The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

                "It feels . . . strange, somehow," said Pip.

Standing in the dining room and not being scolded by Mr. Colton was not something Pip had ever thought he would have to learn to live with. Granted, he'd always imagined what the manor would be like without Lady Westcott's most attentive and loyal follower to enforce her rules and strict structure, but to look around at every creak of the door, at every muffled scream from the kitchens, every "Well, well, well," and not find Mr. Colton there, scolding lord and servant alike with his nose in the air—it was admittedly not something Pip had ever considered.

Lord Westcott hummed, his attention on the documents laid out on his lap and the table ahead of him. "What?"

Pip blinked. "Did I speak out loud?"

"You did," he said. "What feels strange?"

Pip squirmed. "Only . . . the manor."

He scoffed. "You mean without Andrew?"

"It's not quieter," said Pip as Mrs. Mary's fussing and Charles's complaints and Sebastian's giggling sounded from the halls. "That's not the word I'm looking for."

"D'you know, you're right," he said, looking up as though only now noticing the difference. "I think unburdened might be more suitable."

Pip nodded. "Yes. I keep expecting to hear him shouting through the halls, but the fear is gone."

"So you say," he said, "and yet you didn't seem to want to cheer with the rest of the household after he had left."

Pip shrugged a shoulder, and Oliver, who had yet to leave his mind but had remained below the surface, barely kept at bay, was at the forefront of his thoughts once again.

"It felt wrong to laugh," he mumbled.

Lord Westcott rolled his eyes. "My, Pip, how grand and good you are."

His face turned red. "I didn't mean it like that! I only meant . . . I sort of pitied him near the end. I always wondered whether he would change after the Lady Westcott passed. Er—sorry."

"Stop apologizing," he said distractedly, looking for a particular document. "I hardly knew the woman. My tea, please."

Pip filled the cup, adding the milk and sugar, and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed, and Pip snatched his hand away at once, the contents of the cup nearly spilling.

"Oi!" he hissed. "Watch it!"

"S-Sorry," he stepped back, covering his cheeks with his hands.

He noticed that Lord Westcott was avoiding his eyes, his own cheeks tinted pink.

"And stop staring at me!" he snapped, turning away from him.

"I'm not!" Pip said into his palms.

"If I catch you so much as glancing in my direction during Lord Hewitt's stay—"

"Lord Hewitt is coming today?" he said.

"Don't try to change the subject!"

"My my," a voice at the door said, and the two looked up. Oliver was smirking. "Is the happy couple arguing?"

"Don't be foolish," muttered Lord Westcott into his cup. "You look like shite. Pardon my language," he added to Pip. Then, to Oliver, "But you do."