"As good of friends as an employer can be with his housekeeper."
"Yes." He sighed, sounding disappointed in her answer. His gaze drifted back to the painting that Cora suddenly wanted to tear from the wall and toss in the fireplace.
She had never seen him so raw, so obviously aching on the inside. It took all her resolve not to go to him and attempt to coerce a smile back to his lips. It had been far too long since she had seen his dimple. She wanted to see it now, there, just to the left of his mouth.
Forcing her feet to remain where they stood, Cora decided that the servants would not be given the night off after all. In fact, they would work harder today than ever before. Together, they would do whatever it took to see that dimple appear on Mr. Ludlow's face before he became one year older. A person should not be allowed to advance to the next year of his life without at least a smile.
Jonathan tied his cravat with quick movements, not caring that the knot was slightly larger on one side than the other. He had been in a wretched mood all day and had sent his valet away an hour earlier so the man would not be made to tolerate any more of Jonathan's surliness. Now he stood before the mirror, scowling at the grim lines on his face and the dark shadows beneath his eyes. He looked much older than thirty.
Snow had fallen all day without letting up for even a moment. It was a rare thing for Askern to get this much snow—or any snow at all. How interesting it would fall today of all days, as though the heavens thought him befitting of further torment. The road would be a mess, not fit for carriage or beast, but Jonathan would muck his way through regardless. He refused to remain at home.
After one more glance at the mirror, he left his room, grateful to see no servants about. Apparently Mrs. Notley had efficiently spread the word. He could only hope his servants would have a merrier night of it than he would. The echo of his footsteps bounced off the walls of the great hall as he walked down the stairs. The hollow sound of it served to quicken his feet so that he might escape the emptiness. How could a place he'd called home for nearly eighteen months suddenly feel like a foreign, cavernous tomb?
He blamed Mrs. Notley entirely.
Not only had she found fault with the painting of the volatile sea, but when Jonathan had forced himself to choose a work of art that looked brighter and more cheerful, she could not find anything to like in the new piece as well. She had immediately called it lonely, and her eyes had accused him of having the same fault. They had been filled with such pity, and Jonathan hated to be pitied. Initially, he had planned to spend the day holed up in his library, distracting himself with books and brandy. But after Mrs. Notley's sympathetic gaze had landed on him, he had determined that he would not be lonely tonight. He would ride to the tavern and surround himself with crass and surly drunkards, bar maids, and drinks of the most intoxicating variety. He would drink himself into oblivion so he might awake in the morning with no recollection of the day at all.
He paused at the bottom of the stairs to pull on his riding gloves and look for his great coat. His valet had promised to leave it on a chair near the door. Ah, there it was.
"Mr. Ludlow," Mrs. Notley's voice intruded. He twisted his head to see her standing in the shadows of the hallway. How long had she been there and for what purpose?
"Before you go," she said, "I wonder if I might ask your opinion on something."
"Yes?" Jonathan asked testily, not wishing to be detained.
"If you will come with me to the kitchen for a moment, I would be most grateful."
That was the last thing Jonathan wanted. Could she not see that he was in no mood to give an opinion on anything? "Surely whatever it is can wait until tomorrow."
"I'm afraid that is out of the question. Please, sir. It will only take a moment."
Jonathan experienced a surge of annoyance and turned to face her. "What could possibly be so urgent, Mrs. Notley? Has the snow somehow broken its way inside?"
"In a manner of speaking, yes," she said without hesitation. "That is precisely what has happened."
He did not believe her for a second. She appeared far too calm and even amused.
She stepped to the side and gestured down the hallway. "If you will only give us direction on how to proceed, I would be most appreciative."
What the devil was she about? "You cannot be serious."
"But I am, sir," she said. "The kitchen is plastered with snow, I assure you."
Jonathan immediately strode towards the kitchen, brushing past her without so much as a glance. He pushed open the door and immediately halted, his eyes widening at the scene before him. The room was filled with his staff. Even his valet and coachmen stood among the throng. What the devil?
"Happy birthday!" they cried, moving aside to reveal a table piled high with food, along with a large cake coated in white icing.
Who had given them permission to do such a thing? And why? They all stared at him, gawking and looking as though he should be as pleased as punch when Jonathan was anything but. He had no desire to spend the evening here with his servants, feigning a merriment he could never feel. He wanted to be among drunken strangers—people who would not remember him or his misery on the morrow.
What had prompted Mrs. Notley to plan such a celebration when there was nothing to celebrate? Surely, she had perceived that he would not enjoy such festivities—not in his current frame of mind.
He turned to find her at his side, looking as pleased as all the others, though there was a strain about her mouth as though she was worried about his reaction.
She ought to be worried.
"I see no snow, Mrs. Notley," he said, his jaw clenching against the anger building inside of him.
"Then you have not looked hard enough." She pointed at the walls where several decorative snowflakes cut from paper hung from string.
He did not find it at all humorous and glared at her. "I instructed you to give everyone the night off."
"And we chose to spend it preparing a birthday celebration for you," she said. "Mrs. Caddy even allowed me to help frost the cake. Doesn't it look wonderful? I cannot wait to—"
Jonathan grabbed her arm and pulled her from the room, closing the kitchen door between them and the rest of his household. He had a great many things to say to her that he did not want overheard.
"Why is it you always insist on doing the opposite of what I say? Or do you simply choose not to listen to what I have to say? Hear this, Mrs. Notley. I am going to the tavern and that is final. Do you understand?"
"Not at all, sir. Today is your birthday. Why would you want to spend it—"
"My reasons are not your concern, and you are overstepping yet again. How could you possibly think this would be a good idea?"
"Because it is a good idea, sir. If you would only stop and consider—"
Realizing she would never cease, Jonathan released her arm and walked away. He would deal with Mrs. Notley and her presumptuous ways later. If he lingered a moment longer, her refusal to listen would likely drive him to throttle her.
"Sir!"
Of course she felt the need to follow. Why must she always do that?
Jonathan ignored her as he grabbed his greatcoat and hat and stormed out the door without donning either one. Perhaps he would find peace in the chilly air. Mrs. Notley was not dressed for the weather and would be required to remain indoors.
Unfortunately, he had underestimated her. She rushed out after him, heedless of the snow, and followed him down the steps in her ridiculous slippers.
"Please do not leave, Mr. Ludlow. This weather is not safe for riding."
"When did my safety become your concern, Mrs. Notley?" He placed his hat on his head as he strode towards the stables.
"When has it not been my concern? Please, do slow down! I cannot keep pace with you."
"I am glad to hear it," he said, not looking back.
A strangled squeal sounded behind him, followed by a thump. Jonathan turned to find her sitting on her backside in the snow, not looking at all happ
y about it. If he were in any mood to laugh, he might have. She had never appeared more humbled or cantankerous. It was a sight to behold.
He stayed precisely where he was. "Are you all right, Mrs. Notley?"
"Quite," she muttered as she struggled to rise to her feet, only to fall once more.
"Good." He turned again towards the stables.
"Sir!"
Jonathan looked to the heavens before heaving a sigh and turning around again. He strode back to her and held out his hand, which she glared at for only a moment before accepting. He easily pulled her to her feet, feeling the coldness of her bare hands through his gloves. Good gads, the woman could try his patience. Why had she not stayed indoors?
Beyond frustrated, he removed his coat and swept it around her shoulders, then lifted her into his arms so that he might carry her back to the house.
"Sir," she protested, kicking against his hold. "Please put me down. What a scene you are making! I can walk on my own."
"If that is the case, why did I have to pick you up off the ground?"
"I merely slipped on some ice."
"And now you are soaking wet and will catch a chill if you do not get yourself warm and dry soon. I am only helping you on your way so that I can be on mine."
"I do not need your help."
"And I do not need yours."
Jonathan might have tossed her back in the snow if she did not feel so wonderful in his arms or if he did not find the angry sparkle in her eyes and firm set of her lips so alluring. If she continued in this vein, he would have no choice but to silence her with a thorough kissing. Her lips looked far too rosy to do anything else with them. How could he be so drawn to a woman who caused him endless frustration?
He reached the top step and set her down none too gently. "Go inside and warm yourself. We will speak on this matter later, once we have both calmed down."
She wrapped her arms around her chest, refusing to do as he bid. Her body trembled from cold as she looked up at him. "I do not know what past event has brought you such misery on your birthday, but I do know something dreadful has happened to you. But how do you expect to be free from such sadness when you refuse to replace those memories with happier ones? That is all we are trying to do for you, sir. We have not labored this day out of pity. We labored because we care and because we would very much like for you to experience a birthday you can remember with fondness."
She paused, and a slight smile touched her lips. "And besides, what sort of person wishes to walk away from a perfectly wonderful cake? I cannot understand it. I have sampled the icing myself, sir, and it is divine."
Jonathan's heart lurched at her words, and he felt a spark of something good begin to warm his cold, dark heart. How she managed to do that, he would never know. Standing before him in his too-large coat, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her eyes bright, and her cap askew, with snow falling gently around her, she had never looked more beautiful. He reached out to right her cap before taking her by her trembling shoulders. "Why must you try me so, Mrs. Notley?"
Her body stiffened, but she did not pull away. Wary blue eyes searched his before she swallowed. "Was that not in my job description, sir? To vex you at every opportunity?"
"I'm quite sure it was not."
"Pray forgive me. In the future, I will do my utmost to refrain from causing you further vexation."
He couldn't resist the smile that came to his lips. "Liar."
A victorious light appeared in her eyes, and her mouth transformed into the most radiant of smiles. "Ah, there it is." She lifted a finger to touch his cheek, just to the side of his lips. "I own, I have missed that dimple, sir. It is wonderful to see it again."
Jonathan's breath hitched at her touch. It fanned a fire inside his chest that soon heated his entire body. He captured her frigid hand in his, holding on to it as he gazed at her. Unable to stop himself, he raised his free hand to her cheek and touched it gently.
"You are so beautiful," he murmured.
Her breath caught, and she immediately stepped back. A fierce blush darkened her cheeks as she stared at him in confusion. It was on the tip of Jonathan's tongue to offer an apology, but he swallowed it, knowing it would not be sincere. The only thing he was sorry about was that she had found it necessary to pull away. Did she not feel the almost palpable connection between them?
She removed his coat from her shoulders and handed it back. "I ought to go inside and change into something dry."
"Yes," he said, studying her. "You do look a little… unkempt. I can only imagine the conclusions the others will draw once they see you."
She glanced down at her apron and dress with a grimace. "You are correct. This will certainly set the tongues to wagging, won't it?"
He resisted the impulse to pull her into his arms and say, "Let us give them something to wag about, shall we?" Instead, he pushed open the door and gestured for her to go in. "If I precede you into the kitchen, my appearance will most certainly cause a distraction which should allow you a moment or two to sneak by without notice."
Her mouth parted in surprise. "Do you mean to stay then, sir?"
Jonathan did not wish to, but she could be very persuasive. That, and she had made a valid point about replacing bad memories with better ones. But… an evening spent with his servants? Did she not realize the awkwardness of the situation?
"I don't make it a habit to socialize with my staff," he said.
She nodded slowly as though trying to come up with a logical reason as to why he should. "I understand it is not the norm, sir, but would you prefer to spend your birthday with interesting and engaging people or blubbering drunkards?"
Snowflakes landed on her nose and her eyelashes, and Jonathan could not tear his gaze away. Nor could he bring himself to disappoint her. She and the rest of his staff had gone to a great deal of trouble for him. Perhaps it would not be so dreadful to stay, especially if it meant spending the evening with his charming housekeeper.
"I believe, as always, that you may be in the right of it, Mrs. Notley. So yes, I suppose I will stay so long as you can promise me an evening filled with merriment."
She clapped her hands together and grinned. "Oh, how glad I am to hear you say that. It will certainly be a birthday worth remembering, I assure you."
"I am glad that you are glad." He gestured inside. "Shall we go in then?"
"Yes, sir."
He had to bite his tongue to keep from telling her to please refrain from calling him sir. It rankled, feeling much too distant and formal. He did not want to be "sir" or even "Mr. Ludlow" to her any longer.
As agreed, Mr. Ludlow returned to the kitchen first and found the servants clustered together, laughing and talking. The food remained untouched as though they had known Mrs. Notley would convince him to remain. And why would they not think that when Mrs. Notley always seemed to have her way of things where he was concerned? At least they had the grace to appear surprised when they spotted him.
It was an awkward moment to say the least. Apparently, they did not know if they should shout "Happy Birthday" again or carry on with whatever festivities they had planned. They looked past him, no doubt wondering where Mrs. Notley had gone, but none dared to inquire.
Not one to enjoy so much attention, Jonathan mustered a cheerful tone and moved through the throng. "I have been told that a person should never walk away from a perfectly wonderful cake, so here I am. Let us celebrate my dreadful birthday and be done with it, shall we?"
Cheers filled the room and everyone surged towards the food. Mrs. Caddy was the first to speak, her brusque voice rising to be heard over the others. "If you think it ain't easy ter reach thirty, sir, only think 'ow I'm nearin' fifty."
Everyone laughed and Jonathan smiled. They seemed to think his foul mood was on account of his advancing age, and he would let them continue to think that. Only Mrs. Notley had perceived that his dislike of this day went deeper than age. She had seen past his disagreeableness and into his heart, and, sur
prisingly enough, Jonathan found that he did not mind at all.
From the corner of his eye, he spied her hurrying through the room unnoticed by the others. She shared a grateful smile with him right before she disappeared up the stairs. Mrs. Caddy handed Jonathan a plate, which he piled high with the pork roast, potatoes, and a generous slice of cake. He accepted it gratefully and moved to the corner of the room. A few of the others looked his way and wished him a happy birthday, but they did not linger near him, likely because they had no idea how to socialize with their employer. Jonathan understood completely because he had no idea what to say to them either. Apparently he did not know his servants well at all, not even his valet.
At last Mrs. Notley returned, looking much dryer. Her cap was back in place, her cheeks had returned to their usual cream, and her eyes glowed with happiness. Only Sally raised a speculative eyebrow at her, which Mrs. Notley promptly ignored. Everyone else seemed far more interested in their food, which, Jonathan had to admit, was much tastier than the fare he would have been served at the tavern. Mrs. Caddy had outdone herself.
Mrs. Notley filled a plate as well, sampled a bite of cake, and glanced from Jonathan to the rest of the group. He could practically see her mind working, attempting to figure out a way to bridge the distance between the two classes. He could not wait to see how she would manage it, but somehow he knew she would. Once Mrs. Notley set her mind to something, she found a way to make it happen.
She popped another bite of cake into her mouth and walked over to him, raising her voice so that Mrs. Caddy would hear. "Did I not tell you the cake is divine?" She nodded towards the half-eaten cake on his plate. "I do not know how Mrs. Caddy manages to cook such wonderful things, but she does. Every single day. Is she not a wonder?"
Mrs. Caddy's face reddened with pleasure, and she waved a dismissive arm. "Oh, how you do go on, Mrs. Notley."
Jonathan smiled. "You are, indeed, a wonder, Mrs. Caddy. Many thanks for this exceptional meal."
"You're most welcome, sir." She beamed at him before slicing herself a piece of cake.
Mrs. Notley directed her next comment to Sally, "Your boy is quite fond of his new caretaker, is he not?"
The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2) Page 13