Emille

Chapter 4

"Arthur. It's been far too long."

Arthur looked up from his steaming cup of tea at the sharp, feline eyes that now bore into his own. He shuffled to his feet, gruffly pulling out the chair for the small woman before him. She shot him a quizzical smile, and swiftly settled into the chair.

"Lillabet." The name caught on Arthur's lips. Silence stretched between them.

"So," Lillabet began, visibly steeling herself, "tell me everything."

She never had been one to beat around the bush. Arthur's spine stiffened. What could she possibly want to know about? The weeks he spent in the frigid forest, freezing his ass off while he set and collected snares? She never had loved that part of the wilderness. No, she much preferred the romanticism of the soaring pines to the grizzly nature of the next meal.

"What do you want to know about?"

Lillabet sighed patiently. She clearly had not missed Arthur's tight lipped disposition. "How is business? What goes on in that little cabin of yours?"

So she did want to know. Or she was just being polite. Arthur obliged her anyway. He always would.

"Been building my fur trade. It's not bad. Quieter than all that nonsense in New York. A few months in the woods, then my apprentice sends 'em off to town and I spend the rest of the year living off of the profits. And whatever I get from the woods."

They both knew the fur trade in Virginia wasn't profitable enough to live comfortably. Arthur was really living off of the money from his father. But this particular wound was still too sore to address.

Lillabet smiled softly. "I think that suits you. New York was too small for you."

Arthur hated that knowing smile. Hated that she was right. "How's Genevieve?"

He didn't care, and he suspected Lillabet knew that. But she laughed anyway. "She threw a comb at the chambermaid yesterday for serving her soup too hot. I think that's a good sign."

Arthur chuckled, forgetting himself. "Glad to hear she's feeling like herself again."

"She really is a wicked little thing. But I missed her scolding, I truly did." A sad smile. Arthur felt his fingers twitching, tempted to wipe the sorrow from her features. He clenched them tightly under the table.

"Why'd you come, Lillabet?"

Arthur hadn't expected those words from himself. Neither had Lillabet, apparently. She sputtered for a moment.

"Can a woman not drop in on a dear friend without interrogation these days?"

Dubious silence.

"Honestly, Arthur, I was worried about you. I hadn't heard from you in months. I thought you'd finally gone wild."

The unspoken words sat between them. The words that they'd spat at each other before Arthur had packed his things and fled New York, never once looking back. That night flashed behind Arthur's eyelids urgently, reminding him of why he hadn't written. By the paling of her skin, Arthur knew Lillabet was thinking of that night too.

"I just want you to listen to me Lillabet," he'd roared desperately. She'd looked at him with wild panic, grasping his shoulders and shaking him.

"No, you listen to me. I'm your friend, Arthur, but I won't go smiling into the madhouse with you. Why can't you just drop it? Why can't you--"

"What, be normal?" he'd laughed, the sound strange and wrong. "Go to your parties and pretend that's all there is? I won't do it."

"Not even for me?" Her voice was quiet then. Arthur had sat down heavily, placing his head into his large, rough hands.