I stood at the door and received farewells and curtseys in abundance. Mrs. Heybourne embraced me and Major Heybourne sent me a twinkling smile. Directly behind them, Mrs. Bennington, pinch-lipped and sour, merely nodded my direction. The Bowen family cut dashing bows, Mrs. Bowen fully glowing in their wake. Mr. Fehr sent me a wink, Mrs. Wheeler delivered a kind smile, and Miss Chappelle a saucy grin.
By the time the final guests departed, I was utterly exhausted. My shoulders were heavy and my feet ached.
“Successful evening, Freya,” Daniel said upon returning from escorting Mrs. Overton to her room.
“Thank you.” I turned for the stairs, ready to shed my gown and slip into bed. Daniel, to my surprise, fell into step beside me. As we mounted the stairs, I asked, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did. It was a hit.”
We reached the top of the stairs and he paused. I turned toward him and he reached for my hand. Placing a kiss on the back of my glove, he glanced at me from under his lashes. “My only complaint was that I did not get to dance with the loveliest creature in the room.”
My heart pounded, but I would not listen. I slipped my hand from his grip and smiled. “Goodnight, Daniel.”
I turned away from him and escaped to my room.
Chapter 21
Mrs. Wheeler sat on the other end of the sofa, a warm teacup perched in her delicate hand. Her pale hair was drawn back in an elegant knot and her gown, while precisely made, was of practical design.
“I was disappointed to miss speaking with you at the ball,” she said.
I smiled, preparing my own tea. “It felt like a whirlwind. I intended to come find you, but the evening was over so quickly.”
“Such is the way with these balls. One spends so much time dancing that there is little time left for any visiting.” Her cup clinked against the saucer and she set them both on the table. “You are recently of Yorkshire, correct?”
I paused. “No, London.”
Mrs. Wheeler’s face screwed up, confusion marring her soft brow. “Odd, I could have sworn I’d heard Yorkshire.”
“My mother resides in Yorkshire, but I never have. I’ve spent the last four years in London.”
She nodded as though that explained the confusion. It did not clear up mine, for I did not tell many people the whereabouts of my mother. It often led to too many questions about my father.
“And where do you come from, Mrs. Wheeler?” I asked, taking a sip of tea.
“Many places.” Her eyes took on a glazed look, as though she studied something far away that only she could see. She refocused on me, offering me a sad smile. “I am sure you know I am a widow. My husband died fighting Napoleon.”
“I am sorry for your loss.” I shook my head. “You are far too young to be a widow.”
“Many of us are too young, but that is the cost of war.” She lifted a delicate shoulder and I admired her strength. “I am busy and have quite a lot of demands on my time. I keep myself occupied well.”
“I do not doubt it. You live with your brother and sister, yes?”
She lifted her teacup again and nodded, taking another sip. It was apparent Mrs. Wheeler suffered, and equally evident that she did her utmost to remain positive.
We continued to speak about our upbringings, discovering more similarities than either of us expected. We both grew up on sprawling estates with joyful memories and kind mothers.
“Do you miss your mother?” she asked, reaching for another ginger biscuit.
“I do, often. I have invited her to come and stay with me, but she claims she is content with her sister.”
Nodding, Mrs. Wheeler said, “I do not blame her for avoiding the journey.”
A knock sounded, drawing our attention to the door, and the dashing gentleman grinning there. “May I join you?” Daniel asked.
“Of course.” I gestured toward the wingback chair opposite us and poured him a cup, passing it to him as he sat down.
“Did you notice how lovely Mrs. Jamison looked last evening?” I asked. “On my word, she was positively glowing.”
“New love will do that for a woman,” Mrs. Wheeler said, a small smile on her lips. She must have been remembering the early days of her own marriage. “And Mrs. Heybourne, of course, was radiant. Mr. Heybourne is a lucky man.”
I caught Daniel’s eye before looking down, focusing on my ginger biscuit. “I was fond of your gown, Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Thank you, Miss Hurst.”
Daniel was staring at me again. I could feel it. He said, “Both of you were positively lovely. I have always loved a good ball.”
“Did you attend the Season, Mr. Bryce?” Mrs. Wheeler asked. “I believe you once told me you despised London.”
I glanced up sharply.
“I enjoy balls, particularly when I am fortunate enough to dance with lovely ladies.” He gave us both a smile. I was tempted to remind him he hadn’t danced with me. “What I am not fond of, is the Fashionable World. London’s elite are far too stuffy for me.”
“I quite agree,” Mrs. Wheeler said concisely. “I would be satisfied to remain in Linshire for the remainder of my days.”
“Would you really?” Daniel asked.
I had the feeling there was a conversation being held aside from the words said aloud, that only Mrs. Wheeler and Daniel were aware of.
I sat silently, watching them for undercurrents and clues. Was there a deeper relationship here than I had imagined? First Miss Chappelle, and now this?
If nothing else, one thing was abundantly clear: I did not know Daniel’s character as well as I thought. He was a sound judge of business acumen, but a mess in regard to his social life.
And to think that I had been willing to consider sacrificing my ideals for him.
I was disgusted with myself.
“Would you care to join me for an outing on Wednesday, Miss Hurst?” Mrs. Wheeler asked. “I should love to ride the hills of Corden Hall. I’ve heard glorious things about the view.”
“I should like that,” I answered.
She hesitated. “And Mr. Bryce?”
“I am afraid I will be busy Wednesday, and you will better be able to converse openly without my stifling presence.”
“Oh, stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Wheeler, grinning. “You know your company is always welcome.” She finished the ginger biscuit she had been working on for the last few minutes and stood, wiping her gloves against each other. “I must be getting home. I shall arrive at ten on Wednesday, if that suits you, Miss Hurst?”
“Lovely. I look forward to it immensely.”
Daniel left to ask Harrison to have Mrs. Wheeler’s carriage brought around.
I stood to follow her out, placing my cup on the tray and picking up one last ginger biscuit. “I should not eat so many of these, but I cannot help it. In the kitchen, Mrs. Covey is superior in every regard.”
“I quite agree. I was able to dine here with my sister and Mr. and Mrs. Heybourne some months ago and we ate the most divine beef roast with potatoes. I am not typically a fan of beef, but Mrs. Covey quite outdid herself.”
I was lost for words as Harrison came to inform Mrs. Wheeler that her carriage was waiting, my stomach clenched into a tight ball. Daniel was holding dinner parties before my arrival?
Mrs. Heybourne’s words about Daniel’s behavior refused to leave my mind. Anger suddenly filled my bosom and I marched out of the room and toward the morning room. I needed to get away from Daniel before I said something I would later regret.
“Freya, I was hoping—”
I marched past him and down the hall, my sights set on the door to the morning room.
“Freya?” he called, louder.
I made it to the morning room and around the sofa, flung the French doors open, and continued toward the steps that led down to the lawn. Footsteps pounded directly behind me and I clenched my fists.
“Where are you going with such haste?” he called from right behind me.
I did not open my
mouth, fearful for what might come out. A small voice inside me forced me to accept that while I was trying to be angry at Daniel for acting above his station, the truth was that those actions did not actually bother me. I was a woman of means and always had been. Had I been forced into a position as governess or companion to a shrew, I would have had difficulty acting properly submissive. Until recently, Corden Hall had no owner in residence and Daniel had been forging relationships with the people of Linshire. Far be it from me to oppose him doing his part in entertaining his friends.
What truly bothered me was that he did not dance with me at the ball.
“Ugh!” I clenched my fists harder while my throat made an unladylike gurgling sound and my pale face warmed in response. Daniel ran a few steps ahead of me, turning to cut me off.
“You are obviously upset about something,” he said.
I stopped, watching the gold flecks in his eyes shine in the sun. I hadn’t noticed them before, and he was far too close to me if I was able to notice them now. I took a step back.
“Clearly,” I said, my voice dry.
“What is it? Does this have to do with the marriage that upset you?”
“What marriage—oh, that.” He was referring to Sophie’s engagement. Well, her probable engagement. There was no word it had yet occurred.
“It is safe to assume the news from your friend is not what is bothering you at present, then.”
“That would be a safe assumption, yes,” I agreed.
“Then what is it?” His concern was evident, but what could I say? I was not going to tell the man I was hurt because he chose not to dance with me. The entire situation was ridiculous. For the first time in my life, I was allowing myself to develop feelings for a man against all my better judgement. Why should I be so surprised that my feelings were not reciprocated?
It occurred to me in that moment that Daniel was not the problem here, but I was.
“Nothing,” I said softly. “I feel foolish. Really, it is nothing.”
He was not convinced. He regarded me closely, remaining a step away. I could have reached out my hand and touched his cheek and the urge to do so overcame me so swiftly that I gasped, shocked by the inappropriate thought.
“We need to create boundaries,” I said, surprising myself.
Evidently, I surprised Daniel as well. “I apologize if I have caused you any distress. It was not my intent.”
I shook my head. I had thought Daniel’s social life was a mess only moments before when in fact, it was my life that needed a steady hand to redirect my problems.
My father returned to London with his wife and daughter, taking the ton by storm and effectively resurfacing the scandal of my illegitimacy. Elsie was struggling with some major issue and did not feel capable of relying on me, pointing out my inadequacy as a supportive friend. I was so focused on my steward’s social life that I was obsessing over every female he spoke to or laughed with and inspecting the potential depth of their relationships. And furthermore—possibly worst of all—I was falling in love with him.
Tears formed and I squeezed my eyes closed to stem them. I was not typically a crier and the disloyal tears angered me. I did not want to cry, but I could no longer pretend I did not care deeply for a man who obviously cared little for me.
Well, that was not entirely true. He cared for me. He did not, however, love me as I was beginning to love him. The fact made the compassion in his eyes all the more bothersome. Frustrated, I spun away.
“Freya!”
“No,” I called back. “I need to be alone.”
He let me go, and I ran.
Chapter 22
Mrs. Overton pinched the bridge of her nose. “I have had the headache for the better part of two days now.”
“Shall I call for a doctor?” I asked. I was not concerned the day before when Mrs. Overton slept until dinner. The ball the night before had tired me as well, so it was a safe assumption that Mrs. Overton required more time to recuperate.
She shook her head, settling onto the sofa while I began knitting a second blanket for Rosalynn’s baby, a soft green color this time around. I tucked the letter I was about to read into the basket and picked up the knitting again, focusing on my stitches.
“I have not quite lived up to my duties recently. I hope you are not upset with me.”
I lowered the needles onto my lap, confused. “Why would I be upset? It is perfectly natural to take naps in the afternoon, or sleep when you are feeling unwell. I would never fault you for getting the rest you need.”
Silence sat thick in the room and it occurred to me I had been quite blind indeed.
“There is more going on, isn’t there?” I asked.
Mrs. Overton observed me closely. “Yes,” she finally said.
“Are you ill?”
She nodded, and my chest constricted. I had just gone through this with Aunt Georgina. I did not want to go through it again. I shook my head. How very, very selfish of me. I laid my knitting project on the basket near my feet and scooted closer to Mrs. Overton, lifting her hand in my own, much like Elsie had done for me on many occasions.
“I am here for you. You needn’t fear out of concern for me.”
“It will be hard to uphold my employment agreement as I grow more ill.”
I tilted my head, humor forming a small smile on my lips. “The only reason that Daniel fetched you was to avoid scandal. Neither of us were in any jeopardy of actually causing a scandal, but we wanted a safeguard to protect our reputations. Living in this house is fulfilling your employment agreement, Mrs. Overton, and you needn’t worry anymore.”
She nodded, her eyes glistening. My own cheeks were burning from the implications laced through my words. It was true; we weren’t in any jeopardy of creating a scandal, but alluding to the possibility forced me to blush, regardless.
“Shall I send for the doctor?” I asked gently. “Perhaps it would be best to understand what is going on so we might know how to best move forward.”
“That is unnecessary, dear.”
“But, if we understand…”
Mrs. Overton shook her head and comprehension dawned, bright and true. “You already knew. Before you came here.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t choose to stay in your own home?”
“It is easier this way. I have lost all my income this past year, unable to work. I was going to be evicted shortly anyway. Daniel knew of my troubles. It was how he convinced me to leave my home. Or, that is, what he thought he used to convince me to leave. But I was prepared to come and spend what time I had left beside him.” She stared into the distance, seeing something I could not. Her voice soft, she continued, “My sweet Daniel has done so much for me. I could not have said no to anything he asked.”
“You sound as though you are his mother.”
The endearing smile she gave me made my breath catch in my throat.
“I am not his mother,” she said. “But I am the closest thing Daniel ever had to one. I raised him as though he was my son, though he belonged to my sister.”
“You are his aunt then?”
Nodding, she said, “Yes, though we never used the title. I was his mother in every other sense of the word. I promised my sister I would protect him, and I’ve done my best.”
I held my breath. “Protect him from whom?”
She shook her head. “It is not important any longer.”
I opened my mouth to argue and then closed it again. If Mrs. Overton did not want to share, then I was not going to press her further. “What is the diagnosis?” I asked instead.
“Heart trouble,” she said. “My mother had it, and my sister as well.”
“Daniel’s mother?”
“Yes. She was quite young when she passed. Her heart gave out. The doctor told me I was fortunate to have been blessed with such a long life and there is nothing more they can do, aside from a special tea blend which helps to soothe my pain.”
My own heart
squeezed at her candid explanation. I wanted to rid of her of any pain. “What can I do?”
“Nothing needs doing. I am happy here, in your lovely home. I am with my Daniel and I need nothing more.” The smile on her peaceful face reiterated the truth of her words and I felt at once reconciled.
“Regardless,” I said, squeezing her hand. “I am here and I will do whatever I may to help. You need only tell me and I will do what I can.”
“There is one thing,” she said.
I waited for her to continue. She seemed hesitant and I could feel the air in the room shift.
“I would appreciate it if you could keep this to yourself.”
“Of course. I won’t speak a word of it.”
“To anyone,” she said.
Sudden comprehension dawned. She did not want me to tell Daniel. “But you cannot keep this from him, surely.”
“I can, and I will. I choose this, Miss Hurst, and I would appreciate your support. I do not want my last few months to be tainted. If Daniel finds out just how dire my health is, he will not treat me the same. He will fawn over me and concern will consume him. I do not want that for my final memories.”
I could see her reasoning, but I did not agree with it. “I will keep your secret, Mrs. Overton, but I do not like it. Daniel would want to know. He deserves to know.”
Her expression was kind, but immovable. “I understand your feelings, but in this case, I must go with my gut.”
We were at an impasse. I had made a promise and I intended to keep it, but I was not happy about it at all.
“Can I get you anything now?”
“No dear, dinner will be ready shortly. I will be fine to wait until then.”
Silence fell over us as I picked my knitting back up and resumed working on the baby blanket. The stitches became mesmerizing and I added row after row while considering Mrs. Overton’s health, and recalling the months prior to Aunt Georgina’s demise. If I had not known Aunt Georgina was sick, would I have better appreciated the time I spent with her?
I did not know; it was impossible to know. And regardless, it did not change anything here.
Love For The Spinster (Women 0f Worth Book 2) Page 16