Marmalade's Love Potion

Ch 11 - Repercussions - Part 3

Later that evening, Penelope had been relieved to near-tears to see the bags she had left behind on the Grimwood docks, which Steph had returned to the Sisters.

Penelope had squealed in delight and given Steph a bone-crunching hug, which he'd endured with grace and flushed cheeks until Sister Heely had coughed and muttered something about propriety.

"Like you're one to talk about propriety," Sister Rosin had accused with a smug smirk. "Remember that one time when—"

"Anyone for more tea?" Sister Heely had asked, almost shouting, as she clapped a hand over Sister Rosin's mouth while Steph and Penelope snickered into their tea cups.

Penelope slept soundly that night, tucked finally into the warmth of her own bed. Marmot, Marmalade and Steph slept downstairs in borrowed night clothes and rollout mats of down, which the Sisters had dug out of a cupboard.

She woke early the next morning as the dawn light glinted from silver clouds, feeling thoroughly rested. While still a little stiff, the sharp ache from her joints had eased almost completely. Penelope donned her slippers and padded to the window, basking in the forest landscape.

This deep into winter, all the foliage was varying shades of gold and rich mauve. Ice clung to the undersides of boughs and small birds hopped amongst the branches. Snow blanketed the forest floor as curling mist obscured the distance. The scent of cold earth and damp leaves permeated the frigid air. Invigorated, Penelope tiptoed downstairs so as not to wake anyone, making her way to the bathing room for a wash, and then the kitchen for some tea.

Steph was already seated at the table nursing a steaming cup when she reached the open doorway. His head of dark curls was tousled from sleep and he was once again wearing one of Penelope's night gowns, though the dark blue fabric was several measures too short in the sleeves.

Steph was staring out the kitchen window, lost in thought. His olive skin was smooth in the wan light, and his heavy brows were knitted in contemplation. He looked beautiful, Penelope thought with a flutter in her chest as she watched him for a moment. Steph turned to her as she stepped further into the room, his eyes lighting with a warm smile.

"Good morning," Penelope yawned as she refilled the kettle and stoked the stove fire. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like royalty," Steph replied with a mischievous grin. Penelope laughed, feeling bashful.

"I'm not really royalty," she confessed with a sigh. "I mean I am, of course, in title and such," she hastened to add when Steph cocked his head in confusion, "but I don't often feel like it, living out here."

That thought had always caused Penelope a pang of grief. The sense of displacement from her home and family, dwelling in the forest, not truly belonging anywhere.

"That used to distress me," Penelope murmured as she poured her tea and took a seat at the table.

"Something changed?" Steph quizzed with a tilt of his head. Though his tone was mild, Steph's eyes burned with curiosity.

Penelope looked at him, then out the window at the winter blooms swaying in the planter box. She could feel the presence of the forest beyond, almost like a song deep within her bones.

"Since my... adventure," Penelope scoffed at herself, "I feel more connected with the woods. It's..." Penelope looked down into the amber liquid of her cup, trying to gather the right words.

"Like it calls out to you?" Steph finished. Penelope glanced up, nodding.

"I feel that too, sometimes," Steph continued, idly spinning his cup between his hands. "I hate being cooped up inside for too long, surrounded by dead wood and stone. It feels too much like... a tomb." Steph frowned down at the table. "When I'm on my own in the woods, and I can just sit, and think, and write... it feels like I can breathe again..." He trailed off, shaking his head at himself and smiling with exaggerated humour. "Not that tombs aren't fun places to be. No offence to tombs. You get to meet some... lively characters."