Page 12 of Lady Elinor’s Elf

To Elinor’s disgust, the weather turned nasty once more, and the rain—along with some quite impressive gale force winds—kept her isolated at Molliney Park.

Knowing that moping and pining, like some nitwitted heroine in a bad novel, would get her nowhere, she retired to the Molliney library and made a start on researching the Ellyllon.

It was somewhat of a trial, since the material she wanted to use for references was scattered amongst other books, most of which had nothing at all to do with Welsh folklore.

Bronwen would have been an enormous help, of course, but given the weather? Even the elves knew enough to stay home safe and dry. Where that was, Elinor didn’t know, since her friend had made it clear that she would visit Elinor, not the other way around.

Humans, apparently, were to be toyed with, annoyed, and otherwise inconvenienced, and only in rare cases befriended. Glad that she was one of those cases, Elinor pulled out a very dusty tome that looked promising and coughed away the dust that puffed out from it as she thumped it down on a table.

The fire crackled happily in the large hearth, a counterpoint to the ceaseless patter of rain against the windows.

Lighting a pair of candles to fully illuminate her work, Elinor settled down to read, and perhaps make a few notes if she found anything of interest. Which didn’t take too long, since only a few pages into the volume, she discovered several chapters on the lore and legends of the Ellyllon.

They were not pure Tylwyth Teg, according to this particular writer, since the Tylwyth Teg were allegedly true fairies.

Having read the opposite in an earlier reference book, Elinor shook her head, made an appropriate note and moved on.

She read of their delight in dancing and playing in hidden glens, of which there were plenty around Molliney Park.

But ’twas said that the Ellyllon would vanish from their party should they hear a human laugh.

Something else Elinor noted. But with a frown, since she knew she and Bronwen had spent many happy hours laughing about something or other, and the elf had never vanished.

So, that comment was noted with an added qualification… “Doubtful.”

As the rain poured down on the sodden landscape, she lost herself in the stories that surrounded the magical folk. The tales of Queen Mab, ruler of them all, and the cautionary story of Tudur and his encounter with the Ellyllon.

Elinor chuckled at that, wondering if it had been created by an ingenious wife who was tired of her husband rolling home drunk.

It was an enjoyable few hours for her, lost in the stories, learning the names given the Ellyllon, and balancing all the mythical wonders with her own personal knowledge of Bronwen.

This sort of thing, she hoped, would help when it came time for her and Caleb to begin formulating their novel.

“Lunch, Miss Elinor.” Jane bustled in, making Elinor jump.

“Good grief. What time is it?”

“Well past noon.” She looked at the books and notes that littered the table. “And I see you’ve made good use of your time, then.”

“Indeed, I have.” Elinor nodded. “I think Ca… er…Sir Howell will be most pleased with the research notes I’ve made.” She waved at the papers.

Jane sighed. “Dearie, I’ve known you since you were a wee babe. Don’t you think I can see the light in your eyes when you speak of that man?”

Elinor felt the colour rise in her cheeks at Jane’s words, but didn’t turn away. “I like him, Jane. He is pleasant company.” She glanced around the empty room. “And I don’t have much of that here these days.”

“Pleasant is as pleasant does,” sniffed Jane. “But he’s a good lad, I’m thinking. You could do worse…”

“Oh no, don’t you dare.” Elinor held up her hand to stop the conversation. “There will be no matchmaking, if you please. I am determined to remain single, Jane, and devote my life to Mama and Papa when they return, while perhaps pursuing some literary things…”

Her declaration faded away beneath Jane’s steady, knowing look. “Yes, Miss Elinor. Of course, Miss Elinor.” She folded her arms across her bosom. “I’m sure your parents will be very grateful.”

“All right.” Elinor rolled her eyes. “I like him. Is that permissible?”

Jane closed the distance between them and hugged Elinor, nearly knocking her off her chair. “Of course it is. He’s a good lad, as I said.” She paused. “But you be careful, young lady. If he kisses as good as he looks, there might be trouble ahead.” She turned away. “Lunch is ready in the parlour.”

Elinor sighed. He did indeed kiss as good as he looked . And she rather hoped she’d have chance to experience some more of that ‘trouble’.

*~~*~~*

Unaware that he had travelled the road from “neighbour” to “trouble” as far as the Molliney staff were concerned, Caleb had been pursuing some of his own interests that morning. Prime amongst which was the bookkeeping task he hated most.

Paying bills.

God knew Tylwyth Teg cost a small fortune to keep up.

And could use another small fortune for improvements.

He was making headway, of course, since a good portion of the house was now comfortably liveable, and the surrounding countryside quite a bit richer as the local workmen had been called in to fix, repair, repaint, and generally do things that made it a comfortable place to live.

However, the house itself had a storied history with the Howell family, having been lost several times to others, only to be won back on the turn of a card.

Sometimes Caleb wondered if his great-great-grandfather was a magician, since every time disaster had loomed near, he’d neatly worked his way out of it, either by a lucky card game, or marrying off a daughter to somebody possessing a vast fortune.

It was a pity that his own father hadn’t possessed that gift.

But that was in the past, and now there was a future to look forward to.

He turned back to his books, tallied up a few columns, and nodded as the results matched those he had anticipated.

If this kept up, he might be able to repair the windows in the East wing soon.

He looked through the ones across from his desk, thankful that all the windows, glass or board, were weathertight.

Elinor probably wouldn’t be able to call today. And he wasn’t sure if he should venture out to visit her.

He rose, pushing his chair aside and pacing a little. This whole…whatever it was…between himself and Elinor was becoming—well, complicated was too simple a word for it. His steps brought him to the fireplace, and he stared into the ornate mirror above.

He saw himself, shirt sleeves and waistcoat, standing in front of a pleasing and masculine study, where firelight reflected on the decanter of wine on the sideboard, and the tea set Mrs Deryn had brought in earlier.

It was, he thought, not unlike an illustration for some Gentleman’s Weekly, or whatever periodical featured such things.

But was it home ?

And why the hell had that thought popped into his mind?

Rolling his eyes at himself, he turned away from the mirror and let the fire warm his backside. He knew damn well the answer to his own question, because she’d been on his mind ever since he’d first met her in the flood, and after kissing her, holding her?

“Damn.” He forced his thoughts away from her taste, her scent, and how she felt in his arms, since all of those were having an uncomfortable effect on his masculinity.

It was unusual, though, he had to admit as he gathered up his papers and put the top back on the inkwell.

He was not inexperienced with the female sex, that was for certain. He’d enjoyed passionate liaisons, simple flirtations, and even considered a mistress. That idea was tossed aside when money became more of an issue.

But not one single woman that he could think of had affected him like Elinor Molliney. His sleep last night had been disturbed more than once by thoughts and memories, and he wasn’t completely sure he liked it.

He was, in his own mind, carefree. Untethered, unconfined and unrestrained. And probably a lot of other un-words that he couldn’t think of at that particular moment.

Although, his gaze once more roamed around the room, if he was completely honest with himself, he was attached. To Tylwyth Teg Abbey.

The work he’d put into restoring it had made it personal, and he admitted that he’d be loath to leave it under any circumstances.

He sighed. All this contemplation was giving him a headache. And his stomach reminded him he was hungry. After lunch, if it stopped raining, he might entertain the notion of going to visit Elinor. Perhaps her company could help sort out his muddled thoughts.

Or perhaps he could just kiss her again and forget everything.

There. That was a very good plan indeed.