Ambriella

Week Two. Day Five.

I don't have a single thing to do today. The staff has the night off, and before they went out they all helped me make quick work of tending to the place. The only person on the property is Andy the stable boy, and he's in the stable doing God knows what, so I now find myself in the odd position of having nothing to do. I suppose I could go to the ball, but…I shouldn't and I know it. Yesterday night I broke my own rule and I started talking about the piano. Not a good thing. A bad thing. A very very bad thing.

I don't like this whole arrangement anymore. Specifically, I don't like where it's going. I've come a long way in the past nine years and I'll not have a prince of all people ruining everything for me. I can't exact revenge on Lucia if I'm in love with a prince. I don't like the idea of love. I loved my mother but she still died. My love couldn't save her. It certainly couldn't save my father when he died a year later. And it most definitely couldn't save me from Lucia or else it would have at some point during these past nine years.

I've been hurt enough in the name of love. I can't do this again.

But he's so kind and so considerate and so sweet and so curious and so gentle and so handsome and so…ugh. So perfect. He's the complete opposite of what I've dealt with this past decade. How sweet would it be to just spend forever in that garden under an eternal moon talking to him?

But no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. Absolutely positively not. No way in Hell or Heaven or here in between am I going to get wrapped up in this sort of nonsense. No way. Not now that I'm this close.

Don't be a fool, Ambriella. You're too close. He's kind and considerate and sweet and curious and gentle and handsome and perfect but that's not worth everything you've suffered for.

Or is it? Or is he?

No. No it can't be. He's kind and considerate and sweet and curious and gentle and handsome and perfect but that won't compensate for everything you've gone through. He can't cushion that blow, the damage has already been done. You've come too far—you can't cross that line now.

My thoughts are interrupted by a knock on the door. Probably Andy hoping I'll steal him some of Lucia's funny cigarettes. I open the door. Not Andy.

"Evening, Miss Ambriella," Edward says, smiling at me. I can't help but smile back at him.

"Good evening, Edward. What brings you here at this hour?"

"Well...I thought Madame Allendale won't be home around now—being at the ball and all—and so I thought to bring you this."

And he holds up a basket of strawberries. I smile wider and let him in.

"Now where did you happen upon such fine specimens?" I ask, taking a bite of one. No joke. It's a fucking good strawberry.

"I picked them from the forest, Miss," he says. "The wild ones grow not too far from here. I saw them and I remembered your cherry tart and I thought...you might like to use them."

"Well, they would make an excellent tart," I say. "Would you like to help me bake it?"

"Could I, Miss?"

"Of course. Roll up your sleeves, now. Have you ever worked in a kitchen before?"

"Once," he says as he stands on a stool to watch me lay out the ingredients for dough. "I used to work in a bakery as a delivery boy."

"Did you like it there?"

"It was warm and it smelled nice," he says. "But the baker was mean. He always used to hit me with rolling pins and things."

"Did he give you that?" I ask, gesturing to the faint burn scar on his forearm.

"Yeah," he says. "Did Lady Allendale give you that?" he asks, gesturing to the side of my face. The area is a violent, unattractive shade of reddish pink. I used powder at the ball to cover it up, but here with no cosmetics to shield it from view I suppose anyone can guess how I got it.

"Unfortunately. Here, wash these out for me while I get this dough ready."

"Are you going to bake honey into the dough?" he asks.

"I suppose we can," I say. "Did the baker do that?"

"No. But my mother did. At least I remember that the tart crust was always sweet to the taste."

"Well, then we'll bake honey into it. I got a few jars from the beekeeper last week, they're in the pantry."

Edward and I bake honey into the tart. While it's baking, we have lemonade with strawberries to cool us off. Because he looks as though he hasn't eaten in a week, I give him the tart once it's cooled. He doesn't linger for very long.

"I've got an appointment first thing tomorrow morning," he says. "I can't be delaying appointments or no one'll hire me."

"Well, don't let me keep you," I say, wrapping up the tart and kissing his cheek before I hurry him out the door.

I eat strawberries until the early hours of morning, when Lucia and the girls stumble into the foyer.

"I'll have some warm water for my feet, Ambriella."

"Yes, Anastasia."

"I'll have some warm milk to help me sleep, Ambriella."

"Yes, Drisella."

"I want that hearth scrubbed again, Ambriella."

"Yes, Mother."

And then their doors are closed and I'm left in silence.

So what am I to do with this little pickle now? I know that this situation unfolding with Rainier is not going anywhere good. I can't afford to be stumbling into a whirlwind romance right now. This will get messy and I can't be cleaning it up under Lucia's watchful eye. This prince will most definitely come back to haunt me. I know better than this. I know better than to get tangled up in this sort of mess. I know better.

But I haven't had a friend in so long, and lately life has seen fit to give me one. Two, technically. Edward is a sweet little boy. And I suppose that Rainier has been good to me. He's been more than good. He's been wonderful. And I suppose that means that I owe it to him to return tomorrow—if only to say goodbye.

So that's it, then. Tomorrow I will go and say my goodbye.