Love For The Spinster (Women 0f Worth Book 2)

by Kasey Stockton

  But then again, I had thought I was discussing my life with a fatherly sort of man. Not this.

  I looked up again as Mr. Bryce finished his dinner and shot me a smile. A handsome, rugged smile that filled me with warmth, taking me by surprise. Immediately I got to my feet, nearly knocking the chair back.

  This was all very foreign to me. My heart beat rapidly as I sought something to say.

  “Thank you, I shall—oof!” I backed into a decorative table, wincing as my side scraped the corner. The footman leapt over and stopped the decanter from spilling dark red wine all over the blue carpet as Mr. Bryce jumped from his chair, his hands out as though he meant to steady me. I sidestepped him, avoiding the contact I was sure would not do me any good, and made it to the doorway. “I hope you sleep well. I shall see you tomorrow.”

  I bobbed a quick curtsey and turned away, running to the stairs and away from the horrid, embarrassing scene I had created in the dining room. Well, if nothing else, I was sure to have made an impression on my butler, footman and steward, an impression which was sure to make its rounds among the servants by morning.

  Groaning, I slipped inside my room and closed the door, blowing a piece of hair from my face. I glanced down at my dirt-caked traveling gown and old boots.

  An impression, indeed. Only, not the impression I hoped to give. All three cats approached me and rubbed against my legs, enfolding me in comfort. I could hear Aunt Georgina’s voice clearly in my mind, You be you, darling. For there is no other you in the entire world.

  Well, Corden Hall was going to receive me, in all of my glory, whether they wanted to or not. Me, my cats, and my dog.

  Where on earth was my dog?

  Chapter 6

  Sunlight filtered through the bed hangings and hit me square in the eye. I squinted, rolling away from the harsh light and into the cool darkness on the other side of my bed. My face landed directly in a pile of black fur.

  Cleo hissed before leaping from the bed. I sat up quickly, noting where the other two felines rested so as not to repeat the experience. I had barely escaped claw marks, for Cleo could easily have leapt toward me instead of away. My chest heaving, I leaned back against the headboard, considering Max curled up by my feet and Kitty not far from him. I had a feeling the cats had staked their claim on my bed and it would likely be pointless to try and move them to a separate room.

  Quite the opposite of Coco, who had claimed a different bedchamber all to herself.

  I climbed out of bed and pulled on the bell to send for Tilly.

  Crossing to the door which adjoined the mistress and master rooms, I peeked through the dressing room and found Coco curled into the center of the massive four poster bed, snoring happily. She had slipped into the master’s room the day before. Both of the times I’d tried to bring her back into my bed chamber, she lasted minutes before leaving for her own again.

  It hardly mattered. As long as I was in residence, then the master’s suite was destined to remain empty. I’d had my chance at marriage during my Season and I had turned it down. Coco may as well take advantage of the large, plush, empty feather mattress.

  By the time my maid arrived, I had investigated the writing desk and vanity table, and thoroughly brushed through my bright red hair.

  “Did you sleep well?” I asked as she pulled a dress from the wardrobe and began to help me out of my night clothes.

  “Yes, miss. The rooms are warm here.”

  I glanced at her over my shoulder. “Were the servants’ rooms cold in London?”

  She avoided my eyes so I turned to face her head on. “Tilly, why did you never mention this before?”

  “They weren’t cold exactly, simply not as warm as they are here.” Her mouth clamped shut, and no matter how hard I stared at her, she was not going to betray more information. I needed to write to Elsie about the matter immediately. I knew Perkins did not like me much, but I no longer had to live under the same roof as him. If he was skimping on fires for the servants, I was going to make sure something was done.

  “How are the other servants receiving you?” I asked instead.

  “I’ve no complaints,” she said simply. “They asked me all sorts of questions about London. Most of them have never left Linshire in their whole lives.”

  “What a small existence.”

  “And it makes them ever so curious.”

  “I’d imagine so,” I said, watching in the mirror as Tilly took my wavy hair and wrapped it into a knot behind my head. My hair had never been particularly obedient, but Tilly had a way of fastening it that at least kept most of it intact. There would always be stray strands that got away, but I was never one for an uptight, polished appearance. Not that I had much say in the matter with the unruly hair I’d inherited.

  Shiny strawberry blonde hair in a perfectly styled coiffure came, unbidden, to my mind. I stared into the mirror imagining how different I should look if I was born with strawberry blonde hair. It was hard to tell if the heavy feeling deep in my gut was rooted in envy or discomfort, but either way I did not like it.

  Sophie and Adele. It plagued me that I did not know which name belonged to my father’s wife and which to his daughter. It plagued me even greater that the matter bothered me at all.

  “Miss?” Tilly pulled me from my melancholy thought. She stood behind me with her hands clasped, my hair finished and my toilette complete. “Should I bring you a breakfast tray or would you like to go down to the breakfast room? Mrs. Covey prepares a breakfast every morning for Mr. Bryce.”

  Mr. Bryce, another person I’d rather not think about. But if I took a tray in my room, would he think I was trying to avoid him? He would be correct, of course, but I could not give that impression on my very first morning at Corden Hall.

  I was the mistress, after all.

  “I’ll go down for breakfast,” I said bravely.

  I was not so brave as I descended the stairs, however. I followed Tilly’s directions to locate the breakfast room, and then hovered outside the door considering how I should greet my steward. Did I say, “Good morning, sir?” Or would it be better to go with a more relaxed approach of, “Good morning, Mr. Bryce?”

  “Good morning, Miss Hurst.”

  I jumped at the close proximity of Mr. Bryce’s voice and spun, coming face to cravat with the man at once. “Oh! Yes. ‘Tis morning.”

  I lifted my face to see his smiling eyes, much too close to allow normal breathing. Yes, I should have gone with the relaxed approach. He was bound to think me silly.

  “Shall we go in?” he asked.

  “Yes! Let us go in.” I sounded like a complete ninny. What on earth had gotten into me? I spun, opened the door and moved to the sideboard at once. Mr. Bryce tried to take my plate but I put him off. “I have been getting my own breakfast for years and I am not about to stop now. Thank you for offering, though.”

  He looked down at me as though I had grown an extra head. Had I not made my views clear in our letters? Surely he’d met an independent woman before. I loaded a piece of toast and coddled egg onto my plate, skipping the meat options. Mr. Bryce filled his own with kippers and I tried not to look disgusted.

  “You don’t like fish?” he asked, apparently reading my mind again.

  “Not my favorite.” I took a seat at the round table, pouring myself a cup of tea and preparing it with sugar but no cream.

  “Mrs. Covey makes the most delightful blueberry muffins, but sadly there are none today. Take my word for it,” he said, sitting beside me at the table, “you’ll never have a muffin more moist.”

  “I believe you.” I tucked into my meal, sipping tea between bites of toast. “Now, do you have anything to report? Your last letter indicated some discord between a few of the tenant families?”

  He turned to face me, a soft smile on his lips—lips that I was decidedly avoiding looking at. His eyes, I could see now in the morning light, were pale green rimmed in darker green. They were handsome, to say the least, so I focused on my
egg as he spoke. “I have a general rule not to discuss business over meals.”

  That was not what I expected. I glanced up sharply. “Ever? You are in earnest?”

  “Yes. I am sorry. I don’t ever discuss business over meals. But I would be happy to meet with you later this morning to go over a few things.”

  “Very well.” It was not as though I had anything else to occupy my time. I wanted a thorough evaluation of the books, of course. And at some point, I should have a full tour of the house. But neither of those things were very pressing.

  “Have you been to Linshire before?” Mr. Bryce asked.

  So he could speak over breakfast, only not about estate business? Interesting. “No,” I answered. We had driven through the small town on our way to the estate but we did not stop to look around. “I have never been to any part of Shropshire. I grew up in Kent and have lived in London for the past four years. The most I’ve traveled has been the occasional trip to Yorkshire to see my mama.”

  He nodded. “I have a good friend in Yorkshire. Beautiful country up there.”

  “Beautiful country here as well,” I countered. “The scenery on my trip here was unrivaled.”

  “This side of the country is breathtaking. Though I feel I must admit I am slightly biased.”

  “It is not so terrible to be loyal.”

  His face turned stony and I could feel the air shift as he stiffened. “My loyalty is not in question here.”

  The room felt icy and I regretted my words. If only I knew what I had said to set him off in such a way.

  We finished our meal in relative silence, Mr. Bryce standing before his plate was cleared. “I will meet you in the study at ten?”

  I nodded as he swept from the room. The clock on the mantle indicated that I had nearly an hour before our appointment, and the windows flanking the fireplace beckoned me with warm sunlight. “Alan,” I said, hoping I had the correct name for this footman. “I would like to look at the gardens. Would you direct me?”

  “Yes’m.”

  I followed him out into the front drive. It was chilly in the spring morning. It would have been prudent to wear a shawl. I was never overly concerned with freckles, so I did not bother with bonnets in general, but warmth was a different matter altogether.

  “The gardens to the front of the house are simple,” Alan said, sweeping an arm over the front drive. “The pleasure gardens in the rear of the house have a lot of flowers. Ladies seem to like the ones in the back more.”

  “Thank you, Alan. How very astute you are.”

  His cheeks blushed to match his red hair. I sincerely hoped my own cheeks did not turn such an obnoxiously bright shade when I blushed, but as I had never been around a mirror at the precise moment I’d been embarrassed, I truly did not know. Alan, however, seemed to turn all one color, which blended from his cheeks up to his hair. I dismissed him to ease both of our comfort levels and made my way around to the back of the house. A large, well-kept stable yard was off to my right with a large paddock to its side. Horses whinnied as men bustled about, and I turned toward the garden, beautifully displayed just behind me.

  Alan had not been wrong. Indeed, many flowers of multiple variations could be seen as I approached. My mother would simply adore such a garden.

  Short hedges outlined the garden, and I let myself in through a waist-level wrought iron gate, clicking it shut behind me. A gravel path forked in two different directions and I turned right, following the shrubbery around the perimeter of the manicured space. The majority of the flowers looked nearly ready to bloom, but not quite there yet. I cut through the center of the garden and came to a fountain that acted as a focal point, surrounded by rows of greenery and rose bushes. The object in the fountain looked to be a woman and a man dancing together. It was romantic, and sweet. I felt a strong desire to have it ripped from the ground and replaced with something a little less romantic. Like animals, perhaps. Or maybe just a water feature without a figurine at all.

  I needed to find out if the piece had any significance or if it would be acceptable to remove.

  “Miss Hurst!” a voice called from the house. I turned to find Tilly rushing toward me, my shawl draped over her arm.

  I met her at the gate. “Thank you, Tilly,” I said, reaching for the shawl and tossing it around my shoulders. “I was wishing for this mere moments ago. How did you know?”

  She shrugged. “I was told to fetch it to you. It’s chilly out here, miss. I best be getting back inside.”

  I watched her bustle back toward the house and pulled the forest green shawl tighter around my shoulders. Returning my attention to the flowers, I took the path to the left. It was not a symmetrical garden in the truest form. While the fountain remained a main focal point and everything seemed balanced from there out, the right path had led me in a circle around the perimeter, but the left side did not. It reached halfway around the flowers, but then the path veered away from the garden, running perpendicular to the house. The hedges continued to act as a barrier, growing steadily higher until all views were obstructed outside of the narrow lane and it stopped dead at a wooden door, a large iron handle dangling free with no visible lock.

  I pulled on the handle, but it did not budge. The heavy wooden slab had not been moved in some time, it appeared. I tugged harder, using every bit of strength I possessed until I managed to move it slightly. I dragged the heavy door open enough to slip inside and immediately caught my breath.

  A small, circular garden with an abundance of greenery and wildflowers spread before me with a simple stone bench in the center. It was a veritable oasis, and I was struck by the beauty and simplicity of its design. The hedge wall was taller than I, wild and untamed. It was thick enough to block the light and view outside of the circle. I stepped into the center, lowering myself onto the stone bench with quiet reverence. Whoever created this space had an absolute affinity for solitude and peace, of that I was absolutely certain.

  Quiet calm settled over me and I grew introspective. The house was stunning, to say nothing of the surrounding grounds. Though no master or mistress had been in residence for the last twenty years, the servants had not allowed the house to fall into disrepair as was so frequently the case in similar situations. Though why mother never wanted to come reside here was a mystery. Her own mother had left me the estate at her death, so it stood to reason that Mama would be familiar with the house. But the one time I mentioned it as an optional home, she had shot down the suggestion immediately. I did not press her further, for at the time, her plan to stay with Aunt Marianne and leave me in London had suited me just fine.

  Now, I was going to press.

  I stood up, glancing once more around the hidden oasis before slipping back through the door and down the gravel walkway. I paused in view of the ivory statue. My first order of business would be that; I must find a way to replace it.

  I could not help but appreciate my situation. The journey to Corden Hall and recent occupancy had culminated into something of an unrealistic fairy tale. If one did not count my odd behavior at dinner the night previous or at breakfast this morning with Mr. Bryce, then it was clear that things were going well and Corden Hall was a lovely place to be.

  I found a door to the side of the house and let myself into the kitchen, effectively halting all work the moment I was noticed. “Do not mind me,” I said sheepishly, glancing around fervently for the stairs. “I will find my way around sooner or later.”

  “Allow me,” a housemaid said, stepping forward.

  I could not remember her name for the life of me, so I simply nodded.

  She led me through the servants’ dining room to a staircase at the far side of the room and up onto the ground floor. “Thank you,” I said, “That will be all.”

  She curtseyed and went away, her black curls bobbing along with her steps.

  “Were you lost?” a deep voice asked from the other end of the hall. I pivoted to find Mr. Bryce standing in a doorway, his hand resting lightly
on the handle. “Perhaps we should schedule a tour of the house before we tackle the rest of the estate business.”

  “Is it past ten? I got caught up walking the grounds and I fear I did not watch the time.”

  He glanced over his shoulder before pulling the door shut and stepping into the hall. “It is half past now, but it is no matter.” He crossed the length of the hallway. He genuinely seemed unperturbed, and I found myself relieved, grateful for his easy demeanor. “Do you ride?”

  “Yes, but not particularly well.”

  He came to stand beside me. “It is a fine day. Shall we begin our tour with an extensive overview of the grounds?”

  “I’m not sure that my riding abilities encompass an extensive tour, but I am willing to try.”

  “Very good.” He grinned. I stared at his uneven, white teeth held in a crooked smile. “I will meet you down here in half an hour?”

  I nodded, keenly aware that he’d caught me staring at his teeth. Why was I so drawn to this man? He was handsome, sure, but not more striking than any other man of my acquaintance. His manners, while kind and familiar, were not overtly flirtatious either, yet he had a knack for putting me to the blush. It was an unfamiliar feeling and I did not like it one bit.

  Tilly pulled my old riding habit from the wardrobe and helped me into it. I had not had much use of it since Aunt Georgina’s death, and it fit a little snug. But, for a simple ride in the countryside, it would do.

  Coco trotted toward my feet and I bent to scratch her head. “You would not be able to keep up with us today, I think. But perhaps I can take you out to the garden later.”

  She tilted her head before turning back for her bedchamber. The poor thing had been melancholy since Aunt Georgina’s demise. While she was growing older, she was not ancient yet and there was still life within her. I would find something to excite her once again; I was determined.