The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2)

by Rachael Anderson

  Cora cleared her throat and tried to think of something polite to say. "The artist is quite talented."

  "I agree," he said. "But did he put his talents to good use in this landscape?"

  "Er…" Cora did not know how to tactfully respond except to say, "I'm sure he is of the opinion that he did."

  "And your opinion?" he pressed.

  She clasped her fingers behind her back and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "If you must know, I think he was in a foul temper when he painted it."

  "Ah, so you see the emotion behind the lines."

  "It is impossible not to, sir."

  "Do you prefer your paintings to be of a more placid nature, then?"

  Good grief, the man could be trying at times. Why were they even having this conversation? It seemed silly and inconsequential. If Mr. Ludlow found something to admire in the artwork, then he ought to go on admiring it and leave her to her duties. Cora's opinion did not matter in the slightest.

  "Not necessarily," she answered. "I only wonder what a painting by this artist might look like after he'd taken an invigorating stroll through a beautiful garden on a glorious sunny day."

  Mr. Ludlow seemed to consider the suggestion before quirking an eyebrow. "Is a stroll through a garden all it takes to improve one's temperament?" His voice held a teasing lilt, and Cora couldn't resist responding in kind.

  "Well, perhaps he might spy a lovely and inspiring lady while he was about."

  Mr. Ludlow chuckled. He leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head, shifting his gaze to the painting once more. After studying it a moment longer, he said, "Do you know something, Mrs. Notley? I am now wondering the same thing. Perhaps I should commission another painting from him with the stipulation that he can work only after an excursion with a beautiful lady in the garden."

  "Perhaps you should," she said, even though she knew he would never do anything of the sort. The thought merely reaffirmed the silliness of this exchange, and Cora found herself wondering at his reasons for requesting an audience with her.

  When he looked at her again, the warmth in his expression caused her heart to bounce and thud in a most unseemly way. Perhaps this was the reason she did not care for conversations such as these with him. The lighthearted nature led to a feeling of camaraderie that she should not be experiencing with her employer. They ought to be discussing the state of his accounts or making arrangements for dinner guests—not talking about how a beautiful woman could inspire a man. What had she been thinking to say such a thing? She hadn't, and that was the problem. When in his presence all coherent thought vanished.

  Cora cleared her throat. "If you will excuse me, sir, I really must go. There are sugars waiting to be pounded and herbs needing to be plucked."

  "I'm sure you will pound them senseless and pluck them dry," he said. "Good day to you, Mrs. Notley."

  "To you too, sir."

  Cora practically fled the study, taking deep breaths all the way back to the kitchen. These impromptu meetings with Mr. Ludlow must cease soon, or she would need to dismiss herself and leave Tanglewood once and for all. The man was beginning to invade her thoughts far too often, and she refused to allow that to happen—not now that she was finally feeling at home.

  She paused just outside the kitchen, vowing to herself that she would no longer be lulled into any more lighthearted repartees with Mr. Ludlow. From now on, she would only speak to him of household matters and nothing more. She would barricade her heart and keep her mind in the place it belonged.

  "Oh, Miss Notley, here you are at last."

  Cora's eyes widened to see Sally rushing towards her looking happier than Cora had ever seen. The frizzy, red-haired woman went so far as to clasp Cora's hands and give them a hardy squeeze. Cora blinked in surprise, thinking how dry and frail Sally's fingers felt, as though they might snap with the slightest pressure.

  "What is it, Sally?" Cora asked. Although they had been on better terms with one another, Sally had never been nearly this friendly before. The maid's eyes were bright with unshed tears.

  "I can scarce believe it, but 'tis real as me standin' here."

  "What is real?" Cora asked, perplexed.

  "It's me lad. Mr. Ludlow's gone and found 'im a better place with a good woman who's askin' for no more'n I can pay. 'E's also increased my wages so I can put some away as well." She shook her head as the tears trailed down her cheeks. "I don't deserve it after what I done."

  Cora's heart swelled instantly. It was a good thing Mr. Ludlow was not standing at her side or she would likely throw her arms around him and do exactly what she'd vowed never to even think, let alone do. Yet how could she not think of it when he'd done something so wonderful?

  Cora smiled at Sally and gave her fingers a light squeeze. "You meant to say that the good woman isn't asking and you don't deserve it after what I've done." Cora had made a point of correcting Sally at every opportunity—hopefully in a helpful way. "And of course you deserve it, Sally. You're a good mother and a hard worker. Your news has made me very happy indeed."

  Sally tightened her grip on Cora's fingers one last time before releasing them. "Thank you ever so much, Mrs. Notley. I don't know what else ter say."

  Cora shook her head, not deserving of the maid's gratitude. "It is not me you should thank. It is Mr. Ludlow. I had nothing at all to do with it."

  Sally's smile became sly. "If you think that, Mrs. Notley, you don't know men at'll. It was you 'e was thinkin' about, not me."

  The maid departed with a lightness in her step, and Cora's eyes followed. What a strange thing to say. If Mr. Ludlow had been thinking about anyone, it had been Sally's son. Every child deserved to be cared for in some way, and Mr. Ludlow had done what was necessary to protect a boy who could not protect himself. The only part Cora had played was to retain Sally and make sure Mr. Ludlow understood her circumstances. He had done the rest out of the goodness of his heart.

  And his heart was good, Cora thought, feeling hers warm again.

  Heavens, she really must stop thinking such things. It would only lead to trouble, and she certainly did not need any more of that. She strode purposefully into the still room, wrapped a large lump of sugar in a cloth, and began to strike it hard with a mallet.

  A fortnight following his discussion with Mrs. Notley about the painting titled Maddening Seas, Jonathan once again sat in his favorite chair and frowned at the piece. When he had first laid eyes on it, he had thought it commanding and majestic, but after hearing Mrs. Notley's opinion, he now recognized the brooding feeling the dark colors and turbulent seas conveyed. It began to bother him more and more. At one point he'd determined to replace it, but as the days passed and his efforts at furthering his acquaintance with Mrs. Notley met with failure, Jonathan developed a sort of kinship with the painting and no longer wished to part with it.

  What had changed? He and Mrs. Notley had been on such good terms once upon a time, and yet she now would not look him in the eye. She answered his teasing questions with either silence or dull and lifeless responses. She made every effort to avoid him, even going so far as to duck down a corridor when she spied him coming her way, even though he had obviously seen her and she had seen him. There were no more cheery hellos or smiles, no more laughter or exchanges that would brighten his day. The only time in the past couple of weeks that he had sensed any warmth at all from her was when she had thanked him for the part he'd played in Sally's improved circumstances. For a brief moment, he'd caught a spark of the woman he'd grown altogether too fond of, but then she bowed her head, stiffened her shoulders, and returned to vague and wooden responses.

  He had wanted to take her by the shoulders and demand an explanation, but he'd watched her curtsy and scuttle away instead—not that she'd ever allow that she had.

  Loud clucking and hollering sounded from outside his window, and Jonathan pushed himself to his feet so he could investigate the ruckus.

  Apparently someone had left the gate o
f the chicken coop unlatched. The formal gardens contained a mob of pecking birds. Charlie, the stablehand, was attempting to corner one while Harry chased after another with frantic movements. Mrs. Notley had come to the rescue as well. She crouched down, trying to lure a bird to her by holding out a palm filled with seeds. One hen snatched a bite and quickly darted away. It only took her a few more attempts to realize the futility of her plan. She tossed what remained of the seeds near a hedge where Charlie had finally cornered one bird. When it bent to peck at a seed, Charlie nabbed it with both hands. Another bird came to peck, and so he quickly handed the captured one to a surprised Mrs. Notley. She tentatively took hold of the bird, but when it attempted to spread its wings, she squealed and dropped it.

  Charlie called out something and pointed while Harry rushed at the recently freed creature, only to scare it right back towards Mrs. Notley, who squealed once again and sought shelter behind Harry, latching onto his shoulders to keep him between her and the now frightened bird.

  Harry glanced over his shoulder and said something that made her laugh while Charlie lunged for another bird and missed, landing in a pile of feathers and seeds instead. Mrs. Notley kept one hand on Harry's shoulder as she bent over, her entire frame shaking from uncontrolled laughter. Jonathan couldn't help but notice how comfortable she appeared with the footman. She had even touched him without hesitation.

  A memory of Miss Notley's determined voice sprang to Jonathan's mind. I would be better off married to a footman I respected she had said firmly. Was Harry such a footman? Jonathan had always thought that being in a position of wealth and power was the preferred life—the one envied by those who could never attain it. But as he looked over the scene in the garden, he found himself envying a footman. It did not sit well with him.

  Who had allowed those chickens to escape anyway? They were stirring up dust, leaving a mess of feathers in their wake, and causing utter chaos. He could only imagine what a visitor might make of the scene. Gads, would his household never be able to maintain any sort of decorum?

  He turned from the window and stalked out of the room. Down the hall and out the door he went, following the path around to the gardens. Mrs. Notley had progressed to the point where she now clutched her belly as she continued to laugh. Sally had joined the commotion as well, giggling joyfully. They seemed to be having a jolly time watching the hens escape capture.

  "What the devil is going on?" Jonathan's voice sounded thunderous, even to his own ears, but he paid it no mind. He wanted the madness to cease so that he might return to his brooding in peace.

  His tone had an immediate effect on everyone. They sobered at once, with the exception of Mrs. Notley, whose hand now covered her mouth to muffle her giggles.

  Charlie, holding a wriggling chicken, stiffened and stared down at the ground. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Ludlow. The hens… well, sir, they—"

  "Escaped," Jonathan inserted, having no patience whatsoever. "I can see that. What I'm wondering is who allowed them to escape."

  The stablehand, who couldn't be more than sixteen, shuffled his feet, still refusing to meet Mr. Ludlow's eyes. Mrs. Notley, thank heavens, had finally ceased her giggling.

  "Well, sir—" The lad began to say but Harry cut him off.

  "'Twas me who left the cage unlatched."

  Mr. Ludlow lifted an eyebrow, finding that difficult to believe. "What business did you have in the henhouse, Harry?" he asked, challenging the footman to procure a reason Jonathan would believe.

  "I… er…" Harry cast a panicked look at Mrs. Notley, obviously begging her to come to his aid.

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for pity's sake, Harry, Mr. Ludlow is not a nodcock. He knows very well that it was not your doing. Of course it was Charlie who neglected to replace the latch, but he did not do so on purpose, sir. It was an innocent mistake that we are all attempting to rectify."

  Jonathan's jaw hardened. Why was it that Mrs. Notley seemed to be the only person who placed any value in truth? Harry had not hesitated in telling the idiotic fib, nor had he looked the least bit sorry for it, and Charlie had said nothing to correct him. Did integrity mean so little to them that they could overlook it at every opportunity?

  Jonathan flicked a glance over the entire scene. Before him stood a lying footman, a cowardly stablehand, an immoral maid, and an incompetent housekeeper who had made her indifference to Jonathan quite clear. They were all surrounded by the most annoying clucking hens. One bird even had the temerity to peck at Jonathan's freshly shined Hessians. He nudged the bird away with his toe as anger simmered inside. Enough was enough.

  He directed a cold glare at Harry first and then Charlie. "The two of you are to gather each and every hen, then pack your things and leave Tanglewood this instant. I no longer have need of your services."

  Charlie and Harry appeared to accept the verdict without surprise or argument. Jonathan had to give them credit for that. It was Mrs. Notley's eyes that bulged. "But, sir—"

  Jonathan turned his glare on her, and she clamped her mouth closed. He knew the effect would only be temporary since the woman could not remain silent for long.

  Without further ado, he spun around and walked away. Any onlooker might view it as a powerful exit, but those who really knew him would see it for what it was—a flight to avoid yet another confrontation with his housekeeper.

  Unfortunately, he had not taken more than three steps when rapid footsteps sounded. He knew without looking that she had followed.

  "Sir," her voice confirmed. "Please wait."

  It took restraint not to break into a run and make his escape, but Jonathan forced his steps to remain purposeful and continued forward, ignoring her plea. He rounded the side of the house and was nearly to the steps when her hand took hold of his arm.

  He felt the touch immediately. The power of it moved up his arm and through his body, awakening sensations and desires he had no business feeling. He stopped and stared into her glittering blue eyes, wanting to drag her to him and kiss all arguments from her lips. Why did she feel the need to fight him on this? Why couldn't she understand how much he loathed dishonesty and take his side for once? Why did she not reach out to him because she wanted to? The only reason she touched him now was because she felt the need to come to a footman's defense.

  "I already know what you wish to say," said Jonathan. "They both have very good reasons for behaving badly and you would like to tell me what they are."

  "Yes."

  He stared pointedly at her hand on his arm. "Lest you forget, Mrs. Notley, you promised to never interfere in my decisions again."

  She pulled her hand away. "No, I promised to never reinstate a servant that you have sacked. I did not promise to never interfere."

  "Perhaps now would be an ideal time to make such a promise, for you are treading on precarious ground, and I am not in the mood to hear your pleas. As I've told you before, I will not tolerate dishonesty of any sort."

  She clamped her lips together, her eyes conveying her obvious disappointment in him. But, as before, she could not keep quiet for long. "And yet you will tolerate a stableboy returning to his drunken father where he will be subjected to a fierce beating because he no longer has a job. Charlie did not mean to leave the gate unlatched, sir."

  "He was not dismissed because he left the gate unlatched," said Jonathan, his voice rising. "He was dismissed because he stood by while a footman lied on his behalf and said nothing."

  "Of course he said nothing!" she cried. "He believed the consequence of leaving a gate unlatched would result in his immediate dismissal and therefore a severe beating. Don't you see, Mr. Ludlow? Your servants are afraid of you. They believe you to be the most exacting of employers and that one mistake will result in their departure. Why do you think Mrs. Caddy became so unhinged when that dinner went awry? She feared for her job. They all do."

  Mrs. Notley paused, biting down on her lower lip as though struggling to rein in her emotions. When she looked at him again, unshed tears
filled her eyes. "Your servants are not without integrity, sir. Charlie and Harry are good men. They merely have a lot more at stake than you understand. Please do not send them away for this. It is an unjust punishment."

  She blinked, and a tear escaped, making a path down her cheek. Jonathan watched it fall, knowing he had been the cause of it. The knowledge tore at his heart. Only moments before, she had been full of merriment and joy—they all had—and now, because of his quick temper and foul mood there was no joy left to be felt.

  Jonathan could not abide to look at her any longer, so he turned and walked away, needing the solace of his study more than ever. At least he would be in good company with his painting.

  Once inside, he ran into Watts, who was just emerging from the corridor that led back to the kitchen.

  "Good day to you, sir," the butler said cheerfully.

  At least someone can still look at me with respect, thought Jonathan. "Good day, Watts," he replied, drawing in a deep breath as he struggled to gain control over his turbulent emotions. It was a battle not easily won. His principles had never accepted an easy defeat, but as with Sally, Jonathan knew Mrs. Notley was in the right of it. Devil take it. How he despised being wrong.

  Another deep breath, and Jonathan mustered the ability to say, "Might I beg a favor from you, Watts?"

  "Certainly, sir. How may I be of assistance?"

  "Would you please inform Charlie and Harry that, following the removal of the hens from my gardens, I would like a word with them in my study?"

  The slight lift of the butler's eyebrows was the only indication he was surprised by the request. "Right away, sir."

  "Thank you, Watts." Feeling marginally better, Jonathan returned to his study and took one last look at the cursed painting before removing it from the mantle.

  Following dinner, Jonathan needed some air and rode into town, stopping by the tavern for a drink and whatever distraction was to be had there. He was in luck. Two drunkards began an argument that quickly escalated into a brawl. Punches were thrown, drinks spilled, and glasses broken, until they were finally shoved out the door by an angry proprietor. Jonathan watched it play out with an inward smile. At least he had not resorted to fisticuffs with Harry and Charlie. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.