I put out candleholders and filled them with candles. I filled lamps with fuel and put those out too. I dragged in a bunch of wood and replenished all the stocks and even found this cool pulley thing which helped me load up a stack in the loft (which I did and then I built a fire up there too).
I found a hunk of meat, a loaf of bread and an enormous wedge of cheese. I sliced into all of it, made a huge, honking sandwich and ate it, washing it down with a cup of the fresh, clean, absolutely delicious and very cold water from the pump.
I inventoried the kitchen and found milk in a jug in a cupboard that jutted out of the house (natural fridge) with lots of cheese, meat (some cooked, some raw), some sliceable sausage (that smelled awesome), a slab of bacon, a bowl filled with eggs and a big urn of butter. In the cupboards there were pots of jam. There was also a jar of ground coffee (hurray!) and what looked like an old-fashioned percolator to make it in. There was loose tea. There was sugar. There was flour. There was a salt pig (filled) and a pepper grinder (also filled). There were jars of spices which I made stabs at guessing what they were with sniff tests (oregano, basil, bay leaves, thyme, parsley, cayenne, cinnamon and nutmeg). And there were big sacks of potatoes and onions, smaller ones of oats and rice and a string of garlic.
I could totally work with this.
I was set.
At least for awhile.
I set about perusing my trunks and found clothes, underwear, boots, delicate wool and cashmere stockings, shoes and cloaks all a variety of fabrics and colors, all gorgeous, all obviously expensive and exquisitely made and not meant to be worn in a cabin in the middle of nowhere but… whatever. I also found some seriously sexy nightgowns (again, my new husband was a moron, the nightwear, as well as every single piece of underwear, was freaking amazing).
I found sheets (lots of them), quilts, throws and blankets (lots of those too) so I made up the bed. I also found some china and silver, including an elegant, stunning coffee service, these I put in the kitchen. There were also what I guessed were towels and washcloths which I stacked on some shelves I wiped down in the bathroom type place.
There was hair stuff, jewelry and makeup, bath soap, scented powders, perfume and lotions. This entire small (ish) trunk I also carted into the bathroom type place.
There was another trunk filled with leather-bound books, some printed, some blank (journals?), elegant, ice blue writing paper and envelopes, a wax candle and an elaborate, silver seal to use to close the wax on the envelopes (awesome!), a slim, silver quill pen and a couple bottles of ink. I stocked the desk with these.
And there was even a trunk filled with crystal: wineglasses of three shapes (white, red and flat bowled champagne, two of each), stemmed aperitif glasses (also two) and, overkill but definitely awesome, a beautiful crystal vase and I knew the perfect use for that. I went out to the sleigh, fetched my bouquet of twigs from the floor where it had fallen (as well as my forgotten crown, though how I could forget my crown, who knew, but I did), took them back to the house, shoved the twigs in the vase and put it on the low table in front of the couch.
It looked good there. A touch of glitter, a touch of beauty. Perfect.
The crown I set smack in the middle of the mantel of the biggest fireplace, the one the furniture faced.
It looked good where it was too. But it would look good anywhere.
All that I couldn’t use or needed to be stored, I carefully packed back up and then lined the trunks where they would look nice against the walls. Any empty trunks, I carted to the front door so I could drag them to the stables tomorrow.
I had just loaded all the fires with more logs, lit the candles and lamps and found some folded screens on the back porch that were meant to sit in front of the fires to catch sparks so I set them up and I was currently flat out on the couch, exhausted, hungry again and trying to count how many times I boiled water in that big, iron kettle on the stove when I realized there I was.
Alone, in the middle of nowhere and far away from my parents who I had spent a million dollars to see and who, after seeing, didn’t like me.
“Fuck,” I muttered, staring into the fire.
Well, at least that dickhead didn’t beat me, which, dumping a princess in this hellhole without even seeing to her animals, I knew he meant to do.
My horses were sheltered and fed. The house was cleaned. I was hungry again but I was not eating not because I couldn’t feed myself but because I was too freaking exhausted to get up and go to the kitchen. I’d taken stock and I was sitting pretty (ish). The house was warm, the fires, lanterns and candles glowed and the couch was seriously freaking comfy.
So I grabbed a soft, woolen throw I’d unearthed from one of my trunks and tossed on the couch and I pulled it over my body. Then I held my feet out in front of me and used my toes on the heel of my boot, pushing down, down, down until the thing slid off. Ditto the other boot.