The fairies have never a penny to spend,
They haven’t a thing put by,
But theirs is the dower of bird and flower
And theirs are the earth and the sky.
And though you should live in a palace of gold
Or sleep in a dried-up ditch,
You could never be poor as the fairies are,
And never as rich.

Since ever and ever the world began
They have danced like a ribbon of flame,
They have sung their song through the centuries long
And yet it is never the same.
And though you be foolish or though you be wise,
With hair of silver or gold,
You could never be young as the fairies are,
And never as old.

-By Rose Flyeman

Her world was not as complete as she had once thought. She had always known it was small, much like how every star existed in its own place in an endless sky. There was no need to travel beyond the trees and into the wide, loamy hills, nor to follow a stream as it seeped down to an eventual lake. Those places beyond her woods were undoubtedly beautiful in their own way, but they did not need her. No, the great elms of her forest were the ones that called to her. Guardians, they were, and mothers, who not only provided shelter for the creatures of the forest but watched over their spirits when they passed.

Time did not exist—such was a construct of man, not the fae, whose world was much different. The fae saw the hidden things of the earth, fellow sprites and the stories written on fallen leaves. There was no death, no end of things as humans said. No, the world was just full of transformations; youth became wizened age and age left the mortal body behind, only to start a new journey in a new place. Her forest, too, could not avoid transformation forever.

The humans had been intrusive at first, loud and frightening with their axes and hooved creatures. Her beautiful trees were hewn down and bent into strange shapes, the hills and valleys upturned and carved with deep, furrowed lines that went on and on. She had worried they would ruin her whole forest but was utterly perplexed as to how she’d go about stopping them. Like lumbering bears, they were too strong to confront directly. She’d have to find a weakness and use that instead.

So she watched them. Choosing the form of a non-threatening and easily overlooked creature, she hid beneath ferns and behind the odd structures they’d plastered into the ground and listened. They had strange, thick voices that almost resembled the melodies of birds. Their society was more relatable to the fae she knew, acting as neighbors to help one another and to squabble when something went wrong. They had celebrations, too, and dances held around a great elm at the center of the village. Slowly, she began to understand them.

Some of their habits even touched her. From the felled wood of her elms, they chose to embrace their dead and to bury them with that ancient bark into the ground. They gathered up the elm leaves to feed their livestock and carved the fallen branches into sleek and beautiful bows. At night, the darkness was made light by candles within houses and lanterns without. Stories and songs she had never heard before echoed through the wood day and night, told through the lips of mothers, lovers, hunters, and children. Even the broken meadows they had carved into her forest sprung back as they never had before, sprouting endless groves of bluebells. Those delicate blossoms matched the vibrant cheer of the children who went to play among them, weaving crowns and bracelets to wear like fine jewelry.

Her heart grew with a sensation she had not known before, and that was when she realized that her life had been a lonely one. These mothers and fathers and children lived happily together, and she was now connected with them, though they knew it not. Like the elm, she would watch over and shelter them, but she could never wander too close. As the saying went, “The elm hateth man and waiteth,” for its heavy branches were prone to fall without warning. Who knew what these people would do, frightened of magic and the fey as they were, if she crashed into their lives like a great branch from above?

She was not, however, entirely unnoticed. When crops grew sick and she healed them with her touch, the farmers would spot a black hare bounding through their fields. When fever and illness took the village at the turn of the season and miraculously faded the night afterward, her footprints could be found in the dust littering their floorboards. Tongues wagged and wives gossiped, but the local preacher quieted them. He called these things miracles of God, not the workings of pagan legends, and though the adults assented, all eyes were keen to find the creature. She didn’t mind such words, for what did it matter whether gods meddled directly with the world or through the actions of their creations? It was her forest, and she would protect it as she had been created to.

Seasons waxed and waned, and she saw that humans, too, followed the cycle of death and rebirth. She felt a balance returning to her forest and was satisfied, but as all things with nature, it was not to be so forever. The village began to talk of strange things called “factories,” sending sons and daughters away into the unfamiliar places of the world to find new lives and wealth there. The Arringtons, a great family said to own all the land around her forest (she would never concede to the idea of a man owning her forest itself because it was hers and how could one unable to read the stories of leaves even try?) had decided to build a great estate near the village.

She did not think yet another human coming to live with the village would change much at all, but how wrong she was! These newcomers were the same species, certainly, but turned out to be so different. It was not a cottage surrounded with livestock and farmland that they built, but a great mansion. The thing was built from brick after brick of grey stone until it was three whole stories tall and towered above even the highest elm of the woods. Multiple chimneys stuck up from its L-shaped roof and large, rectangular windows invaded the stone to reflect the sky. A thick green hedge surrounded the whole property and its gardens—a wall between itself and the forest behind the house.

Stranger yet were the grandiose strangers who came to inhabit the place. The men wore somber suits, mostly black, with fancy cufflinks and ties. Their women were even stranger—absurdly so—with their hips thrown back and busts puffed out forward, strutting like pigeons with colorful ribbons, bows, and ruffles trailing out behind them. For the most part, these strangers seemed to keep to themselves, though they kept many visitors. The men were more prone to leave the estate for business and pleasure, sometimes discussing matters with the villagers and at others simply riding about the woods and nearby lakes on their horses. And yes, even their horses were different! Graceful, delicate creatures they were, with shiny manes and unmarred coats.

She didn’t dare go near them as she had the villagers. The hedge stood between her and them like a wall of stone, all sorts of dangerous and beautiful wonders hidden away from view. Curiosity, however, had the strangest way of shrinking fear, and soon enough, she found herself sneaking into the garden to see what she was missing. The garden turned out to be more modest than the house itself, with small, rectangular patches of shrubs and flowers set like islands against the grass. When the house had guests, they were prone to wandering the tamed wilderness and even to sit down for tea, but only one creature seemed attached to the area. She was a young woman with a shock of red hair well concealed beneath a large feathered hat. Unlike the other ladies, who merely commented on the flowers being lovely, she was prone to stop and stoop to catch the scent of a blossom.

When the weather was fair, it wasn’t uncommon to catch the young lady out with pen and notebook in hand. She liked to sketch things—especially the birds and flowers, and would frequently bring the gardener along to ask questions. Eventually, however, the garden could not contain her interest, and her walks took her outside it and into the paths of the forest.

She remembered the day well—that day when the young lady first laid eyes on her. The lady’s clothes hadn’t been as fancy nor the shape of her corset quite as demanding, no, it was a simple brown skirt with a frilled white blouse. The sleeves were loose and puffy like clouds, a stark contrast to the weight her face carried. There had been a child with her, a little boy whose hand was clasped tightly in hers. The woman had to hold him tightly, she’d realized, because he would have bounded off otherwise. While she had walked, he had skipped and bounded, pointing excitedly to butterflies and other insects.

“Auntie! Look, look!” The boy leaned out so far he would have fallen had the woman not been grasping his hand. He was trying to grab one of the bluebells resting away from the path, his chubby little fingers straining.

The woman chuckled in return, crouching down and gently taking his cheek in her hand. “William, darling, I know you want to play. I can’t let you run off too far, though. You can play here, but don’t leave my sight, understand?”

“Yes, yes!” The boy replied too quickly, bounding off as soon as he was let go. His clumsy little feet made him trip several times on the uneven forest floor, but to her amusement, he never cried. He simply shot right back up again, touching the branches and flowers as if it were the first time he’d ever seen such things before.

His companion was much less excited, but no less happy as she settled herself on a fallen tree at the edge of the grove her nephew had found. It was a place where the magic resting throughout the woods was more visible, the bowed branches of leaves gleaming like dark emeralds as the dew resting on them caught the light. Long, vibrant blades of grass peeked through the many bluebells gathered about the clearing. The delicate blossoms looked like they could be the skirts of fairies, their blue-purple edges flared up like a baby’s curls. As their name implied, they seemed like bells on the stalk of the plant, which bowed over several or more blossoms hanging down from it.

The hare was more interested in the wild dewberries growing at the edge of the clearing. The small, tender berries popped with delicious sweetness in her mouth, and she was so busy enjoying the treat she didn’t hear the boy’s romping grow unusually quiet. Not until it was too late.

He seemed small, but his hands were strong and stubborn as they grabbed a hold of her fur. While she struggled wildly, he crushed her to his chest and called out for his aunt. It surely looked amusing—the hare’s big feet swinging and thumping against the air, an ancient, magical creature trapped in the arms of a child. Never had she been so much as touched by a human, the sensation as bizarre as having been caught in the first place.

“Auntie! Auntie! A rabbit!”

The woman looked up from her notebook then stared, gawking at the sight. Imagine, a child not six years old catching a wild hare! No one would believe it. She set down her things and jogged toward the boy. “William! Let it go, child, unless you want some nasty scratches!”

The boy merely pouted, holding his quarry tighter as it wriggled against his chest and tried to get under one arm and escape. “Why is it scared?”

“Most animals of the forest are afraid of humans, run at the sight of us. Except the big ones—and those you watch out for because they just might eat you. Come on now, you’ll crush it dead like that.”

The boy dropped her at once, eyes wide. Her paws slid against his shirt as she fell, collapsing to the ground in a furry heap. Dazed as she was, she still heard him cry out—such a strange sound, delicate and pitchy and mortified at the same time.

Her long ears twitched, but rather than bolt toward the safety of the trees as she’d planned, she found herself hesitating. The boy was crouched over her, but all she saw of him was his muddy brown shoes and dark trousers. He poked her, sucking in a quick breath when she flinched. Above them, she heard his aunt tutting.

“He’s black as night, isn’t he? Pretty thing, but a terrible pest.”

The boy’s returning voice was a whine. “Is he alright?”

“Well, let’s have a look.” His aunt reached for the hare before she blurred into motion. There was only the rustle of grass as she shifted and hopped, suddenly behind the boy. To the hare’s embarrassment, both boy and aunt chuckled.

“Seems right as rain. I’ve never seen a wild creature act like this before. Try not to provoke it into biting.” His aunt remained stooped over them both, a smile in her voice despite the stern tone.

The boy tipped over on his side, stretching out in the grass as he watched the hare. She was hesitant at first, merely watching back. Then, in a brave move, she hopped forward, sniffing at his boots. They smelled strange, loamy but with the musk of leather. He had on a loose white shirt that drooped around his arms, almost as white as the clouds themselves. She wanted to touch it and she did, the silky smooth fabric rubbing pleasantly against her face. It had a strange smell, something she decided was uniquely human, like freshly washed cotton.

But that wasn’t nearly soft as the boy’s fingers. She almost panicked again when he touched her, but this time he knew to be gentle. The pad of his finger found her pink nose, and he giggled as she sneezed. His touch wasn’t quite so unpleasant as he traced the base of her ears, flicking the flappy things up with his fingers.

“Seems like the small creatures aren’t quite so shy as I thought.” His aunt’s shadow left them as she returned to her trunk of a seat and picked up her sketching tools. ”The both of you keep still now.”

As if! With a milder side to the boy discovered, the hare seemed content to explore him in the same way he’d explored her forest. She hopped right up to his face and pawed at his nose, delighted when he laughed and covered it up with his hand. His eyes were so big and bright up close and she realized it was the first time she’d looked a human in the eye. They’d always been such intimidating creatures, but this? This was soft and innocent, not even like the other boys that liked to throw pebbles at stray cats.

But again, the moment couldn’t last forever. The humans had to return to their great mansion and she was too frightened to follow. They would come back again—the boy and his aunt, but they would not see her again. Something deep inside her had been touched and she was afraid of the sensation, the longing and the urges that came with it, always wanting to come closer, to learn more. No, she learned instead to be content watching and listening. Eventually, the boy went to a different home, some place far away and across the sea.

The aunt had a different fate. Though she stayed through many seasons, her time came earlier than most. A dreadful fever overtook her in the night and the whole of the great house fell into a deep sorrow. Like those who came before her, the village built a cocoon of elm wood around her still youthful form and buried her with their ancestors. Weeks later, the smoke from the house’s chimneys went out and the lord of the house left his estate for another.

He never returned.

And all became as it once was. No more carriages bearing fancy pigeons, no more lights towering over the forest like a flickering sun. The house merely stood as an empty shell, and though the property had been trusted into the care of one of the farmers, he was but one man and could not do the upkeep of dozens of servants. The hedge grew wild and ivy intruded upon the walls of the house. Spiders and butterflies found their way into the high rafters of the attics and hibernated there for winter. The lady’s beloved garden became choked with weeds and baked until the flowers died.

It was like having a giant ghost lurking around the village, and she avoided it more than ever. She felt a bitterness she had never experienced before when she thought of the lady of the house that was no more. Something had gone from her heart and it hurt when she gazed up at the hollow mansion, of the things she would never see again. The seasons kept flowing, and so did the lives of the villagers, raising crops and selling their livestock as they ever had.

The Arrington estate had once been a landmark of great beauty, a symbol of wealth, prosperity, and comfort. The nearby village of Fairhollow had flourished under its shadow, Lord Edward Arrington's knack for making good business deals and unerring ability to generate a healthy profit with said deals giving the Township it's own slice of wealth. Those who lived in the Village spoke kindly of the Lord of the estate, proclaiming honestly of his generosity and kindness. But complements and flattery had not been the initial reactions from those in the village however. For Edward Arrington was a native of England. And what right did a Britishman have building his estate in the north of there beautiful Ireland?

Lord Arrington had, Eventually, made his way into the heart of the people. Part of that success had been due to his beautiful wife, Margaret Connolly, an Irish noblewoman of high standard and sweet temperament. Together, they had been able to better the land they had owned and by extension those who lived there. So when the day came that Lady Arrington fell deathly ill, Fever raging and unable to stomach even a mouthful, it was not only the servants of the household that mourned and prayed. More than one heart hoped for the blessing of the Black Hare to come and take away the sickness. But the Lady of the estate did not get better...

And now the house stood abandoned, a constant reminder to those who looked upon it of the loss and sorrow they had faced. With the Lady of the estate's death, Lord Arrington had been driven away by the Constant reminders of her laughter and smile that had been taken from his life, returning to his home in England and leaving behind the empty shell of a home to fall into A new task of collecting dust and being overgrown by the return of the wild. The village had gradually suffered it's own losses with his departure as well, Returning to former states of productivity and wealth. No one had thought their lives could return to what they had once known... But return they had and memories of what things had been like under the care of Edward Arrington had gradually begun to fade.

Then came the day when the servants arrived. Three carriages full of men and women pulled by sleek horses had arrived in town, bringing a fresh wave of news and curiosity. They had been hired by one William Arrington, The new Lord and owner of the Arrington estate itself, to prepare the manor house for his arrival. Word spread like wild fire from mouth to mouth and home to home, excitement and anticipation rising. Stories began of how William was A nephew of the late Edward Arrington, Eldest child to the former Lord's estranged brother and wife, rumors that the young Master had been in touch with his uncle for several years. And not only was William receiving an inheritance of his uncle's wealth and property, he had also made his own healthy sum by way of good investments. Best of all, Lord William Arrington was an eligible bachelor.

The Group of servants had gone on to The estate itself soon enough and preparations had begun quickly. Dust covers had been removed from the furniture, the floors polished, the windows washed, fires had been kindled, the pantries stocked, and the outside of the house had been cleaned of vines and the gardens tended to. Fresh flowers bloomed in abundance in neat little patches, giving a pleasant perfume to the air. Several new bushes and trees had been ordered to be put in place, accompanied by wrought iron benches of beautiful craftsmanship. The hedge, at last, had been groomed as well, even and Square once more. Once again, the Arrington manor had been restored to its former glory, some even whispering that it looked better than it ever had before. And with the preparations complete, the Lord of the estate was surely not long in coming.

Down at the port, a few hours away by carriage from the village and the estate, a boat was coming in to shore, A crowd of people gathering to watch. Excitement rippled through the crowd like a tangible essence, The occasional turning of heads to look towards a waiting Black and silver carriage nearby, a team of white horses at the head. Servants waited at attention to either side, also focused on the approaching vessel, but remained less outwardly excited.

Out on the ship itself, standing atop the deck of the passenger boat, Hands clasped behind his back, legs spread, and chin held high, William Arrington cut a rather striking figure as he looked out over the port town where the vessel was coming to berth. Joyous excitement lit his dark green eyes as a smile threatened to curl up the corners of his mouth. He was dressed in a fine black suit and highly polished shoes, A hint of a crisp white shirt showing beneath the outer jacket. His hair, black as oil, was carefully styled so that the curly locks lay in stylish order, sideburns trimmed and orderly. The rest of his face was left clean-shaven, smooth and unblemished, with angular Sharp features that gave him natural appeal. As the crowd came into view for him, he unconsciously straightened his stance a little more.

'Ah Ireland. How beauty still favors your land. It is good to be back.' William thought fondly as his gaze swept over the landscape.

For it had been quite some time since the young nobleman had been to the country. The first time was when he had been bought a lad and had not returned until his adulthood due to a terrible row his parents had been involved in with his uncle during the visit of his childhood. Even at the inexperienced age of five, His heart had found joy with the Irish Land and her people, especially with his beloved Aunt, Whom he had doted upon quite explicitly. Sorrow with her passing had struck him hard, but not nearly as hard as his uncle. He kept in touch with Edward even after the man had returned to England, even visiting his manor in the south. William had not been expecting the inheritance of his uncle's estate and fortune, most notably the land that he owned in Ireland. But bequeath The Land Edward had, much to the surprise of his near relations.

The opportunity to return to Ireland had called to William's heart and soul thoroughly. Having the opportunity to is scape from his mother, who had been increasingly putting pressure on him to marry a woman of high status with his earning an ample fortune, was just an added bonus. Or a strong driving factor, depending on who you asked. Consequently, his mother had been rather furious with his departure. He wondered how long it would take her to come and pay him a visit... No doubt bringing along a few single noblewomen that just so happened to be her closest friend's daughters...

Hollers and commands rang out in the salty air as men coaxed The boat into position next to the docks, an anchor splashing into the water as it was released, ropes flying to be caught by those already on shore, Tying them into place on waiting poles. The sail was lowered and lashed into place, a gangplank retrieved to allow passengers and sailors to disembark, and a flood of people made their way on deck, eager to return to dry ground. Bystanders cheered and clapped from where they watched on shore as the ship finally came to rest, passengers beginning the task of disembarking. Very soon, the area was crowded with men, women, children, sailors, luggage, and even a few animals, creating a general orderly chaos on the edge of town.

William managed to carefully extract himself from the throng, disregarding the looks of awe he could see occasionally going through the crowd, Making his way straight towards the waiting carriage. The servants there moved in a well practiced motion as he approached, several bowing at the waist, while others moved forward in search of luggage and belongings, With one man directly stepping forward to meet The young Lord.

He bowed respectfully as he came to a stop a few paces in front of William before straightening up and standing at attention. "My Lord Arrington. I am glad to see that you made the journey safely. I am Thomas Lockwood, at your service, sir." The man said in way of a greeting, politely providing his own name.

William's face lit with recognition at the name, wiping away any trace of hesitation that had begun creeping into his expression. "Ah, yes. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance Mr. Lockwood. I trust that preparations have been going well at the estate?" He questioned, studying the balding man before him. Thomas had been a legal representative of his uncle and the two of them had been in correspondence since the reading of his late uncle's will. Mr. Lockwood had gone on ahead to prepare finances and to hire some of the staff in preparation for William's arrival.

"yes, my Lord. You will find things quite pleasant I do so believe. Most of the staffing positions have been filled, Save for the head butler and maid. A line of interviews have been scheduled for your perusal as well as the employment documents for the current staff." Thomas reported promptly.

"very well. Thank you Mr. Lockwood." William responded, glancing towards the group of men returning with his luggage and loading it onto the carriage. "excellent. I daresay, it shall be nice to have the place ready for me when I arrive. I'm especially looking forward to a bed that stays put when I am trying to sleep."he chuckled, stepping up into the carriage as one of the servants opened the door for him. "May I invite you to fill me in on more of the details as we journey?" The nobleman asked, looking out towards Thomas and gesturing for the man to take the seat across from him.

"yes my lord." Mr. Lockwood responded, stepping up into the carriage as well.

William had one last look over the crowd, several people staring in unabashed wonder, before the door was closed with a soft click. He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment before settling back in his seat just as their came The sound of a whip cracking and the horses started off at a steady trot, taking him towards his new home on the Arrington estate.

“What’s all this?” She strode into one of many clearings in her wood, the hem of her gown ghosting over the grass like spider silk. Being a fae of power, she was tall as a human, her wings a bright azure shadow that fell over the creatures present. It appeared to be a gathering of brownies—house sprites who had a goblin-like appearance with their wrinkled skin, pointed ears, and devastating height that would leave them no taller than a dwarf. Humans would call these creatures shy, yet they were among the most attached to humankind or perhaps more accurately, their houses.

Brus, a wide faced and gentle-looking brownie, jumped up to his feet and removed his brown cap with a bow. “Laila, guardian fair! I am hosting a house party.”

Her expression warmed into a proper smile, and she curtseyed. “Then I am fortunate to have wandered into your merrymaking. The rumors of Lord Arrington returning are true?”

A chorus of assent rumbled through the dozens of brownies present. Brus beamed. “Yes! I—that is, the manor and me—are freed of our lonely charge at last. Sadness piled up like dust and stuck to all the dark and desolate places the humans left behind. Grief has that sort of power, you know. Now that the humans have returned to sweep out the wretched cobwebs, I can return to work. Work… and home.”

Home indeed. What was a brownie without a house to clean and humans to tease? The others gathered would have an even greater sense of empathy, as they had also made their homes among the village’s families. Utterly unseen they were, doing their cleaning and mending at night. The humans in turn had learned to leave out little favors—cream and milk and honey—but always as favors. Brownies considered themselves as part of the same household, so the mere idea of payment was an insult.

But that wasn’t to say they never got up to mischief. One of the village wives had always made a point of keeping her kitchen table spotless and clean. When her daughter started keeping a vase of pink-petaled water avens there, the house’s brownie had been so annoyed by the smell he’d tossed them out and replaced them with weeds every morning. Oh, the scolding the younger children had received! They’d insisted it was the brownie, of course, but no one believed that.

She glanced over to the small pile of housewarming gifts at Brus’s side. His fellow brownies had provided quite the assortment—rags of every texture and color, half-used tins of polish, wooden brushes with woolen bristles, golden bars of soap made from honey and beeswax, and bottles of every sort of homemade cleaning remedy the brownies had concocted themselves. The hope and well wishes there brought her joy and yet a strange sort of melancholy. How long would this new lord last?

Ah well, she’d try to hope like the others.

“I’m afraid I neglected to bring a gift despite inviting myself. Let’s see…” She cupped her hand out in front of her, eyes squinting as she focused. There in the open meadow she could feel the sun soaking into her skin. As the brownies watched in wonder, she caught that warmth and began to concentrate it in her hand. A flash of golden light sparked from her fingers, then a butterfly fluttered up from them. The thing appeared to be made entirely of light, its delicate, petal-shaped wings glowing as they glided to Bru’s shoulder.

“A light so your nights need never be dark or lonely.” She chuckled as Brus blushed and gave a low bow. “This Lord Arrington is fortunate to—”

“He comes, he comes!” Not one, but many small voices tinkled through the surrounding leaves. A moment later, a smattering of fae broke through, all heading for the other side of the clearing. Pixies with wings like gossamer, sprites riding leaves like birds, little elves on squirrels, rock-like trolls rolling across the ground—it was a stampede so light and furious a human, oblivious to the fae world as they were, would have mistaken it all for a sudden breeze.

Even the brownies stumbled to their feet to follow the fray. A strange sensation came over Laila, too, her heart picking up a fast and unsteady beat. Though she never said his name, she knew who this new lord was. How had the boy grown? Was he anything like his aunt? What had happened to him in that strange land beyond the sea?

She wanted to see him, needed to see him. In a flash, she transformed, her body shrinking and twisting in a blur of color that turned to black. With paws and legs like unfettered springs, she leapt from the ground and joined the chase. There was something unnatural about her movements, the lightness of her body that carried her like an arrow and the precision with which she bounded off and above rocks and stumps. She barely made a sound as the grass whistled past her, the speed and the strain making her heart sing.

They came to the edge of the village in less than a minute. One of the pixies caught sight of a handsome black carriage bobbing past the cottages and their speed somehow increased. Like children running toward a mail carrier, they flew and bounded until they finally reached the great manor—and before the carriage, too! The prim and proper hedge was not happy to let them through, but they dug and twisted their way in like dainty cannonballs. From that leafy seat, they poked their heads out and watched with eager eyes. Here he was, an Arrington back at last!

William leaned forward in his seat as the carriage approached the manor's hedge, gazing out of the window he had opened only minutes into the ride. He longed to see the beautiful countryside as they rode, something he was guessing Mr. Lockwood did not appreciate very much, if the mildly stifled look of displeasure was anything to go by. But William had of course ignored the negativity, soaking in the sights even as he asked further in-depth questions about his new estate. But now, with the manor so close at hand, the young Lord's attention was completely diverted. He was pleased to see the hedge looking so neat and tidy, the front wrought iron gates open wide to admit passage. The dark gray building he could spy looming up from the ground beyond momentarily made his heart clench with remembrance and loss, before William pushed those emotions aside and simply soaked in the grandeur and beauty of the place, Stark against the green backdrop. He still couldn't quite comprehend that the estate was his now. He expected his aunt or uncle to step out at any moment, waving to him in welcome

"The gardeners did exceptionally well. The gardens look even better than I remember them looking." William finally commented as the carriage passed through the hedge, dark green gaze sweeping over the brightly colored clusters of blossoms, the freshly planted trees and bushes, and the artfully arranged benches. "I'll need to remember to tell them such." He continued, pleased that the lawn was groomed and healthy, the walls free of creeping vines.

"yes, my Lord." Was Thomas's dry response. William was silently grateful the man was not going to be staying much longer at the estate. He preferred the company of those with better humor.

With the jingling of chains and a few snorts and nickers from the horses, the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the Arrington manor, The footman leaping down and opening the door to admit his Lord to exit. William gave a small nod before stepping out of the carriage, walking forward several steps to get a better look at the gardens, Placing his hands comfortably behind his back as he smiled softly at the welcoming scenery, nodding his head but keeping his comments to himself this time. He heard the men behind him working to release his belongings, working together to bring them inside while others worked on releasing the horses and taking the carriage to a building near the stables. He Took a deep breath through his nose, enjoying the mingled perfume of the flowers and freshly broken earth, Happy to have finally arrived.

"... Shall we go over the paperwork in your study, my Lord?" Thomas's voice suddenly broke into his thoughts, The balding gentleman stepping up beside William with only a cursory glance over the flora.

The smile fading from his mouth, blinking a few times as he was brought back from where his thoughts had drifted to the past, the young Lord Arrington glance towards his companion with a contemplative expression. "yes... Let us retire to the study. I'm looking forward to the opportunity to go over those documents. I'll have some chilled juice brought to us there." He stated, taking one last moment to look out over the gardens before turning with Mr. Lockwood and heading up the front steps, and disappearing inside.

“Chilled juice? How fancy!” One of the pixies flitted down from the hedge leaves to land on Laila's furry back. “Everything about him is fancy, don't you think?”

“Mn.” Laila's dark eyes were distant as she finally caught a good look at the new lord. It was strange—she'd seen boys grow up into men for a very long time, but it was rare to see a child disappear and return fully grown. She felt a pang of sadness, as if she'd missed something important, but it was undeniable that the child's transformation had been one of grace and sophistication. He reminded her of the orchid, tall and dark and elegant with a proud head that carried its petals higher than the other flowers of the garden.

Beside her, Brus hummed. “It's just like when Edward arrived, except he had a lovely wife on his arm then. The servants keep trying to move furniture around and want to repaint the place, but I've kept everything just how it's supposed to be. Margaret would have wanted it that way.”

Laila smirked, gazing up and down the house as William disappeared inside it. “That's an awful lot of house guests to keep an eye on, Brus. The village has declared the place haunted for years—now they're sure to be convinced of it.”

“All the better!” Brus tugged at the lapels of his ragged coat as he strode toward the house. “Respecting the old ways is the only way to keep the resting spirits happy. These English ladies don't have a clue about how to do such things, but Brus has done his job there. I wrote up the best application for Mrs. Campell and left it on top of the others in his studies. That blasted Thomas won't like it, but she's the old head servant of the place. A touch old now, but wise and wary of the fae. She could use a comfortable position again.”

Laila canted her head, leaping forward to follow alongside Brus in the tall grass. “I remember you were very fond of her.”

“Aye.” Brus's face sobered, but he smiled. “She hasn't been the same since she returned to her empty house. Her irresponsible husband went and left her too soon, and now she needs company to keep her from collecting dust.”

“She's fortunate to have you looking after her.”

Brus shook his head. “We made a good team, she and I. I'll never forget all the years the Campbells have made me happy.”

Unfortunately, Laila had to part with Brus at the door. Invisible to human eyes, he turned the knob and strode in—something a confused servant in the hallway convinced herself was a wayward breeze and not a ghost.

Stepping into the manor House was accompanied by a feeling akin to taking a trip to the past. William almost looked down upon himself to make sure that his body had not shrunk back to his five-year-old self, his hand clutched by his mother. Everything remained the way it had been in his memories, the same rugs on the floors, paintings and tapestries on the walls, even an ornate vase filled to the brim with flowers standing on a table in the entrance hall. The young lord looked upon it all with fondness, feeling as if he were being welcomed home.

A maid servant exited out of one of the hallways, a basket of laundry in her arms. She hesitated when she saw the two men standing in the entrance hall, but almost dropped her basket with surprise when she realized who it was that she gazed upon.

"oh! Master Lockwood, Lord Arrington! I was not expecting you back so soon. Welcome home my lord." The maid said quickly, sweeping into a low curtsy despite the basket she carried in her arms.

Mr. Lockwood's sniffed disapprovingly, dismissing the woman at once as he glanced away. But William offered a ready smile to the girl, causing a creep of blush to color her cheeks. "My thanks to you Miss. I daresay, it's good to be home." He responded cheerfully, deepening the color in the made's cheeks and earning him a brief look of exasperation from his companion, the latter of which he ignored. "please inform the kitchen staff for me that Mr. Lockwood and I would enjoy some chilled juice in the study."he then went on to say, receiving another curtsy in response.

"Yes master Arrington, right away." The maid servant murmured respectfully, hurrying off towards the opposite hallway.

Satisfied, William quickly began making his way in the direction of the study, mr. Lockwood following close behind, smiling softly to himself. He didn't notice the man behind him give his head a shake, nor the woman pause at the edge of the entrance hall to cast a curious and rather admiring look in his direction. She nearly jumped out of her skin as the front door suddenly opened on it's own accord and she hurried forward to close it once again, muttering about drafts and breezes and people not shutting doors properly behind them before she continued on her way.

The study itself was a rather grand room, much less intimidating than William remembered it being from his childhood, with dark oak furniture, A large fireplace, and hundreds of books. Sections of the tomes had been removed, Evidence of his uncle's taking his favorites away with him when he had left, But the majority of the room still lay intact. Making his way over to the large desk set in front of a wide window that looked out upon the front gardens, lowered Arrington settled into the chair behind the desk with a feeling of nostalgia. Briefly taking a moment to run his fingers over the soft upholstery,William finally turned his attention to a couple of stacks of documents resting on the surface of the desk, Gesturing with one of his hands towards another chair on the other side of the desk.

"please take a seat Mr. Lockwood. Refreshments should be here shortly." William invited warmly, briefly watching the older man incline his head and take one of the chairs. Picking up one of the papers, William skimmed over the contents. "I take it these are the applications for head Butler and housekeeper if I'm not mistaken." He noted, picking up the next paper in the stack.

"Indeed my Lord. There are five Applications for each position. And there should be a schedule of all of the appointments to interview the applicants them selves." Thomas responded, crossing his legs and lacing his fingers together in his lap.

"... Very good." William murmured distractedly, having picked up a parchment from the second stack and gotten caught by the name. He momentarily furrowed his brow, Memories tugging at him as he studied the application.

"Is there a problem my Lord? You look unsettled."mr. Lockwood observed, frowning slightly.

William blinked, coming back to himself and looking up at the man across from him. He gave his head a shake before looking back down at the piece of paper in his hands. "nothing is wrong. I just feel as if I know this woman... Wasn't a Mrs. Campbell working as part of the staff when my uncle and aunt lived here?"

Mr. Lockwood blinked once in surprise, His brown deepening considerably yes... I believe so. But I don't remember reading over her application. My apologies my Lord, I'm not sure how that document got in there. Please, disregard that particular application. I'm sure Mrs. Campbell is far too old to be bothered running a household." He sniffed, His smile returning, as if he had triumphed over something.

William considered him for several seconds, adopting a similar frown to the one that had just been abandoned on the other's face. His dark green gaze fell back to the application, reading over Mrs. Campbell's name once again before his lips quite abruptly quirked up in a mischievous expression. "on the contrary. I think that she would be perfect for the position. She already has knowledge of the manor House and how things should run smoothly in such a place. I'll take it upon myself to draft a letter to her right away."

As expected, Thomas Lockwood did not look very pleased with his decision, but did his best to disguise the expression. After a moment, the older gentleman knotted stiffly. "as you wish my Lord. It is your household after all." He intoned dryly, obviously making at least some effort to sound respectful.

William tried not to let his smile spread into a victorious grin, Disguising the temptation by nodding his head and placing Mrs. Campbell's application apart from the rest and returning to his perusal of the remaining applications for. The position of head butler. Luckily for him, just as his control momentarily slipped and his smile widened, there came a soft knock at the door of the study and a servant stepped in, bearing a tray of fruit and juice upon its surface.

Brus chuckled to himself as Miss Elmsburke rushed off to close the door behind him. From the lovely glow on her cheeks, he could tell he hadn’t been far behind their lordship—she’d only been gossiping about him with the rest of the staff since she’d first arrived herself. That flustered look on her pale face, the slight wobble to her knees as she scampered to the kitchen and he figured the man would be absurdly popular a while yet. His accompanying staff of English men and women were polished and efficient, but now that their master was finally in the house, they’d taken up a whole new level of hustling and bustling.

At least that was Brus’s impression as Miss Elmsburke practically dropped her basket in her hurry to get to the kitchen. A burst of excited giggles followed her entrance amid the familiar clatter of dishes and utensils, young and old servant alike posturing absurd questions and theories.

“Oh, you should have seen the glint in his eyes! And the look on Mr. Lockwood’s face!” Miss Elmsburke’s soft voice trembled with delight, and he could practically see her face crinkled with all the laughter she hadn’t allowed herself to show in front of the gentlemen.

“I can practically smell the scandal on you, girl! I absolutely won’t have you waiting on Mr. Arrington—he’s already made a reputation of himself back home!” This was a sterner voice, no doubt belonging to Mrs. Chapman, one of the Arrington’s senior cooks.

There was a chuckle—another youthful chime belonging to Mr. Clarke, a wry, sandy-haired fellow who’d taken on butlering for the Arrington’s eccentric son for the whole of a year. “Not to worry, Edite—I’ll take up the cordial myself.”

“Oh bother, Alfie, let me do it! You’re always so clumsy with the settings!” Another servant girl, this time Miss Harvey, who fancied herself a cook as much of a maid and happened to be Mrs. Chapman’s right hand.

As expected, Mrs. Chapman ‘tsked’ at the request, all steel. “Absolutely not! You girls are all giddy flutters and I’ll only have a creature with its head on welcome our lord to his home properly.”

“I daresay, my handiwork isn’t so crude as you make out to be, Miss Harvey.” Alfie’s tone was tempered acrimony, more wry than wounded. “Had you been in Milord’s service as long as I, you would also know he cares nothing for such things to begin with. Far too friendly to appreciate cold efficiency and too coldly efficient to make good on his flirtations with common women, he is.”

“Oh, dry up, you bitter prune!” Miss Elmsburke came stomping back with the laundry, her long skirt fluttering behind like a dark cloud. Brus couldn’t help but chuckle at the little spat—it was good to have anything over the oppressive silence that had occupied the mansion for much too long.

Alfie eventually emerged in his slick black suit, a silvered tray balanced on one hand. It gave off the slightest, but most delightful scent he’d ever smelled—strawberries and lemons aged together with enough sugar to make a tooth ache. Goblets, silken napkins, and a tray of sliced pears with lemon tarts just for good measure had been carefully arranged to accommodate the beverage. A snack fit for a lord indeed!

Ah, but the excitement of the day had him too tired to investigate. He retreated to the western parlor of the mansion instead, making himself comfortable on a recently dusted and fluffed lounge chair. The theme of the room was all floral prints, brown and cream and faded pink weaving together to form ivy and blossoms along the walls and furniture. A desk had been set against one wall, the rest of the room a series of sofas and tables meant for card games and conversation. Lamps and tablecloths dripped with crystals and golden trim, the walls decorated with watercolor women enjoying the countryside.

In earlier years, the comfortable room had been a place for Mrs. Arrington to entertain her guests after dinner and for Mr. Arrington to play at cards with his friends while one of the ladies plied at the piano. Everything had had a perpetual glimmer, the soft and last light of the day caught in the faded glow of the curtains. Little William had always been curious of it, of course, as he’d never been allowed into the ‘grown-up’s’ parlor. In unhappier times, his parents had even exchanged verbal barbs and snide remarks with the late lord and his wife—two guests who had never appreciated the ‘wild wilderness’ seen creeping from beyond the windows.

Brus closed his eyes and leaned back, casting off the past like a dream that had overstayed its welcome. This was a new time for a new family, although so much was as it used to be. The swish of the maids’ dark skirts, the low mumbling of gentlemen at business upstairs, the distant trill of birds in the garden—this was home.

-Meanwhile-

“Staring at it won’t make it less of a mystery, you know.” A pixie tugged at Laila’s long ear and giggled. The hare had remained transfixed at the door to the mansion for some time, caught up in old feelings and memories. Despite the fact that the building was the same as it was a decade ago, something was just… different, though she couldn’t quite put a paw on it.

Laila shook off the pert little thing and turned away from the house, hopping her way back to the hedge and into the forest. “It’s still a haunted place to me, if only slightly more pleasant with Brus back in it. I imagine it won’t be long before his fancy guests come to visit in droves, and then we’ll hear stories of all the world and how far they came to enjoy the garden.”

The deeper she wandered into the woods, the more alone she became, the fae either staying near town to enjoy the spectacle or to wander back to their own games. Though she usually enjoyed their songs and dances amid the leaves, it was a time to retreat into her own thoughts. She found her way into a familiar burrow beneath a great elm and nibbled on the berry stash she’d collected there, trying with difficulty not to wonder if it tasted anything like his lordship’s ‘chilled juice.’

Pears had to be one of the best fruits that had been given to the world, William mused to himself as he chewed on one of the slices the manservant had brought only a short time ago. They were among one of his favorite foods and he appreciated that those in the kitchen had thought to provide some with the cordial he had asked for. With a satisfied smile, he swallowed his mouthful and took a sip from his goblet before he turned over the parchment he had been holding in his hand, studying the information carefully.

Thomas, on the other hand, sat rather stiffly, disapproval strong in his rigid posture. He hadn't been happy since William had chosen Mrs. Campbell above all of the other applications that had been provided, Disregarding the neat stack of parchment altogether. His disapproval with his Lord's choice did not color his decision to partake of the snack however, his own goblet held carefully in one hand as he ate One of the pastries. William quickly had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide another smile, giving the impression that he was thinking deeply even as he put aside the application.

"i'll keep the interviews with mr. Weinhart and Mr. Phillips, But I have decided to cancel the other interviews." The young Arrington finally managed to say, placing the applications for both men on top of the one for Mrs. Campbell.

Mr. Lockwood visibly relaxed, just a bit, and offered a thin lipped smile. "Very well Sir."

Before Mr. Lockwood could show any annoyance at the smile that turned up his lips, William quickly change the subject from the staff, though his fingers sought a few fresh pieces of parchment, a quill, a bottle of ink, and a small container of sand. He asked questions on how the accounts had been managed, which were doing well and which were doing poorly. He made comments about his own accounting endeavors, spoke of plans for future investments, and even brought up the idea of hosting a ball in the relatively near future, opening invitations to those in the village as well as the Irish Nobles.

"I must say though." William finally sighed at one point, leaning back in his chair and looking out over the gardens and the forest beyond. "Hosting a hunt with some of the local noblemen and ladies sounds like a grand idea to celebrate my move to the country." He admitted, wondering quietly if his hunting dogs had made the trip quite as well as he had. "my uncle always did like a good hunt. It seems like the perfect way to honor his memory."

"Yes." Thomas drew out nasally, having finally relaxed back into his own chair. "Edward did always enjoy himself a jolly good Chase." He agreed, sounding the most relaxed William had ever heard him. "The event would certainly be a way to introduce yourself to those of great standing."

William ran his thumb along the side of his chin thoughtfully. "Indeed. I shall have to make those arrangements." He then stood from his chair, taking a deep breath. "for now, perhaps you would care to join me for dinner before your departure."

"gladly my Lord. My thanks." Thomas excepted graciously, setting down his empty goblet on the desk before rising to his feet and following the young Lord out into the hallway, the two conversing lightly as they made their way to the dining hall.

Dinner had become a grand affair at the mansion. Many of Lord Arrington's guests arrived a few days before the festivities—mostly English gentlemen he called friends from Oxbridge and businesses in London. They treated the soiree like a vacation, taking time to enjoy the countryside on horseback and spending late nights in the parlor discussing philosophy and recent events. The Irish nobles would come on the actual eve of the ball, visiting to pay their respects and enjoy the festivities.

Mrs. Chapman had the hardest time of the servants adjusting to the sudden inflow of new servants and demands. More laundry had to be taken down to the river, more livestock bought from the village, and the kitchen was always busy with elaborate meals in the works. Brus had never seen anything like it, not even while the old master had been alive. Roasted fowl of several kinds always seemed to be roasting in the fire, and to make this possible, no less than three cooks had to strip the birds of guts and feathers—a truly gruesome task Brus couldn't stomach to watch.

All the while, Mrs. Chapman screeched over chickens having too many pinfeathers because the maid who'd bought them hadn't checked to see they were properly feathered, or perhaps one of the cooks had accidentally scalded the bird a bit in preparing it for plucking, or worst yet, one of the servants might displace one of her knives and she'd holler her way around the kitchen looking for it. There was nothing she loved more than efficiency and perfection, and although she won many evil eyes behind her back, there was no arguing over the quality of food that poured out of Arrington's kitchen.

“You've really done it!” Richard, a youthful accountant with a hobby of geology, spoke up among the group of lads at the table one evening. He gestured to the polished silverware, the crystal hanging off of chandeliers and flower settings, and the ancient paintings still resting on the walls. “What a glamorous thing you've made of this feral countryside. I daresay, I'm tempted to make a life for myself here, too.”

“We've been much too tame for the countryside, if you ask me.” Chester, a dark-haired creature with the soft, pale features of a cherub but all the cunning of a sly weasel in his green eyes, winked to the group. “I was promised a good hunt, the likes of which I have never seen before!”

Richard smiled, raising his glass at the thought. “A good hunt, indeed! I've walked a few of the trails myself, and the wild woods have more life and flavor than what manages to survive near London. Shall we not earn our keep, hunting the wilds for prize feasting meat?”

* * *

The light, laughter, and warmth from the house brought Laila ever closer to it. She liked the savory scent of roasted onions and lemon as much as the flowery bouquets strung around the Lord's meals. Because a rabbit's eye was not sufficient for close viewing, for the first time she stood at one of the windows in her fae form. Enshrouded in her magic, no mortal eye could see her, but the mere gravity of her presence caused more than one of the servants to eye the spot where she stood as they went from village to manor. By the end of dinner for the evening, however, when the servants went about cleaning up plates and settings, Miss Harvey couldn't help but notice the faint outline of a hand print pressed against one of the window panes.