The Landlords Secret Desire

Windy early morning

Two weeks had passed since Clara’s awkward, muffin-laden introduction to Nicholas Tompson.

Settling into the cottage had proven to be both a delight and a challenge. While the cozy space was perfect for her illustrations, the quirky antics of the manor’s peacocks, coupled with the endless charm of Tompson Manor's sprawling estate, had left her with little time to focus.

This particular morning, Clara sat cross-legged on her cottage’s porch, sketchpad in hand. She had been trying to capture the vibrant colors of the blooming wisteria that climbed the lattice by her window.

But as usual, her focus was interrupted by an indignant squawk. A familiar blue-green blur streaked past, toppling a row of flowerpots she’d just arranged.

“Oh, come on!” Clara groaned, setting her pencil down. She marched down the steps, hands on her hips. “Do you even care about personal space?”

The offending peacock—whom Clara had privately named Trouble—eyed her with something that might have been disdain before turning its attention to a shiny garden trowel lying nearby.

“Don’t even think about it,” she warned. But Trouble, true to his name, snatched the trowel in his beak and strutted off triumphantly.

Before Clara could give chase, a voice called out from behind her. “I see you’ve met their ringleader.”

Turning, Clara found Nicholas approaching from the path that led to the main house. Dressed in his usual understated elegance—a crisp white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and well-fitted slacks—he looked every inch the lord of the manor. Yet his faint smirk suggested he found the scene amusing.

“I was beginning to think this place came with a built-in demolition crew,” Clara replied, exasperated.

Nicholas chuckled. “Trouble has a habit of living up to his name. I’d apologize, but I’m fairly certain he’s beyond reform.”

Clara crossed her arms. “You’ve named him Trouble, too?”

“It seemed appropriate,” Nicholas said, shrugging. “He’s been terrorizing the gardeners since he was a chick.”

Clara couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, he’s stolen my trowel now. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to keep up with planting without it.”

Nicholas gestured toward the path. “Come with me. I’ll help you retrieve it.”

Curious and slightly reluctant, Clara followed him through the winding garden paths. The air was filled with the hum of bees and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. Despite her earlier frustration, she couldn’t deny the beauty of the estate.

“You seem remarkably calm about all this,” Clara said as they walked. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy, living with a flock of vandals?”

Nicholas glanced at her, a glint of humor in his eyes. “The peacocks are an acquired taste. Much like Tompson Manor itself.”

Clara raised an eyebrow. “And me?”

Nicholas paused, as though weighing his words. “You’re… unexpected.”

“Is that a compliment?” she asked, half-teasing.

“It’s an observation,” he replied smoothly. “One I’m still trying to fully understand.”

Before Clara could respond, they rounded a corner and found Trouble perched proudly on the edge of a fountain. The stolen trowel lay gleaming in the sunlight beside him. Nicholas approached with deliberate calm, while Clara hung back, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

“Allow me,” Nicholas said, holding out his hand as though negotiating with a temperamental child. “Trouble, we’ve been over this. You can’t keep stealing tools.”

To Clara’s astonishment, the bird seemed to consider him for a moment before nudging the trowel closer with his beak. Nicholas picked it up and handed it to Clara with a triumphant smirk.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Clara said, staring at the bird. “How did you do that?”

“Years of practice,” Nicholas replied. “And a lot of patience.”

Clara shook her head in disbelief. “Well, thank you. Though I think Trouble might have a crush on you.”

Nicholas’s laugh was low and warm. “He’s selective with his affections. Consider yourself lucky he hasn’t taken a liking to your shoes.”

As they walked back toward the cottage, Clara found herself studying Nicholas more closely. Beneath his composed exterior was a man who clearly cared deeply for his home, even if he rarely showed it outright. There was a softness to him, one that made her curious despite herself.

“So, what brings you down to the cottage this morning?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I wanted to check in,” Nicholas said. “Make sure everything’s to your liking.”

Clara hesitated, unsure whether to be entirely honest. “The cottage is wonderful. But… the estate is a bit distracting.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Distracting?”

“In a good way,” Clara clarified quickly. “It’s hard to focus on work when there’s so much to take in. I’ve been sketching more than I’ve been illustrating.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked. “You’re finding inspiration.”

Clara smiled. “I suppose so. But at this rate, I’ll have an entire sketchbook of peacocks and fountains instead of the commissions I need to finish.”

"What are you working on...or can't you say?" Nicolas asked sheepishly. "Just a children's novel, I am supposed to be doing the illustrations." Clara said with pride.

Nicholas’s lips quirked. “If you’re ever in need of a quieter spot, there’s an old conservatory near the west wing. It’s usually empty.”

“The west wing?” Clara repeated, amused. “You make it sound like something out of a gothic novel.”

Nicholas’s expression grew faintly mischievous. “Perhaps it is. You’ll have to see for yourself.”

They reached the cottage, and Nicholas paused at the steps. “If you need anything else, let me know. And watch out for Trouble.”

“Thanks,” Clara said, her smile lingering as he turned to leave.

As she watched him disappear down the path, Clara couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath Nicholas’s carefully controlled demeanor. There was something about him that was as unpredictable as the estate itself. And while she’d come to Tompson Manor for solitude, she found herself looking forward to the next moment he might appear, unannounced, to shake up her day.