.
Was the artist of these paintings coming to speak with her any minute now? Or would he even come, a possibility that Mrs. Kensington had forewarned her of? Was he man, or beast? Or something in-between, even? Rose furrowed her brows. She tiptoed over to one of the easels, lifted her slender fingers up to it, and traced the lines on the unfinished work, searching for any signs. Any claw marks, scuffs from a hoof, a tuft of fur, anything that would let her know. But he may not even resemble an animal… she thought. The girl sighed, her fingers falling to her side.
But he had been so kind the night before. A most generous host, and one she felt surprisingly comfortable with. His dark, rich voice had growling undertones every now and then. A kind of voice she had never heard before. Almost as if from a wild animal.
How was it that he was a gentleman and a wild animal at the same time?
She looked at the painting once more. The painting was man and beast at the same time. It had perfectly-sketched lines, done by the neatest hand, and yet, it was the portrait of a nightmarish figure. A tall, slender man clad in black who had cloven feet and a deer skull for a face, with endlessly-black holes for eyes. His antlers pierced the leaves of the trees above him, drawing blood from the branches.
Was this a self-portrait? Rose shuddered at the thought. Surely, such a horrific figure was not her host, the lord of this castle, her almost-fiancé.
She knew he was something, though. Or else he would not wear the cloak. A part of her still wished and hoped that he was merely deformed. But Mrs. Kensington assured her time and again this was not so.
Perhaps he would reveal to her his true form today…
A gnawing feeling arose in Rose's stomach, hungry and yearning for the truth beneath the black cloak. Should she ask him? Or would he voluntarily reveal himself? Or, if he did not reveal himself, should she ask anyway?
Rose's cheeks blushed and a flush flew across her chest as the image of a Devilishly-handsome man flashed in her mind's eye: Lord Ashworth lifting his black cloak, only to reveal the face of a god. Her eyes widened and her lips lilted at the corners. Such a sight would make anyone else faint, but she could handle it. She had read enough books where such a thing happened; she had imagined such a sight in her mind for so long that she knew she could withstand it.
Rose wrapped her arms around herself, swiveling back and forth, her skirts swishing along the black-and-silver marble floors. And then, since she was the only woman to ever withstand such a sight without fainting and without tattletaling to nearby villages, to take the god seriously, why… why, he would—
"Oh, dear…" The girl pressed her fingers to her forehead, shutting her eyes. "I can't let myself get carried away," she whispered, serious at first, remembering the words of her mother—but then she giggled at her girlishness, her foolishness.
Her eyes then darted back to the painting, and her smile faded. Was this the work of a god?
Suddenly, there was the sound of a creaking door. Rose jolted and turned to face it as light filtered into the room. The silhouette of Mrs. Kensington's frame stood in the doorway.
"Hello again, Miss Bourne," she greeted. "His Lordship is on his way."
Rose's heart fluttered and then sank immediately with fear.
"I've other business to tend to," the older woman said, cuffing her hands together and glancing down at them before looking Rose in the eye, "so Miss Carter will be chaperoning for this evening. She will likely be chaperoning you from now on, seeing as you need a lady's maid since you will be staying longer in the castle."
A lady's maid. Rose had never had one before. She had often dreamt of becoming some lovely rich man's wife, elevating her status, but she did not think of all the things that would come with it. A lady's maid…
"O-of course," Rose said.
Following Mrs. Kensington, in came Lucy. Rose smiled. "Oh, Miss Carter, how glad I am to see you."
"You jus' saw me this mornin'. It weren't all that long ago." Lucy laughed.
"I hear that you will be my lady's maid from now on."
"Yes!" Lucy exclaimed. "I'll be tendin' to you for as long as you stay 'ere, Miss Bourne." She curtsied consequently.
"And just how long do you plan on staying?" Mrs. Kensington asked, squinting her eyes and lifting her chin.
Rose faltered. "I-I'm not so sure, Mrs. Kensington. His Lordship and I haven't really discussed that yet. He hasn't even made up his mind yet."
Lucy put her hands on her hips. "Well, he needs to hurry up. I need to know 'ow much time I'll be spendin' with me mistress so I don't get sad when ya leave." She grinned playfully.
"Oh, come now, Miss Carter," Mrs. Kensington spoke up. "You know that if Miss Bourne wishes it so, you may remain with her as her lady's maid whenever and wheresoever she pleases."
Rose furrowed her brows, looking between the two women. "Is this true? You can come home with me?"
Miss Carter's smile faded a little. "Yes, dear, I can! Isn't it wonderful? I'll be your lady's maid for as long as you wish."
"His Lordship wouldn't be upset with you for leaving?" Rose asked.
"No, no, no. 'E probably don't even know I exist." She cackled.
"I'm sure that's not the case. Anyhow, he'll know you after this evening."
"I 'spose you're right." She stuck her hands in her dress pockets. "Besides, I was only 'ired to be the lady's maid for the future baroness, so I won't even be needed 'ere anymore."
Rose's eyes fell to the floor. She wrapped her arms around herself. "Quite right."
Mrs. Kensington backed up, turning around to face the doorway. "I'll be taking my leave then," she said. "Good evening, Miss Bourne, Miss Carter." Her footsteps echoed down the hallway until they dissipated into nothing.
Lucy broke the silence: "Oi! It's quite stuffy in 'ere, innit?" She marched over to the dark green curtains and pulled them open, whirlwinds of dust swirling up into the air. The sunset filtered in, painting the room orange and red and gold. "This room could really use a dustin'. Especially since people are gonna be in 'ere again."
"Again?" Rose questioned.
"Yes, Miss Bourne. No one's been in this room to my knowledge for a good long while. 'Is Lordship stopped paintin' a couple o' years ago."
A somber look fell across Rose's face, her eyebrows knitting together as she lifted them in an inquisitive, yet plaintive, manner. "I wonder why…"
"Ask 'im. I'm really not sure," Lucy said, swiping her apron across a table and two lounge chairs in the corner of the room.
Rose's face drew up, gaunt. "Will we be sittin' there?"
Lucy glanced up at her mistress, a strange look on her face. "You and 'is Lordship will be." She laughed. "Why else would I be dustin' 'em off?"
"So close together?" Rose took a step back.
"Well," Lucy stopped, in thought, "I can separate 'em a lil' if'n you so desire."
"That would be very kind of you."
"As you wish, Miss Bourne." The stout woman moved the two lounge chairs farther apart from one another until they were at a comfortable-enough distance for Rose.
"Are ya plannin' on askin' 'is Lordship 'ow long you'll be stayin'?"
"I suppose…" she winced, "I suppose I shall have to. We need not waste any more time before deciding what to do with our peculiar situation."
"Peculiar, indeed!" Lucy hollered, standing up straight after bending over and stretching out her back. "I've never experienced anythin' quite like this lil' predicament you've got goin' on with 'is Lordship."
Rose giggled. "I'm sure you haven't." She looked out the French doors and long, tall windows, drawn to the balcony. "It's not often one finds herself engaged to a man, only to find out he's a… individual who does not wish to be married."
Lucy let out a long and large belly laugh. Rose liked the sound of it, as it reminded her of Ferguson. "If that's 'ow you wish to put it."
The girl indulged in their quiet comradery for a few moments longer, before a few knocks sounded upon the door. Insistent, yet gentle and firm knocks.
Rose's throat caught; she looked over at Lucy for guidance.
"It'll be fine, dear. You'll see," the woman whispered reassuringly, holding out her hands. She then walked over to the door and opened it presently.
Rose pretended to be admiring one of the ghastly paintings.
"Your Lordship. Welcome." The rustling sound of the bustles of Lucy's skirts as she curtsied.
"Thank you kindly, Miss…?"
"Carter, sir. Miss Bourne's lady's maid."
"Ah, yes, of course."
Rose knew she needed to turn around but—
"Miss Bourne." It was the first time she'd ever heard his footsteps—long strides, pounding against the marble floors, the loudest steps she'd ever heard. And yet, he walked so gracefully. Like a large, muscular ballet dancer leaping across the stage floor. "Admiring my work, are we? It's been quite some time since anyone has bravely stepped foot in here."
Rose took her eyes off the work, facing His Lordship. "I can tell," she giggled. "How do you do, Your Lordship?" She curtsied, lowering herself, but when she tilted her head up, she noticed he was right there before her: His tall, menacing black form, wrapped in a slightly-different cloak than yesterday. There was a hint of purple on the cape. He was impossibly tall. Rose tilted her chin up when looking at him. She felt her heart catch in her throat.
"Perfectly well, now that I'm in the presence of a lady." He bowed, gently bending down before her.
Rose blushed. "Oh, dear." She kept her composure though. "Do you always say such things to ladies?"
"Now that I think about it, no. I've never really been in the presence of a lady long enough to woo her with my words," he said with some amount of fervor.
The color then left Rose's face. Did he really mean to woo her? Surely not. This was all just playful banter anyhow.
He cleared his throat. "So, what do you think of my pieces?" He gestured toward the many easels and paintings on the walls, his drape lifting up slightly and black, bejeweled gloves coming out. Rose looked closely at the tips of his fingers, trying to see if there were claws or nails through the gloves, but they were too thick to tell.
"Oh, erm…" she stumbled, turning around. "Well, I really loved the one Mrs. Kensington showed me. The one with the…" she faced him, "landscape—of the castle?"
"I remember that one!" he exclaimed. "One of my first. It's displayed in the drawing-room, isn't it?"
"Yes, Your Lordship. Mrs. Kensington pointed it out to me, saying that it was one of your pieces. I had absolutely no idea you were an artist!"
"'Artist' is a bit of an overreach," he said smugly.
"I don't think so. You've a great hand and attention to detail." Rose smiled, then looked around at the other paintings. She winced. "If I may, what… style are these paintings in here exactly?"
"Gothic. Although I'd like to believe I developed my own style after a while."
"They are unique indeed. I've never seen anything quite like them in my life."
"Is that a good or bad thing?"
Rose giggled, cutting her eyes back and forth between him and the paintings until finally settling on him. "Well, I wouldn't want to get on the baron's bad side, now would I?"
Lord Ashworth let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Ah. I'm used to having such criticism. But," he sighed, "I continued my paintings anyway."
"They meant that much to you?" Rose asked, intrigued.
"I suppose so. I had so much I wanted to say, and even if no one else listened, I told the stories in the paintings myself."
Rose drew her brows together. "Why did you stop?"
Lord Ashworth turned to face Rose, his drapes rustling. "I suppose I ran out of stories to tell," he said rather plaintively.
"Oh." The girl bit her lip. "Do you think you'd ever start back up again?"
He became silent until suddenly motioning to the lounge chairs. "Why don't we sit down?"
Rose peered behind her. Lucy stood at the wall, waiting to attend to them. The girl gulped. "Oh, yes, of course, Your Lordship." She took a seat at the smaller, rounded lounge chair. Although hers at home was lighter in color, it reminded Rose of her reading chair back home in some ways. Which was the dustiest, however, she could not say.
Lord Ashworth took a seat in the larger, darker-colored—almost black—chair. It looked as though it had been specially made for his inhumanly large frame.
"You know, you do not have to call me that."
Rose almost gasped. Her skin froze. "Call you what, Your Lordship?" she whispered.
"'Your Lordship'!" he cackled. "The title does not bother me, but I thought perhaps you might like to refer to me as 'Lord Ashworth' instead."
"Oh… Oh, yes, of course. What would you prefer?"
He leaned forward, the black drape coming closer to her. "What would you prefer?"
Her eyes fell. She glanced behind her chair at Lucy, who had a blank stare. Rose turned back around. "N-no one has ever asked me what I would like to call them." She nervously giggled, pushing a curly lock of fiery-red hair behind her ears. "Oh, dear, I don't know. Lord Ashworth is more palatable, I suppose. I like the way it tastes better."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she bunched the folds of her dress up in her fists and her shoulders lifted.
Lord Ashworth's cloak rustled and seemed to grow in size. He sat up. "The way it… tastes?"
Rose grimaced and shut her eyes. "I apologize, Lord Ashworth."
"You said it."
The girl sat up. "I did, didn't I?"
"So, what is this 'taste' you speak of?"
"Oh, Lord Ashworth, don't listen to me. Forget I ever said such a thing. I do hope you will."
"I'm not sure I can. I'm intrigued now."
Rose bit her lip again, sucking her cheeks in. "I'm not even sure I can explain it. I've never been able to explain it to anyone, and if I tried, they wouldn't listen—or they wouldn't believe me."
He cocked his head. "Why is that?"
"Oh, no one ever listens to me." She smiled, turning her head to the side. "Only Pa, really, but he didn't believe me when I told him."
Lord Ashworth remained silent and still. He kicked up one leg over the other, just staring at her. "So, tell me then. You can… taste names?"
Rose let out a sigh, before nodding.
"Fascinating."
"Is it really so?"
"Yes! I've never heard of such a phenomenon."
"So, you believe me?"
"You sound convincing enough." He knitted his gloved fingers together, pressing his clasped hands under what Rose presumed was his chin.
Her icy blue eyes gleamed.
"Now tell me," he said, in a practical, matter-of-fact tone, "what exactly does my name taste like?"
Rose blushed. "Oh. Well," she clenched her teeth together, "like elderberries." She moved her tongue around in her mouth, trying to taste the word as she fixated on it. "The tartness of elderberries, but a sweet finish. And then," she shut her eyes, "I see… a dark ocean. Dark blue. With a deep green forest behind the rocky shore. It's gray and cloudy." She opened her eyes.
Lord Ashworth undid his legs and sat back in his chair, aghast. "You can see names too?"
Rose held a hand up to her mouth, her eyes twinkling. "At times, all of the senses at once."
"Really?" He sounded ravished, amazed. "That's really quite amazing, Miss Bourne."
"Now, now, that's overreaching," she said, copying his earlier words.
She was sure he was smiling.
A faint, bright red light reached into the room. Rose turned her head, looking out across the balcony. It was the dying red light of sunset.
"Would you care to go out on the balcony? The view is much better from out there."
Rose jerked back to face him, and then her eyes fell to her lap. "Oh, of course. I would be happy to."
As she was about to get up, Lord Ashworth arose and walked over to the side of her chair. Rose lifted her head. He cast a shadow over her. She gulped as he extended his arm. The girl looked, dumbfounded, for but a moment, before taking his arm and standing up.
His arm was… strangely warm, almost hot. She could feel his muscles even through the gloves. Rose blushed again, the blood rising in her cheeks and chest.
Lucy opened the French doors for them, and they both stepped into the whipping winds of the outdoors.
"Is it too cold?" Lord Ashworth asked.
"No, no. The beauty overtakes the cold."
He nodded.
"I just love balconies," she said, letting go of his arm and going to perch on one of the rails. The sun was low and red in the sky, going back behind the mountains. Burgundies, scarlets, and wines streaked across the sky.
"Why is that?" Lord Ashworth questioned.
"I don't know…" She backed away from it for a moment. "Perhaps because it's the greatest view of all the beautiful forest and mountains and land. And I can admire it here without anyone judging me for wanting to go into the woods." She sighed. "My sisters used to make fun of me all the time, and still do, for always wanting to be out in the woods." Rose winced. "I've said too much, haven't I?" She rubbed her thumbs together.
"No, not at all," he said, slowly and calmly, before leaning over toward her. "You like the forest?"
She smiled and nodded.
"I never would have imagined."
"No one ever does. Most ladies like staying inside, don't they? At least that's what my sisters say ladies should like doing."
"I love the forest myself," he said. "Perhaps I can take you out on my nature walk one day."
Her eyes lit up, the reflection of the glowing red orb in them. "Really? You have a nature trail?"
"Oh, yes. It is a bit overgrown, but I'm sure I can get the groundskeepers to clean it up before we use it."
"I should like that very much," she said.
"Perhaps tomorrow, when it's not so late."
"Smashing idea!" she exclaimed.
Her call echoed across the hills. Rose shriveled up within herself and wished she had not been so loud. A silence grew between them. She turned back to watch the sunset, hoping he would not say anything. She leaned over slightly onto the balcony, putting her hands under her chin. At first, she thought Lord Ashworth was watching the sunset too, but she noticed his drape was facing toward her. She shuddered under his gaze.
"Miss Bourne, I must ask you something."
Her eyes fell away from the sunset and landed on the black figure in front of her.
"Of course."
"Before I make up my mind, I must know—just how long were you wanting to stay in the castle?"
Her lips parted and her eyebrows lifted. She leaned up and clasped her hands together over her dress. Lord Ashworth did the same, towering over her. "I-I'm really not sure. I thought perhaps a month or two, or just until you no longer wanted my presence in your castle."
"Such a thing is merely impossible," he replied.
She grinned. "You'll soon grow tired of me."
"Never."
"So, then, would a month or two be alright with you?"
"However long it must be for me to get to know you better, and understand your certain connection between names and senses."
"That might take some time."
"Then some time you shall stay."
Rose beamed at first, but then, thoughts filtered into her mind, weighing her down.
"What's the matter, Miss Bourne?" He leaned in, reaching out a gloved hand, before drawing it quickly back in under his cloak.
"It's just that— What would my Father say? And my sisters? Once they found out I was staying here for longer than a few days?"
"Do you think they would be opposed to it?"
"Oh, Father can hardly get along without me. I'm the one that takes care of everything around the house. Ferguson and Harrison—my brothers—take care of the grounds, of course, but housework is left up to me. And Father will be so sad in my absence."
"Why can't your servants take care of the house?"
"Oh, Lord Ashworth…" she bit her tongue, "we haven't had servants in years."
"Really?" He sounded astonished, in disbelief.
"Yes. We haven't been able to afford them."
He backed away from her, turning around. He paced for a few moments before shouting, "Then you shall have new servants! Why don't I send a few more pounds over for him to hire new staff?"
"Oh, that's really not necessary, Lord Ashworth." Rose walked over to him.
He turned around. "Of course it is! I shall write a note in the morning."
"Well, if you insist," she said. "Thank you."
"And two to three months? At the most?"
"That sounds reasonable."
"I hope you enjoy your stay."
"I'm sure I will."
The sun had already set below the mountains, and the stars hovered above their heads. The land was still caked in a purple hue, but it was practically night. Rose shivered.
"Would you like to go back inside?"
Rose lifted her eyes, but when she looked at the cascading black drapes before her, she thought she saw a strange glimmer beneath them. A greenish-yellow glow emitting from two focal points. She stared straight at them.
Lord Ashworth jolted a tiny bit, taking a step back away from her.
"Lord Ashworth? Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes." He clasped his gloved hands together in front of him.
Somehow, she felt comfortable enough with him to press on. "What are—"
"My eyes."
Her jaw dropped ever so slightly, and she blinked. Her heart stopped. "Your eyes?"
"Yes, Miss Bourne."
"Why do they…?"
"Glow?" He looked out over the balcony. "Much for the same reason a cat's might at night."
A cat. Was he…? "Are you—"
"Did Mrs. Kensington explain nothing to you?" he said, his tone the slightest bit snappy. But he returned to his usual calmness soon enough, straightening out his suit underneath the drapes.
"Well, she did, but…" Rose gripped onto the balcony. She turned to look for Lucy, who stood at the windows watching them with intense, focused eyes. "She said you were a…" the girl faced him once more, and focused on the glowing orbs, "a beast."
"That I am."
Rose's brows furrowed and then fell. Her heart sank into the pits of her stomach and everything grew dark and cold. The image of the god broke away, disappearing into the misty night.
"Are you… displeased with this? The knowledge of my true form?" he asked, with a more caring tone rather than a snippy one.
The girl gripped the balcony, digging her nails into the stone. "Oh, no, no, not at all. Erm…"
The shape of the orbs shifted, and she understood that he had quirked a brow at her.
"But you are a man at heart, correct? What I mean is… you seem like such a kind gentleman."
He undid his brow and his eyes returned to normal. "We have much to learn about each other, Miss Bourne. And I hope to reveal my true form to you one day, if you shall permit me to."
"I–" The girl's eyes crossed momentarily at the thought, and a slight ache tore into her head before she collected herself. "One day. Perhaps."
Her thoughts returned to the antlered figure in the painting. But, judging by what she could tell by his form under the drapes, he did not seem to have antlers that stretched to the sky. So, perhaps he did not look like that.
"I apologize if I seem insensitive, Your Lordship," she said, bowing her head. "It's just that, this is a lot to take in all at once, and I've never met anyone before who has an appearance such as yourself, so… I will need time to adjust."
"I understand. Everyone is ignorant and small-minded at first. They must adjust to what they do not comprehend, and even then, some do not fully accept who I am beneath the drapes."
"Well, I do accept you—"
"How can you accept what you have not seen?"
"I– Well, I—" She fumbled with her words, taken aback.
"You can't." He flipped his cape around himself, whipping the chilly night air.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "Then I will just have to learn."
Rose thought she saw the orbs squinted ever so slightly, as if lilting upward into a smile. Her heart fluttered like butterfly wings at the thought of pleasing him, at the thought of him smiling at her. He had such human expressions in such inhuman eyes.
"Shall we?" He extended his arm out to her again, facing indoors.
Rose smiled, gladly taking his arm. "I would like to know more about your paintings."
"What would you like to know?" He led her inside.
"Besides that one landscape painting, do you have any that aren't in the Gothic style?"
He laughed his dark laugh and his chest rumbled. Rose felt them emitting from him—deep, low vibrations that tingled her skin and caused the hair on her arms to prick up.
"I do." He let go. "I'll show you."
Rose followed him as he circled about the room, and thought about how strange it all was—and yet, how content she was with such a strange set of circumstances. He talked what seemed endlessly, and yet she hung onto every word that came out of his mouth as though they were the final ones he would ever say or she ever hear.