I laughed, unable to hold in the vision that created. “It has been years since I’ve danced every dance, sir. I do not anticipate any such success. Nor do I wish it.”
“You said yourself you love to dance.”
“I also enjoy full feeling in my toes. I am no longer up to the standard of dancing into the wee hours of the night.”
He shook his head. “You speak of yourself as though you are ancient.”
“Compared to the debutantes—”
“There are no debutantes here.” The force of his tone knocked the rest of my thought away. His serious eyes locked on me with a severity that frightened me. I was not afraid of Daniel, but of the feelings he caused within me.
I stood, clasping my letters like a lifeline. “I must go and change my gown.”
I felt the heat of his gaze while I walked from the room, propelling me forward and away from him. I did not like the uncertain warmth flowing through me. I did not appreciate the way Daniel was causing me to question myself, my feelings, or my basic values.
He was throwing a rock into my perfectly orchestrated plan for my life, and I needed another outlet.
I needed to focus on something else—anything else. A ball was the perfect thing.
* * *
I bathed and changed my dress, giving the soiled gown to Tilly to clean, and found Mrs. Overton in the morning room. We shared a love for the room. Though it was not primely lit in the afternoon, the smaller size and comfortable sofas were enough to draw both of us to it in preference to the drawing room most days.
I was grateful for Mrs. Overton. She was easy to be around and I appreciated her ability to balance between acting my chaperone and giving me my needed privacy. I received a letter from my mother along with Rosalynn’s update, and she refused my invitation to come yet again. This time, however, she cited the rundown house as cause for discomfort. I could only assume she had experienced the Corden Hall of the past. I was determined to write her a detailed outline of the changes Daniel and I were making and convince her to see that the house was comfortable.
I sat on the sofa, pulling my embroidery out to finish the lilac tree.
“I heard about the spill,” Mrs. Overton said diplomatically.
“It was a bit of a mess, but I feel better now.” I sat beside her on the sofa. I had pulled Coco from the master’s suite, where she spent the majority of her time, and brought her downstairs with me. “Would you like to accompany me into Linshire tomorrow? I saw a shop with yarn during my last visit and I would like to obtain a variety. I also need to choose some fabric for the drapes in the bedchambers we are doing over. They are both nearly ready.”
“That would be lovely. I am in need of some new stockings. Daniel has been kind enough to keep me stocked in the things that I need, but I find I cannot request such an item from him.”
I shared a knowing smile with the older woman. “No man would wish to run such an errand. It is settled. We will go to town in the morning.”
Chapter 16
Daniel had the grace to avoid the topic of my tea spill at dinner that evening, and he was nothing but bland, distant courtesy at breakfast the following morning. Had he sensed my fear of his attentions and decided to give me room to breathe?
I noticed the bandage missing from his hand and refrained from asking after his injury, for I could only assume it was healed now that nothing protected his palm.
Mrs. Overton and I left for Linshire shortly after breakfast. We found the stockings she needed, as well as a bonnet I did not. It was a lovely straw confection with a sprig of white silk flowers and a lovely green ribbon. It was such a delightful contrast to my bright hair that I could not help but purchase it.
Despite the shopkeeper’s avid sales tactics, I was not under the impression that it made my face glow or my eyes sparkle. I did think it was lovely, and that was sufficient for me.
I filled a large basket with a plethora of yarn. Enough to cause my companion’s eyebrows to raise in inquiry. I simply smiled at her and tucked the basket handle over my arm.
“Would you like to look at the bookshop?”
She agreed and we let ourselves into a small shop that smelled of candles. A dangerous scent, perhaps, for a building full of books.
I walked the aisles as Mrs. Overton slowly perused the section of gothic novels, and I tried not to act too shocked when she selected one and purchased it.
I caught sight of a familiar leather-bound book in the corner of the front window as we left and paused in spite of myself. The Green Door. It was years ago the book had swept through Society, filling London’s drawing rooms with gossip and intrigue and setting the stage for the rumor that would, effectively, change my entire life.
“Are you well, dear?” Mrs. Overton asked, her small, wrinkled face full of concern.
Nodding, I turned toward the carriage. I was tempted to go back inside and buy the book simply to remove it from the shopkeeper’s window. But I found I could not bring myself to do it.
I did not notice Miss Chappelle until she stepped directly in front of me. “Bonjour, Miss Hurst.”
I curtseyed, tucking an errant curl behind my ear. “Miss Chappelle, allow me to introduce my friend, Mrs. Overton.”
Pleasantries were exchanged, and Mrs. Overton looked between the dark beauty and myself, her face an unreadable mask.
“How are you adjusting to small country life?” Miss Chappelle asked.
“It is not much of an adjustment,” I said. “I spent nearly my whole life in the country before moving to London.”
“And your parents?” she asked, her eyes dark and intelligent. “Where are they now?”
I felt the blood drain from my face. I had the distinct feeling she knew precisely where my parents were, and it terrified me. I swallowed, my eyes flicking back to the book in the shop window of their own accord.
Mrs. Overton spoke, her voice firm. “I do apologize, Miss Chappelle, but we must be getting on.”
“Yes, of course,” she nodded, stepping out of our way. Her dark eyes watched me with a calmness that was far from reassuring.
Mrs. Overton gripped my arm with a strength I did not realize she possessed and directed me toward the carriage. We gave the footman our packages and my basket full of yarn and climbed into the vehicle.
“I am quite careful when speaking ill of others, but I cannot refrain at present and I hope you will forgive me,” Mrs. Overton said, her voice calm and clear. “But I do not like that woman.”
I looked out the window as the carriage rolled forward, all of the secrets in my past piling up and weighing me down. I did not like her either.
* * *
We sat in the drawing room that evening and I pulled the basket out from under the sofa where I had stashed it earlier.
“What are you creating?” Daniel asked, seating himself beside Mrs. Overton and across from me.
“A baby blanket,” I answered. “A friend of mine is about to add another little one to her household.”
“That is very kind of you.”
“Yes, well, I happen to know firsthand that she cannot knit. And the poor child will have to endure a trip across the country at a very tender age. I am merely being practical.”
“Practicality aside,” Mrs. Overton said, “it is kind of you.”
I looked at my lap, focusing on the stitches lining up on the knitting needle like small, obedient soldiers. I did not take well to praise, though I appreciated the thought. It occurred to me in that moment I had yet to read the recent letter from Rosalynn. I’d skimmed my mother’s and put myself to the task of responding to her but had forgotten about the other mail.
I weighed my options in my mind and decided to wait until I went up to bed to read it. I could spend another quarter of an hour working on the blanket and then bid my housemates good night.
I turned to Mrs. Overton. “How are you adjusting to Corden Hall?”
She watched me as though measuring her words. “I had not con
sidered becoming a companion until Daniel concocted the scheme.”
I looked at him. He was watching Mrs. Overton carefully, as if her answer mattered to him a great deal.
“I find that while I was hesitant at first,” she continued, “the experience has been considerably better than I anticipated.”
“I am glad to hear that,” Daniel said, his face relaxed and satisfied.
Drat proper social conventions. I wanted so badly to inquire on the nature of their relationship. I opened my mouth to ask that very question when Daniel turned to me. The light in his soft green eyes was shining. I closed my mouth. I did not want to be the cause of dimming it.
“I forgot to mention it earlier,” he said, “but it seems that Coco has discovered how to get herself to the living quarters above the stables.”
My hands paused and dropped in my lap. “I checked on her this morning and she was snug in her bed in the master’s chamber.”
He grinned. “I brought her back inside when I came in for breakfast. She must have returned to her own room.”
I shook my head, focusing on my knitting.
Mrs. Overton chuckled. “You always did have a way with the animals. ‘Tis no wonder, I suppose, you’ve chosen a career in horses.”
Silence fell upon us. Mrs. Overton opened the book she had been holding and Daniel sat quietly.
I felt his gaze resting on me, but I found I could not tear my own gaze away from the even, smooth motion of creating stitches.
Warmth spread across the back of my neck and moved down my body as I felt Daniel’s watchful eye. I wanted to look up and see if it was a creation of my own mind or if he was, in fact, looking at me as closely as I felt he was. My fingers fumbled with the yarn and I tugged at the ball once, hoping to create more slack. The soft yellow wool rolled from the basket and away from my leg, hitting Daniel’s boot in one smooth motion, as if I had intended to get his attention.
I looked up and froze. Clear, soft green eyes trained on me in a look so serene and contented that I found my own anxiety drain away.
He leaned down and picked up the yarn ball before crossing the rug and placing it in my hand. “The cats might come after that if they catch it rolling away.”
I chuckled, the laugh sounding strained to my own ears.
“Thank you.” I took the yarn and rolled it up again before shoving my project into the basket and under the sofa. “I think I will retire for the evening. I received a letter from a dear friend and have not yet had the opportunity to read it.”
“Goodnight,” Mrs. Overton said, smiling swiftly before returning to her book.
“Goodnight, Miss Hurst,” Daniel said.
I curtseyed to them before making my escape, my breath coming in rapid spurts. I ran up the stairs and into my room, leaning against the door until my heart slowed considerably. I took a seat at the writing desk beside the window and lit a candle before sliding a penknife under Rosalynn’s wax seal and unfolding the thick paper. A newspaper clipping fell onto the floor and I placed it on the desk before reading the letter.
My eyes swept through her words with haste. After the first ominous sentence, I found myself devouring the rest. It could not be true. It absolutely had to be false. Rumors often were based on lies, were they not? Elsie’s experience with the newspapers in her first Season was proof enough of that.
I glanced at the clipping but returned to the letter, forcing myself to read it again slowly so that I might not miss any pertinent information.
Reading it a second time did not change the meaning. I leaned back in my chair, eyeing the newspaper clipping with disgust. I stood quickly, my chair falling back and hitting the floor with a loud thud before I righted it.
Pacing the length of the room, I came close to picking up the clipping a few more times before I sank onto the edge of my bed and dropped my head in my hands.
Hadn’t the objective of coming to Corden Hall been to escape my father and his family and all connection to them? Was I not going to receive a break from the Fashionable World’s scorn and gossip?
Oh, dear. Many people residing in the country received London’s newspapers. How many more days would it be until the people of Linshire had read these words and made the connection?
There was nothing for it. I simply had to read the article so I knew what I was dealing with. I stood abruptly, full of determination, when a knock sounded on the door and I yelped, the timing causing me to startle.
“Freya?” a familiar voice called.
I relaxed, crossing to the door and opening it a fraction.
Pale green eyes under thick, brown brows regarded me closely. “I heard a loud sound from downstairs. I wanted to check on you and make sure everything was all right.”
My cheeks warmed, and I smiled self-consciously. “I am fine. I only stood up too quickly and knocked a chair over.”
“And all the pacing?”
The blush deepened. I could feel it. “You could hear that?”
His smile was easy to see, regardless of the dim lighting. I leaned against the wall with one shoulder, making sure my face was the only thing visible through the door. It was not proper for Daniel to be upstairs speaking to me alone like this, particularly outside my bedroom door. We were asking for a scandal if we were to be found.
Speaking of being found, where was Mrs. Overton?
Soft fur paws brushed over my toes, and I jumped slightly, moving back for Coco to walk through the door and circle Daniel’s feet.
He bent down and picked her up, stroking her behind her ears while he trained his gaze back on me. “As long as you are not in any trouble.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” I clamped my mouth shut. The words had escaped on their own accord, and they had not missed his notice.
“What is it?”
“Just news from home. Some things I wanted to avoid are beginning to catch up with me.” The weight of the realization spoken aloud was heavy on my shoulders and I felt them slump. Living through the scandal the first time had been difficult enough. If it made its way to Linshire and exploded here as well, I would have to live through the ordeal all over again. That was not something I believed myself capable of.
“Freya,” he said softly, stepping closer. “What is going on?”
I wanted to tell him so badly, yet I feared his reaction. The moments of late where he had paid me special attention were seared onto my heart. I was beginning to care for this man, and, regardless of what happened in the future, I wanted to count him as one of my friends. He was undoubtedly among the most trustworthy, kind people I had met.
I had taken too long in considering whether to tell him or not because his eyebrows pulled together, concern etched on his face. “What is it?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” I said honestly. “My friend sent me a note to inform me that there is an engagement, possibly, in the near future.”
His eyebrows rose. I swallowed and continued. “It is a person I am related to, in a way. She sent me the newspaper clipping about it, but I cannot bring myself to read it.”
“Freya, what about this is so distressing?” He stepped back suddenly, his brow lifting. “Oh, I see.”
“You do?” My heart sped up. Did he already know about my illegitimacy?
“It must be very difficult for you, if you cannot bring yourself to read about it.” He looked away and then back at me. “Have you cared about this person for quite some time?”
“No,” I said at once. “I’ve never cared.”
He must have been able to tell I was lying, for he gave me a slight smile before passing Coco through the doorway. I took her and she whimpered.
“I will let you go,” he said. “But if I can leave a word of advice, read the article. You will be able to move on more quickly if you allow yourself to face it.”
I nodded, shutting the door after a whispered farewell.
I had not expected such understanding, but then again, he probably did not fully comprehend what
I was dealing with. I let Coco down and watched her walk through the adjoining door and into her room before I forced myself back to the writing table and newspaper article.
Holding the fragile paper securely in both hands, I moved closer to the candle and read the words carefully, taking in each description and insinuation and trying to make perfect sense of what was going on. It helped that Rosalynn had laid out the basic meaning of the cryptic article in her letter, and had identified the man who was likely going to propose before the end of the Season—to my half-sister.
My stomach rolled at the thought. At least I knew her name now. Adele must be the wife, because Rosalynn had called the daughter Sophie in her letter. And Sophie was making a very successful connection with a future earl. According to the article—with help from my translator, Rosalynn—Lord Melbourne was going to expire any day now and his heir was set to inherit, and marry Sophie Hurst, all in the next short while.
The first half of the article was fine. It was the second half that described the bride’s estranged, illegitimate half-sister who had escaped to the country to hide in disgrace. It spoke of me as though I had run away from Sophie’s beauty and intellect and clear superiority.
I dropped my hands in my lap. The whole of London was reading—and likely believing—these words. Soon, so would the rest of the country. I had escaped London to decide for myself how I felt. I did not run away from my father and his family. I was running toward something better.
I slumped onto the chair beside the writing desk and read over Rosalynn’s letter again. She had claimed it was not as bad as it sounded, and she and Lord McGregor were doing what they could to dispel the negativity surrounding my name. And then, the clincher, she offered to fetch me from Corden Hall at once so I might face the throngs and prove to them I had nothing to hide.
Well, she was correct on one account; I did have nothing to hide. London’s high Society already knew everything there was to know about me. I was a spinster and I did avoid marriage. I did run to the country to get away from Father, Sophie and Adele. But not for the reasons they all assumed.
Love For The Spinster (Women 0f Worth Book 2) Page 13