The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2)

by Rachael Anderson

  In the wee hours of the morning, he swallowed the last of his drink, dropped some coins on the table, and nodded to the proprietor before heading back to Tanglewood. He handed his horse off to a sleepy stablehand and strode inside, where, much to his surprise, he found a sleeping Mrs. Notley at the base of the stairs, her head leaning against the banister with her mouth parted slightly. Jonathan stopped several feet away, watching her.

  The moonlight coming through the glass above the door highlighted her dark curls and lovely cheekbones. Her shoulders and chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths, and the smallest of smiles touched her lips. Even in her sleep she appeared content and happy. Goodness seemed to emanate from her, touching him like the warmth from a cozy fire.

  Jonathan knew he should bypass her and go straight to his bedchamber. She would awaken on her own eventually, or he could send his valet to rouse her. It was far too late and Jonathan too tired to control the feelings she stirred within him, yet he could not pull his gaze away. She was so very beautiful. He yielded to the impulse to graze his fingers lightly across her cheekbone. How soft and cold her skin felt.

  His touched stirred her, and she slowly lifted her head and blinked open her eyes. At first, she appeared confused. Then her gaze traveled from Jonathan's boots up to his face. Her eyes widened, and she immediately pulled herself to her feet, stifling a yawn in the process.

  "Forgive me, Mr. Ludlow. I must have dozed off."

  Jonathan glanced at the marble steps and lifted a brow. "Surely you could have found a more comfortable place to doze than these steps. Your bed, perhaps?"

  "I did not intend to fall asleep, sir."

  "And yet you did."

  "Yes." She studied her fingers as though they were the most interesting things around. When she said nothing more, Jonathan sighed.

  "What are you doing on the stairs, Mrs. Notley? Are you guarding the door against intruders, perhaps?"

  "What?" Her eyes flew to his, but when she saw that he was only jesting, her lips lifted a little. "Yes, that is exactly what I am doing, sir. You may rest easy tonight for I have things well in hand." Her lips twitched and quirked, and Jonathan had the greatest desire to kiss them. What would they taste like? Would they feel as soft and supple as they appeared? Would they conform to his or—

  What the devil was he thinking? Jonathan closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, striving to control his emotions. What he needed to do was to leave. At once.

  "I shall be sure to rest easy then," he said with a sigh. "Goodnight, Mrs. Notley."

  He began to walk past her, but she moved to stop him. When her fingers brushed the front of his shirt, she snatched her hand back as though the mere touch of him had shocked her. Her eyes lingered on the area of exposed skin beneath his collarbone. Hours earlier, Jonathan had discarded his cravat and undone the top two buttons of his shirt.

  Her breath hitched and Jonathan felt his own breathing increase as well. Her gaze slowly lifted to his, revealing vulnerability, nervousness, and desire. Jonathan's heart raced, and he had to clench his hands at his sides. He was far too tired for this sort of temptation. What had she been thinking to wait up for him?

  "Is there something you needed, Mrs. Notley?" The words came out sounding abrupt and irritated.

  She blinked and shook her head. "No, sir. I mean, yes." She paused, biting her lower lip as she searched for the right words. "I merely wanted to say… well, thank you, I suppose."

  "For what?"

  "For retaining Charlie and Harry. For listening and…" Her voice trailed off.

  "Finally seeing reason?" he finished for her, annoyed that he had to fight off his attraction while she stood there, reminding him of his earlier boorishness. The fact of the matter was that he did not need her thanks or even want it. He only wished to escape her presence, go to bed, and forget this day had ever happened.

  Unfortunately, she was making it difficult to do that.

  "I was going to say 'understanding,'" she said quietly, her brow furrowed in worry. "And you do understand, do you not?" She paused, looking anxious. "What I mean to say is that the reasons you allowed Charlie and Harry to stay and saw to it that Sally's son received better care was because you were concerned about their welfare, were you not?"

  "As opposed to whose welfare, Mrs. Notley?" he asked. "Yours? Do you suppose I did it all for you? That I harbor some… special feelings for my housekeeper and that is the reason I listened and understood?"

  Her cheeks flamed, and she quickly shook her head. "No, of course not. I would never presume such a thing. It's only that… oh, never mind." She placed her palms on her burning cheeks. "What was I thinking? I should not have waited up for you. Please, let us forget this whole conversation ever happened."

  Jonathan wanted nothing more, but he felt immediate guilt for goading her in such a way. She did not deserve it, not when her worries were justified. The truth of it was that he had thought of her first and foremost in each situation. He thought of her constantly. That was the problem.

  He sighed. "You were thinking, Mrs. Notley, that you could not go to bed without expressing your gratitude that I came to my senses long enough to right a wrong. There is nothing so vile in that. Pray forgive me for behaving like a boor. The truth of the matter is that I could not think of them without thinking of you. I suppose you could say that you have helped me to see things more clearly—or, with more compassion, and for that I owe you my thanks as well. I have come to respect and admire your opinion a great deal, and I apologize for making you uncomfortable."

  Her mouth opened to say something but no words came out. She stared at him in confusion.

  Jonathan could not deny that he enjoyed seeing her speechless for once. It felt rather good. "You no longer need to guard the door, Mrs. Notley. Please go to bed, and let us do as you suggest and forget about today. I should like nothing more, I assure you."

  Her answer came as a slow nod, and Jonathan took the opportunity to escape, leaving his tongue-tied housekeeper standing at the base of the stairs. If she had any idea how much she had tested his control tonight, she would flee as well.

  As November became December, Cora settled into her role as housekeeper. She now felt confident with the marketing, in the still room, and even in the kitchen as she plated the tasty meals Mrs. Caddy prepared. When Mr. Ludlow entertained, as he was doing more and more, she felt secure in choosing the linens and décor that would be used for the dinner table and even aided Watts a time or two in selecting the wine. Her relationships with the housemaids, especially Sally, improved dramatically, and she grew to adore the timid Alice.

  One morning in mid-December, Cora arranged her cap on her head and tightened her apron strings, giving her reflection one last glance before leaving her room and skipping down the stairs. With the house so dark and chilly, it had become more difficult to drag herself from her bed, but once she was up and about she found that she loved the early morning hours. Even amongst the bustle, a peaceful feeling radiated through the house in those precious moments before the sun arose. Cora loved catching glimpses of it cresting the horizon or glowing behind thick layers of clouds. With winter just around the corner, the skies were overcast much of the time.

  There were at least six servants clustered around the kitchen window when Cora descended, each of them vying for a view into the murky outdoors.

  "Has the Prince Regent come to call?" teased Cora, curious as to the reason for all the fuss.

  Sally broke away from the group with a scowl. "It's not so excitin' as all that. Just snowin' like the dickens out there. Haven't seen that much white in ages."

  "Truly?" Cora's spirits brightened further as she joined the group, standing on tiptoe to catch a glimpse of the first snowfall of the year. How beautiful it looked, extending light to the dreariness with its untouched brilliance.

  "Makes me want ter go build a snow creature," said Harry, looking like a boy who'd just been given a favorite toy.

  "Why in He
aven's name are you scowling, Sally?" Cora asked. "It's a lovely sight."

  "From 'ere, 'tis lovely," said Sally. "But when I go trompin' about tonight to visit me—I mean, my—son, it won't be near so lovely. My boots soak up the snow like a dishrag."

  Cora pulled her gaze from the window and smiled at the maid. More and more often, Sally was correcting her own grammar, and Cora loved hearing it.

  "If that is the reason you are scowling, you must cease at once. I have a sturdy pair of boots that you are welcome to borrow any time you'd like. And a warm coat as well." Indeed, on Cora's last trip to the Shepherd's, she had returned with a bundle of warm clothing that Mrs. Shepherd had insisted were no longer needed. Cora had accepted them gratefully, for the weather had turned quite blustery the past few weeks, and she had begun to dread venturing outdoors. Now, however, she couldn't wait for a chance to step outside and lift her face to the heavens. Oh, what a blessed sight.

  "Ah, see?" Cora grinned when she saw that Sally's scowl had gone away. "Now you are not so despising of the snow, are you?"

  "'Tis… lovely, I suppose," Sally allowed, cocking an eyebrow at Cora. "You truly don't mind me borrowin' your boots and coat?"

  "Of course not. We can't have you catching a chill, can we? Your son needs a healthy mother, and I need a strong and vigorous housemaid."

  Sally smiled. "I thank you, Mrs. Notley."

  "It is my pleasure," she responded, thinking how nice it was to finally be at peace with the maid—peace with everyone at Tanglewood, really. At least the servants. Mr. Ludlow was another matter entirely. Cora sometimes wondered if she would ever come to truly understand him and feel comfortable in his presence. Sometimes he looked upon her with unseemly warmth and admiration, sometimes he spoke with a curt air of annoyance, and sometimes he treated her with complete indifference as though she were nothing more than a servant—which was precisely how he should treat her, she told herself firmly. Cora did her best to stay out of his way, but it was impossible to avoid him completely considering he requested an audience with her on an almost daily basis. She suffered through those meetings, attempting to behave as though she felt only respect for her employer.

  If only that were true. If only she could make it be true.

  "Stop gawkin' at the snow," Mrs. Caddy demanded of the group in her brusque way. "Eat your breakfast and get ter work. No sense in standin' about like a pack of good-for-nothin' goats."

  Since Watts was not around, it probably should have been Cora who called everyone to order, but why take on the taxing role of taskmaster when Mrs. Caddy seemed to enjoy it so well?

  Cora hid a smile, gazed one last time at the cheery snow, and made her way to the servants' table where Mrs. Caddy had set out a tasty spread. Watts appeared and Cora took her place with the other servants, marveling at the camaraderie she now felt with them. How wonderful it was to finally feel as though she belonged.

  As soon as they'd eaten, Cora gestured for Alice to join her in the still room where they set a pot of tea to brewing and began to label and shelve the bottles of preserves they'd made yesterday. After that, she walked into the larder to compile a list of items needed at market, and finally helped Mrs. Caddy prepare Mr. Ludlow's breakfast tray.

  "Sally," Mrs. Caddy's voice boomed through the kitchen. "I'll be needin' you ter take this up to Mr. Ludlow at once."

  Sally glanced at Cora for affirmation, and Cora nodded. Mr. Ludlow had not requested that his housekeeper bring up the tray, as he often did, and she was grateful for it. She could use a day's respite from the man.

  Her gratitude lasted only as long as it took for Harry to bustle into the room. "Mr. Ludlow's askin' that Mrs. Notley bring up his tray," he announced as Sally was leaving the kitchen with it. She promptly stopped and turned around, smiling slyly at Cora in a way she'd come to loathe. Harry's wink did nothing to help matters either. The two of them found great enjoyment in teasing her about Mr. Ludlow's particular attentions, and Cora did not care for it one bit. Why did Mr. Ludlow need to speak with her again so soon? Only last evening, they had discussed the menus for the week, planned the dinner party he would be hosting on Saturday night, and had even chatted about the state of the storeroom—something he had employed her to worry about so that he would not have to, and yet he found it necessary to continually inquire about it. Why? Perhaps he secretly wanted to be the housekeeper, she decided, refusing to believe it could be for the reasons that Harry and Sally seemed to think.

  Or perhaps Mr. Ludlow merely suffered from loneliness and considered her closer in station than anyone else in the household. It made sense like nothing else did, and Cora would be content with such a friendship if not for the fact that she found Mr. Ludlow far too attractive, charming, and intriguing. Not long ago, she had come to the disturbing realization that she would never be able to enjoy any sort of comfortable friendship with him, not if he continued to stir feelings within her that should not be stirred.

  Taking his breakfast tray to his bedchamber was the worst summons of all. His room felt far too intimate and caused Cora greater discomfort than usual. If she had chosen to enter society instead of his service, she would never be allowed to even think of going into his bedchamber, yet in her present circumstances, it was a requirement.

  Thankfully, he was already dressed and on his way out of his room when she arrived. "Let us adjourn to my study," he said, looking rather stern. Perhaps he did not care for the snow either.

  Oddly enough, he took the tray from her hands and carried it himself. Cora felt awkward trailing behind with nothing, but she knew better than to argue with him over such a trivial matter. Once in his study, he set the tray down, closed the door behind her, and sat on the corner of his desk, folding his arms as he stared at the fire. The flames danced in his eyes, and Cora immediately felt the familiar pull he had on her. He looked unaccountably handsome this morning, dressed in a brown coat and buff breeches. She wanted to go to him and touch his freshly shaved jaw, feel of its smoothness, and ease the lines of distress that were etched across his forehead and around his eyes.

  What troubled him?

  She followed his gaze to a new painting that hung above the mantle. Vibrant red, orange, and yellow desert sands spread across the canvas with interesting ripples and curves. A fierce blue sky watched over from above, providing a stark contrast to the swells and valleys in the sand. Although brighter and less angry than the seascape that had hung in its place before, this new painting did nothing to inspire Cora either. She realized that both paintings felt empty. There had been no ship on the waters, not even a lighthouse on the shore, and the desert looked so barren, devoid of any life whatsoever. What had Mr. Ludlow seen in such a piece?

  "What do you think?" he asked, startling her from her thoughts.

  Cora knew better than to mince words this time. It would only prolong their meeting. "I think it looks rather lonely. Are you certain the artist is finished with it?"

  Her candid assessment did not amuse him this time. He looked at her with brooding, almost haunted eyes. "This painting is my birthday present to myself, but now you have taken all the brightness out of it."

  His words made her feel overly critical, and Cora immediately wished her assessment back. What was her problem, anyway? The artist's lines were smooth and skilled, the colors vibrant and beautiful. Why could she not focus on its attributes instead of its deficiencies?

  Instead of attempting a fumbled apology, she stepped closer to him, resisting the desire to cover his hand with her own. "Today is your birthday?" she asked quietly.

  He seemed annoyed by the question as though she had missed his point entirely, but he answered anyway. "Yes. Which is the reason I wanted to speak with you. I have decided I will be going out tonight and would like you to inform the rest of the staff that they may have the evening off."

  Cora blinked in surprise. That was the last thing she had expected him to say. An evening free? How glorious that would be! Her mind whirled with all the possibiliti
es of what she might do with her time. She could go for a long walk in the beautiful snow. Or Harry often spoke of the dances in town. Perhaps there would be one tonight, and they could all go together? Or she could accompany Sally to visit her son or even pay an impromptu visit to the Shepherds. Or—

  One glance at Mr. Ludlow and Cora immediately squelched her happy thoughts. Why did he appear so downtrodden? He had said he was going out. Where? He had received no invitations for tonight or the staff would have already known not to plan on him for dinner. Would he be meeting friends or… Cora's gaze strayed to the painting, and she suddenly knew the answer. He planned to spend the evening alone somewhere away from his home while his servants celebrated his birthday without him.

  Cora refused to allow such a thing to happen. "When will you be leaving, sir?" she asked.

  "Five o'clock," came his answer.

  Wanting to be sure she had interpreted the state of things correctly, she prodded, "Do you have an appointment of some sort?"

  "No." He stared at the fireplace, appearing lost in thought.

  She pressed on even though she knew she had no right to do so. "A dinner engagement?"

  "No."

  "Are you meeting up with some friends, sir?"

  "I have no friends here," he said woodenly, his words wrenching her heart.

  "You have me," she blurted before she could check herself. Good gracious, why had she said such a thing? She should not be encouraging a friendship or even considering herself his friend.

  He was watching her now, his expression one that she could not read, but it still made her heart thump and her body simmer. "Are we friends, Mrs. Notley?"