Goodness, she needed to sit down. She needed to breathe.
"Have I caught you so unaware?" he asked.
She could only nod in the affirmative. Of course he had caught her unaware! Did he think she had taken on the role of housekeeper with the hope of engaging his affections? Did he have any idea of the struggle it had taken to keep him at a distance and not allow her heart to become too attached? How could she even hope for such an outcome when it had not been in the realm of possibilities?
Cora looked up, imploring him to understand her confusion and uncertainty. She swallowed and forced her voice to speak. "Mr. Ludlow, I need—"
"Please call me Jonathan when we are alone."
"Jonathan," she breathed, rather liking the way it sounded. "I… I do not know what to think. I do not even know how I should feel. All I had hoped for today was that you would not be distressed on your birthday, and now…" She looked at him, shaking her head once more.
"Now I have asked you to stroll with me, I have taken certain liberties with you, and I have proclaimed my love for you when you had no inclination of my feelings before this moment. Is that what has you in such a stupor?"
Again, all she could do was nod. Could this truly be happening? Her head felt so muddled and cloudy, as though she'd taken a dose of laudanum. Only she was not tired in the least. In fact, she was quite sure she would not sleep a wink this night.
Mr. Ludlow took her cold, limp hands in his and began rubbing life and warmth back into them. "Forgive me for springing this on you so suddenly. I had thought my increased attentions would have prepared you, but I can see they have not. Only tell me this, if you can. Do you care for me enough that you would consider leaving my employ and returning to the Shepherds where you truly belong? You are a lady, my dear. You belong in drawing rooms, not kitchens."
"I assure you, I am no lady, sir. I belong exactly where I am."
"How can you say that when we both know you are a dreadful housekeeper?"
Cora blinked, her eyes widening as his words registered. She pulled her hands free and frowned at him. "How can you say that? I will allow that I was a dreadful housekeeper in the beginning, but I have learned a great deal since that time and am rather proficient at it now."
He pressed his lips together as though attempting to think of a delicate way to refute her words. "I will agree that you are more proficient now than you were, but… well, to be quite frank, my dear, your preserves are still lumpy, your pastries remain far too dry and brittle, and your marketing skills leave much to be desired. I will end up in the poorhouse if you continue to be the purchaser of all supplies. You may have a head for numbers, but you certainly do not have a head for bargaining—or rather, the backbone for it. You are far too kind to wrangle over price."
Cora would not have been more stunned if he had slapped her. "I beg your pardon!"
"That was a compliment, Cora, not a criticism."
A compliment? Had the man gone completely mad? "Obviously you have confused the meanings of those two words. A compliment should serve to please and inspire, not make one angry. That was most certainly not a compliment, sir."
"My name is Jonathan."
"And my name is Mrs. Notley."
He lifted an eyebrow, watching her closely. "You intend to stay on as housekeeper then?"
"Of course I do!" she said, allowing her frustration to get the better of her. "Apparently I have yet to prove what I am capable of, and until I do, I…" She stopped talking, having no idea how to finish that sentence. She would what? Continue to make lumpy preserves? Carry on with her mismanagement of purchasing supplies? Persist in making dry and brittle pastries?
Goodness, he had not painted a very pretty picture of her. No wonder he did not care for paintings with people in them. He'd likely find all sorts of faults with anyone or anything that had the misfortune of being the subject.
"You will what?" he said. "Stubbornly refuse to live up to your potential because I have told you that you were raised to become a lady and not a housekeeper? Is your pride so easily wounded as that?"
Cora glared at him. Easily wounded? How could he call that easy? The man had taken any confidence she had begun to feel these past few weeks and squashed it the way one would a spider. If she had told him that she could manage a fence post better than he managed his staff, would he not also be easily offended? Did he truly expect her to dismiss his many criticisms just like that? It felt like he had taken a beautiful moment and turned a bucketful of water over top, leaving her wet, cold, and not at all happy.
"That is precisely what I intend to do," she answered, for no other reason than to spite him.
His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "Then you will have to prove yourself in someone else's household."
"What are you saying, sir?"
"As of this moment, you are no longer employed at Tanglewood."
Cora opened her mouth to argue, but she immediately snapped it closed when she realized she had no argument to make. As her employer, he could dismiss her or anyone else whenever he wished. It was his right, the power he held as master of Tanglewood. What could an inept housekeeper say to sway him? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She could only glare, which she did, and stomp her boots, which she also did as she stormed away, fueled by her anger, frustration, and injured pride.
If she could not prove herself at Tanglewood, she would prove herself someplace else.
Jonathan awoke with a thundering headache. He groaned and reached over to ring for some restorative tea, only to remember that he had dismissed the person whose duty it was to make it. Had Cora left already? Probably. He flopped back on his pillow and stared at the ceiling, wondering how a night that had begun with such promise could have ended so disastrously.
He could still see the angry set to her shoulders and the way her boots knifed through the snow as she strode away. He would have chased after her if not for the lesson he had learned from his father at a young age. His father had once lost his temper with his mother, and she had quit the room in a huff. Rather than run after her as Jonathan thought his father should, he'd sighed and taken a seat in a large, wingback chair.
"Jonathan," he had said, "if there is one thing I have learned about women, it's that an angry woman is not a reasonable woman. It will do no good to go after her now. Only time and a heartfelt apology has any hope of restoring reason."
The following day, when he saw his parents embracing, the lesson was sealed in Jonathan's mind as valuable. He thought of it now, hoping the words of wisdom rang true for all women and not just his mother.
With a wince, he rang for his valet. A few moments later, the too-thin man walked in and immediately parted the curtains, allowing bright light to billow into the room. Jonathan groaned and covered his eyes with his forearm. "Deuce take it, Drew, have some compassion!"
The curtains immediately closed and blessed darkness fell over Jonathan once more. "Forgive me sir," said Drew. "I had assumed you were ready to rise. Are you ill?"
"Yes," Jonathan moaned, tossing the pillow aside. "I have the devil of a headache. Would you be so kind as to send for some restorative tea?"
Drew shifted uncomfortably. "Er… I believe Mrs. Notley has taken her leave, sir."
"Good," he grumbled. "Her tea tastes like rainwater that has been collected in a tin can and left to bake in the sun for weeks. Please ask Sally to concoct something."
Drew's squinty eyes widened, but he quickly masked his surprise and executed a brief bow. "Very good, sir. I shall pass along the request straightaway. Will there be anything else? Would you like your breakfast tray sent up as well?"
"Only tea at the moment. Then I suppose I ought to dress. I need to call at Knotting Tree this morning."
"Very good, sir. I shall return shortly."
"Thank you, Drew."
His man left, the tea soon arrived, and Jonathan drank the entire cup in a few gulps. Although he had exaggerated the taste of Mrs. Notley's tea, Sally's v
ersion was certainly more pleasing to his palate. It also happened to be in the perfect state of warmness, unlike Mrs. Notley's, which never failed to scald his tongue.
When Drew returned again, Jonathan was feeling much more the thing. He allowed for his curtains to be pulled aside without argument, and once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he slowly rose from the bed with only a minor pounding in his head.
Drew helped him to shave and dress, and not thirty minutes later, after Sally informed him that his former housekeeper had indeed taken her leave, Jonathan called for his horse. As he navigated the icy lane and pulled his coat more tightly about him, he cursed himself for not arising earlier to see that his carriage had been made ready for Cora. He hated the thought of her making the journey on foot and prayed she would not fall ill because of his thoughtlessness.
Once he arrived at Knotting Tree, he handed his horse off to a stableboy, jogged up the steps, and pounded the brass knocker against the door. The stodgy Jeffries was slow to answer, and when he finally did, his eyes narrowed as he looked down his angular nose at Jonathan.
"I see you have come to call at an unnaturally early hour again, Mr. Ludlow."
"Forgive the intrusion, Jeffries," said Jonathan. "But I must speak to Miss Notley at once."
"She is taking her breakfast by the fire, sir. She arrived on our doorstep only moments ago, half frozen from the cold. Apparently she has given her coat and boots to one of your maids and ventured out this morning ill-equipped for the weather."
This time, Jonathan cursed Cora. What had she been thinking to give up her coat and boots? If she was so determined to leave them behind, surely she could have worn them here and sent them back later with another servant.
"Perhaps if you return at a more reasonable hour she will be feeling up to accepting callers." Jeffries began to close the door, but Jonathan's hand on the door stopped him.
"Jeffries, I am truly sorry for any discomfort I might have caused Miss Notley. I have behaved thoughtlessly and am here to make amends. I swear to you that I will only take a few minutes of her time."
Jeffries studied Jonathan for several moments before finally opening the door and allowing him entrance. "If you will wait here, sir, I will make inquiries within."
"Thank you."
The old man turned stiffly and began walking down the hall. Jonathan waited a few moments before divesting himself of his coat, gloves, and hat, then he discreetly followed the butler, leaving some distance between them so he would not be noticed. The butler stopped in front of two large wooden doors, pulled one open, and entered. Jonathan stepped behind the still-closed second door and strained to hear the conversation taking place in the room beyond.
"You may tell him that waiting is futile. I do not wish to see him." Cora's voice was firm and decisive.
Mrs. Shepherd spoke next. "Are you certain, my dear?"
"I've never been more certain of anything."
"Would you like me to have a word with him?" Mr. Shepherd asked.
"If that is your wish. It is of no consequence to me."
Jonathan frowned. Apparently the passage of time had not done its job in restoring reason. Or perhaps the chilly walk to Knotting Tree had served to unrestore it. Regardless, Jonathan still had an apology to make, and he refused to leave this house until Cora listened to what he had to say.
"You may tell Mr. Ludlow that I will see him in the drawing room," said Mr. Shepherd.
Before Jeffries could quit the room, Jonathan entered. His attention was immediately captured by the library's grandeur. Shelves of books surrounded him, rising from the floor to the top of the walls. One would need a very tall ladder to reach the highest of the shelves and yet some books were askew as though they had recently been read and returned in a haphazard manner. Jonathan had once thought his family's collection impressive, but it had nothing on Mr. Shepherd's. He had never seen so many books in his life.
"Sir, I asked that you wait in the great hall," said Jeffries.
Jonathan's gaze settled on Cora, who sat in a large chair by the fire with a heavy rug draped over her lap. She wore the same white muslin gown she had worn on the day they'd first met. Though her cheeks were ruddy from the cold and she didn't appear at all happy to see him, she looked to be unharmed.
"Ah, Mr. Ludlow. How good of you to announce yourself." Seated beside his wife on the sofa, Mr. Shepherd sounded far too congenial for the present circumstances. "I understand you have dismissed our dear Miss Notley yet again. How interesting. Have you come to sway her into returning as you did before? Is this going to become the thing to do with one's servants? If so, I am not certain I have the temperament for it."
"I have merely come to speak with Cora," said Jonathan, keeping his gaze locked on his former housekeeper.
Her eyes narrowed. "My name is Miss Notley to you, sir."
"I have merely come to speak with Miss Notley then."
Mrs. Shepherd set aside her needlepoint. When she looked at Jonathan, her expression was shrewd and cautious. He could only hope she did not intend to send him packing.
"Tell me, Mr. Ludlow," she said after a time. "Why should our dear Cora be asked to hear what you have to say?" She seemed to be offering him a chance, albeit a small one.
Jonathan considered the question, thinking back on everything that had transpired over the past few weeks. He finally settled on the only answer that had any hope of bringing Cora around. He looked pointedly at her. "A remarkable woman once told me that a person can have a good reason for behaving badly and one should always discover what that reason is before judging him or her too harshly."
Cora frowned and looked away, apparently not happy that he had used her own words as his argument. She stared across the room at a particular shelf of books for a long moment before dragging her gaze back to him. It seemed a struggle for her to say, "Very well, Mr. Ludlow. Let us hear what you have to say."
Jonathan glanced at Mr. and Mr. Shepherd, hoping they did not intend to remain for what was sure to be an awkward conversation. "Would you be so kind as to allow me a private word with Miss Notley?"
Mrs. Shepherd studied him a moment longer before turning to her husband. "I've just realized I need to speak to Cook about something. Will you be so kind as to accompany me?"
Mr. Shepherd cocked an eyebrow at Cora, who nodded her acquiescence, and, as they had before, the Shepherds rose to leave.
"I beg you not to make a habit of this," said Mr. Shepherd quietly as he passed.
"No, sir." Jonathan noticed they did not shut the door but paid it no mind. He strode over to Cora and sat down on the sofa near her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and clasped his fingers under his chin. "I have never seen a library of this magnitude before," he remarked. "It is quite astonishing."
She lifted an eyebrow at him. "Did you come to speak to me about books, sir?"
"No." He sighed. She obviously had no intention of making this easy on him. Perhaps it would be best to get straight to the point. "I have come to beg your forgiveness for the unfeeling way I, er… approached you last evening."
She pulled the rug more tightly about her. "Unfeeling? Sir, your words went far beyond unfeeling and I cannot account for it. How can you profess to care for a woman and yet besmirch her character in the next moment?"
"I was not besmirching your character, Cora."
"It's Miss Notley, sir."
"Miss Notley then," he snapped. Before continuing, he forced himself to take a deep breath to calm his frustration. When he spoke again, his tone was much less aggravated. "Please understand that it was not my intention to cause offense. I was merely pointing out that despite what you choose to believe about yourself and your circumstances, you are far more suited to the role of lady than servant."
"There are better ways to make such a point than itemizing a person's flaws, sir. I cannot help but wonder how you can possibly have tender feelings for such an inept creature as I. What is there to like?"
Jonathan raked his fingers through his hair, wondering if he ought to have allowed a bit more time to pass before confronting her. She seemed determined to think the worst of herself and him.
"You may not believe this," he said. "But I think your 'flaws,' as you call them, are endearing. If only you could see yourself through my eyes, you would understand. There is an air of gentility about you that you cannot disguise no matter how much you may wish to do so. You comport yourself with confidence, grace, and integrity that, I assure you, does not go unnoticed by others. Please forgive me for saying this, but a servant should never be noticed, and you, my dear, are always noticed. You know how to behave in any given situation and have the unique ability to inspire respect and admiration from all who come to know you. Do you not see this? Who the devil cares if you cannot create a palatable pastry or don't have the heart to haggle for supplies? That does not matter in the least because that is not who you are. You are Miss Coralynn Notley, a beautiful, headstrong, and compassionate heiress. When I look at you, that is the person I see, and I can only be grateful that your father could not wrangle an introduction into society for your family. I am certain that if you had made your debut in London or anywhere else, men would have flocked about you in droves and I would never have stood a chance at winning your affections."
He paused, allowing his words to settle before adding, "Please say you'll forgive my fumbled attempts to explain myself last evening. I cannot imagine finding a more exquisite woman in all the world, and I refuse to lose you because I did not convey my feelings properly."
Cora stared at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Her hand moved over her heart as tears collected in her eyes. She quickly blinked them away before clearing her throat. "I liked that version much better, sir."
Jonathan relaxed, happy in the knowledge that he had not bungled things this go around. He slowly rose to his feet and held out his hand to her. "Will you not call me Jonathan?"
She nodded and placed her fingers on his, allowing him to pull her to her feet and into his arms. She tucked her hands behind his neck and lifted her face to his. "There is nothing to forgive any longer, Jonathan."
The Rise of Miss Notley (Tanglewood Book 2) Page 16