Paint Me Anew (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

No Peer, No Pressure

"Anna," someone called her softly, and she felt a gentle touch to her shoulder.

She jolted out of her restless sleep and shot her head up. She seemed to have nodded off, uncomfortably folded in an armchair next to Varya's bed. Bjornsson and the girl - who was as much as bouncing in excitement by the door - weren't the only other people in the room.

"Good day, my lady," a tall elderly gentleman in a three piece suit and an elegant coat, standing in the centre of the room, greeted her.

"This is Olofsson, our butler," Klaus said. "He'll take us to the Hall."

"We're going to the Hall!" Varya echoed the man's words and grinned. "Can we, Mum? Can we, ple-e-ease? The farm's burnt down, we have nowhere to go and nowhere to sleep." She announced the latter like the best news in the world. "And there's an art gallery and a pool in the house!"

Anya temporarily ignored the question of the pool and tried to wrap her mind around Mr. Olofsson's occupation. Do butlers still exist these days?! Anya could almost imagine that this was some sort of a prank.

"May I take your cat?" the butler asked, meaning the carrier with Persimmon, tucked under Anya's chair. The sturdy plastic box with a wire gate was a present from Yolanda.

Gosford park, indeed, Anya thought in bewilderment. Only a real English butler could say these words with a straight face.

"I'll carry her!" Varya rushed to the carrier. "Oh I forgot I only have one arm." She burst into a series of little giggles. "At least it's the left one, and I can still draw."

Anya saw a small change in the butler's face, but it was immediately schooled in the same neutral expression. For a second she just couldn't suss out what it was that she needed to do.

Probably seeing her hesitation, Klaus turned to the older man.

"Olofsson, would you be so kind as to take Miss Varya to the cafe downstairs? She might want some tea and a pastry before we go."

"Very well, Sir Niklas."

The gentleman stepped aside letting Varya dash by him. Anya sank back into the armchair.

"I'm sorry for springing it on you like that," Bjornsson said in a low voice. "My Uncle is out of the county, and apparently he sent Olofsson to conveniently move us all to Nidhogg. Obviously, we will only go if you want to. It's hard to tell how damaged your belongings–"

"Why did he call you 'Sir Niklas?'" Anya asked in a strangely squeaky voice. "That sounded awfully... formal."

"Because–" He cringed. "Because that's my title. Sir Niklas Bjornsson. I'm a... well, a baronet." There was a sort of an apologetic note in his voice.

Anya's eyes boggled.

"A what?!"

"A baronet. It's not even a peerage title, really," he dismissed.

Is he actually trying to downplay the fact that his name has a 'sir' permanently glued to it?!

"So when you said 'the heir to the Bjornsson family–'" Anya choked on her words.

"Only to the title," he said defensively. "My father was the oldest son, but he'd relinquished his rights on the property and funds years ago. Everything belongs to Anders. So, regarding moving you two–"

"Is that what your Uncle thinks?!" It was all starting to dawn on Anya. "That I'm– I'm punching up? That I'm after the title of a– what's it called? A baroness?!"

"It's 'baronetess,' but you– but my wife wouldn't be. She would be Lady Bjornsson," the man answered grudgingly.

Anya felt sharply nauseous. "Is that why your butler addressed me 'my lady?'"