Page 10 of The Dreaming Beauty
Tansy chuckled. How could she explain that she did not need fairies to motivate her to heal any faster?
Daisy might appear the same as other young women, even talk similarly, but she did not always think or act as one might expect from someone her age. Any talk of Rose Cottage reminded her of the fairy lore she had heard as a child, and it had awakened an obsessiveness on the subject. Living there would likely make that a permanent thing, however, and there was no use fighting it.
“I am quite improved already,” Tansy whispered. “Once I convince my prison warden to let me come home, I promise to help.”
“That’s the first I have heard Ashbury Court referred to as a prison and me as its keeper.”
Tansy had thought there was no way Mr. Taylor would hear her as her other two aunts shuffled toward the door, but she’d been mistaken. Her face washed over with heat, and she sank farther under her covers. She tried to clear her throat, but the action proved difficult in its parched state. With no reason to prolong the inevitable, since everyone was suddenly so worried for her health, she said, “Goodbye, Daisy, Iris, Aster.”
“Goodbye, Tansy.” Daisy said it first, followed by the others, and their presence was soon replaced with the housekeeper.
Instead of disappearing with her aunts, however, Mr. Taylor remained by the door. “This is Mrs. Kirk, who has been tending to you.”
“Good to see you awake, miss.” Mrs. Kirk, an older woman with a gray gown and permanent smile lines, gave her an encouraging nod. The keys of her chatelaine clinked together as she came to Tansy and rested a hand on her head. “Better but still a bit warm. I’ve got water and broth. Which one would you care to start with?”
“The water, please.” Tansy glanced up at Mr. Taylor. Would he stay and watch her eat? Why wasn’t he leaving?
Mrs. Kirk helped her sit and put a pillow behind her back. This time the pain in her head was not so fierce, and the water soothed her throat.
“Thank you, Mrs. Kirk.”
Mr. Taylor moved deeper into the room and stood beside Mrs. Kirk, who handed Tansy the broth next. “This might sound like an odd question,” he said, “but do you remember anything about last night?”
Tansy blinked. “Why? What happened?” What other humiliating things had she done?
“I meant while you were asleep. Do you remember... ?” He paused, studying her. “Do you remember anything?”
The only thing she could recall at the moment was the part where she had imagined him to be her husband, and she was absolutely not going to tell him that. Not ever. “I’m sorry. I do not recollect a single thing.” She put the spoon to her lips, grateful she had the distraction of the broth to keep her hands busy.
“Forgive me. Before I became the steward, I was a professor of philosophy. I am most intrigued by your ability to sleepwalk. Would you mind an interview after you have rested? I could come by Rose Cottage.”
She gripped the spoon a little harder. She liked him less now that she knew he was a nosey professor. How far would he pry? Besides, what could she possibly say when she had never sleepwalked a day in her life? He would be sorely disappointed with her answers. “A trade, then. An interview for your silence?”
“My silence?” His eyes—a stormy blue—lit suddenly with understanding, and he laughed softly. “Yes, I can see how that would be very important to you and your family. I assure you I will not breathe a word of your sleepwalking abilities.”
She wanted to add that he must be silent about her trespassing in his house, but with Mrs. Kirk in the room, she could not bring herself to. “Very well. I will agree to your interview.”
Mr. Taylor finally left, and Tansy filled her lungs with air untainted with awkwardness.
“Don’t let his curiosity get to you, miss,” Mrs. Kirk said. “Mr. Taylor is as fine a man as they come.”
She caught Mrs. Kirk’s friendly smile but did not respond. She did not care much about Mr. Taylor or his odd questions. He would never know about her propensity to dream—no one would. She only cared about protecting her reputation and hurrying back to Rose Cottage. This was supposed to be a new beginning, and she wasn’t going to let one midnight walk ruin it for her.
* * *
After another night at Ashbury Court, Tansy awoke with her headache gone and no trace of a fever. She was finally well enough to return home. She was sad to leave such a comfortable bed and, oddly, the scent of the room and pillows, but her eagerness to return to Rose Cottage transcended her current luxuries. Not even the finest bed could keep her away from her mother’s home for long. She was once again ready to embrace her past.
Dressed in her things sent over with Betsy, she made to leave the oversize bedchamber behind. She had learned that Mr. Taylor was the steward, not the master of the house, and wondered how a professor had come to such a position, in a place where even the guest rooms were grand. Dismissing the thought, she turned back to Betsy. “I am going to get a head start on our walk. I am terribly anxious to be home.”
“Yes, miss. I will be along as soon as I clean up.”
Not wasting a moment to tie her bonnet strings, Tansy turned to start down the staircase, with the image of Rose Cottage in her mind urging her forward. The view before her quickly captured her attention, pushing Rose Cottage to the back of her mind. The stairs were wider than any she had ever seen, and the ceiling towered above her. The entrance hall was quite ornate with thick white trim, gilded on the edges and lining the vaulted room. Murals of cherubs danced overhead across the ceiling. And was that an orange tree in the corner by the door? If she hadn’t been impatient to leave, she would have begged for a tour. She stepped down a few steps, her eyes catching on an impressive coat of arms weaved into a tapestry above the front door.
She knew little of the symbolism of family crests, but perhaps it was the size of this one that had her so mesmerized. There was a lion salient on the left side, holding up the crest, and a lioness on the right of it. Above it was a crown flanked by roses, and the crest sat on two crisscrossed swords. Inside the crest itself was her favorite part. It showcased a crescent moon on its side, cradling a star. Below the entire image was a banner written in Latin. She knew very little of the archaic language.
She said the words carefully aloud. “Deus est fortitudo mea.”
“God is my strength.”
