keep the fire contained. I know I deserve it, but please do not let me die at the stake.
Brandon
My breakfast is usually confined to my study, as are all my meals. I have no need for the staff to warm up any of the manor’s massive rooms; after all, I’m usually dining alone.
But as we’d discussed before Pippa arrived — if the new nanny were still around in the morning, then I’d be having breakfast with her in the dining room.
I wish I hadn’t been so presumptuous. I have always been an optimistic man, but after so much darkness entered my life, all I’ve been able to clutch to is pessimism. I guess the part of me that would wake with a smile to watch dawn break over the mountains and flood the forest with its glorious colors is still alive. Perhaps just buried beneath the shadows.
This close to the first snowfall, every inch of the manor is cold, except where I’ve instructed Norm to turn up the heat. Some rooms don’t have access to heating, and thus will never be warm without a fire, but most of the living rooms warm within half an hour.
Norm must have stoked the boiler early this morning — the dining room is so warm, I’m tempted to remove my coat and gloves. I hesitate, seeing Pippa has not yet arrived, and then take off only my coat. The dark kid gloves are supple enough not to hinder me during the day. In fact, I can’t remember when last I took them off.
I take the head of the table, and stare sullenly down the length of the pale oak surface. Dunnwood Manor had been decorated by sober, discerning individuals who obviously lacked creativity in any shape or form. Everything inside this hulking estate is formed of thick, straight lines and dark, muddy tones.
My mother tried to bring vibrancy and color to the place, but everything she introduced would look so out of place on the gloomy background she eventually gave up.
My eyes dart up. Pippa walks into the dining, sees me, and freezes like a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. A serving girl comes in behind her, breaking the spell, and she hurries to take her seat opposite me. There are more than two yards between us, but in a few moments, the space is filled with enough food to feed an army.
At least I know it won’t go to waste — Dunnwood Manor employs several staff members, even through the winter, and whatever leaves this table is always divided between them. I don’t often see anyone beside Mrs. Potter and her son, Norm, but I’m sure if I did, most of them would be bursting from their clothes.
The serving girl pours me my coffee, and then heads over to Pippa’s side of the table.
“No,” I bark out, swiping my hand to the side. The serving girl flinches, as does Pippa, and both turn wide eyes to me. “Everything you eat, my child eats.” I turn my gaze to the serving girl. “Bring her tea. Weak, no sugar, no cream.”
Pippa shifts in her chair and sends a brief scowl my way, but it disappears so quickly I might have imagined it. A second serving girl moves up to the table, glancing over at me for instruction.
“You may have whatever you want,” I tell Pippa, giving her a grim smile over my coffee cup as I inhale the decadent steam. “But no pork or eggs.”
Her mouth opens, but she decides not to say anything. She points at the dish of beef sausages, and then at the thick slices of toast nearby. “May I have butter?” she asks stiffly, lifting her chin at me.
I concede with a dip of my head, ignoring the tone in her voice. “But no preserves.”
“Are you afraid I will gain too much weight to feed your child?”
My fist slams into the heavy oak table with such force that I manage to rattle a few of the dishes. Pippa jumps, a hand fluttering to her heart before it curls into a fist that she shoves into her lap. Her scowl is back, and this time it appears to be permanent.
The serving girls, wisely, flee the room.
I stand, shoving back my chair with the back of my knees, and grab my plate. As I come closer to Pippa, I fill it with food. Her gaze remains fixed on my face, her cheeks growing more pale the nearer I draw.
“What you did last