Will She Be Mine

by Jessica L. Jackson

  The mantel clock chimed six o’clock. Mr. Shufflebottom’s letter said that he would arrive this evening by six and he was always punctual. She dreaded meetings with her solicitor. He was the family lawyer and knew every family secret and was exactly the type of smug, self-satisfied individual she detested. The knocker sounded and her palms began to sweat.

  Thaddeus returned to his plants after his dinner and worked contentedly through the early evening. He’d relocated a garden table from beneath the beech tree to its current location beside a young Araucaria araucana, a monkey puzzle tree, because from this spot he had a clear view through his back gate. Angus, surprisingly, had been the one to suggest the move.

  While he sat making notes at the table, he heard the scrape of Miss Horton’s gate and caught site of her fairly stomping across the public footpath to the stone bench that permitted anyone with the inclination to enjoy the view beyond the farmer’s fields to the sea. He set aside his notebook and watched her. She sat down on the bench, then stood up and walked around it with her hands on her hips. She arched her back so that her gravid belly extended while she pressed her hands to the small of her back. Then she sat down on the bench again.

  The gate at the bottom of his garden made no sound when he opened it but he doubted she would have noticed his approach anyway, because by this time she was crying. His heart ached for her. Before he could reach her side with his handkerchief, she’d swiped the backs of her hands across her cheeks. He held the linen square out over her shoulder regardless.

  “Miss Horton? Please, use my handkerchief.”

  “Oh!” she cried, startled, half turning toward him. She snatched the large white cloth and scrubbed at her face before heartily blowing her nose. “Please do not think that I am crying because I am sad, sir. That is certainly not the case!”

  “You appear to be most decidedly angry,” Thaddeus commented, moving around to the front of the bench so he could look at her. She cast him a wet darkling look and she appeared so adorable that he wanted to gather her in his arms and lay her head down upon his shoulder. However, that would not do so he did nothing but gaze sympathetically at her.

  “I could rip and tear,” she admitted, twisting the damp handkerchief this way and that. “Mr. Milborough, you are very kind to listen to me, but��”

  “I know. It is none of my business. Never mind,” he said kindly, smiling down at her. “Tell me anyway. You need to vent your spleen and I can bear it.” Still she hesitated. Thaddeus sat at the farthest end of the bench and grinned coaxingly at her. “You will blow up if you don’t, you know. Perhaps I can be of further assistance? I gather you are not angry about your roses. I smelled the fire earlier so you must have followed my instructions. Thank you.” She nodded automatically. He continued so that she had more time to collect herself. “The reason for my appreciation is that my botanical experiments are with roses. I would not want my special roses to contract the fungus. I am engaged in an attempt to breed tea roses, which are more delicate than wild roses, to be resistant to salt in the air.”

  She murmured something appropriate but he wasn’t really listening to her polite nothings. Instead he was searching her expression for a clue to her ire. He waited patiently.

  “If it isn’t the roses,” he finally said, looking away from her face to the distant view, “then what has cut up your peace?”

  “It is my solicitor, Mr. Shufflebottom,” she confessed at last. Amelia looked suspiciously at him when something that sounded strongly like a snort escaped him. He blinked innocently and nodded encouragement. She narrowed her eyes at him as she continued. “He is my family’s solicitor and when I inherited a comfortable independence from my godmother, he looked after my money as well. However, whenever I want something he considers an extravagance, he insists on consulting my parents before he gives me enough money to acquire it.”

  “Forgive me, but are you of age?” Thaddeus asked, frowning.

  “I am almost twenty-two. I am not a child who must be told what to do or how to spend my own money!” Amelia’s exclamation brought a becoming flush to her cheeks and a decided sparkle to her lovely golden-green eyes. “I let my parents bullock me into moving to this out-of-the-way village because I’ve embarrassed them. Very well. I understand that my delicate situation would have humiliated them if it had become generally known in Weymouth. I like it here in Hinderwell. Honestly, I do. But when that weasel of a man tells me that I cannot buy a pony trap or a pianoforte, it is the outside of enough!”

  “Brava, Miss Horton. Did you tell him that?”

  Amelia deflated. “No.” She looked down at her hands and the mangled cotton square. “I am intimidated by him. He’s the same age as my father and he makes me feel as if I’m six years old and have not yet cut my eyeteeth. And, he’s always looking at my…” She pressed her hand to her rounded stomach and grimaced.

  “He sounds like a scoundrel,” Thaddeus said, curling his lip. She nodded miserably. He rose from the bench, shoved his hands into the pockets of his tweed trousers and began to pace up and down in front of the bench. “I think, Miss Horton, I can be of more assistance than just a sympathetic ear. This insignificant…leech of a man has no business virtually holding you at his mercy.”

  Amelia could only stare at the passion visible in his expression. He was angry on her behalf. It had been so long since anyone other than Mrs. Edley had been on her side that her heart softened even further toward him.

  “If you will pardon my presumption, Miss Horton, what you need is a new man of business,” Thaddeus stated firmly. He stopped in front of her.

  “Granted. But where am I to find one? I have no way to travel into Whitby and I do not know of a reputable firm to hire.”

  “I know just the firm. My own man of business, Farley, works for the best firm in Whitby and I have always found him reliable.”

  “You…your man of business?” she faltered. “But—”

  Thaddeus looked at her sharply and wondered at her reaction to his suggestion. Then he recollected himself. “Please excuse me, Miss Horton. I’ve lived out of polite society for many years and I easily forget how important appearances can be. I imagine it would not be appropriate for you to have the same man of business as myself.”

  “No,” Amelia said, smiling with obvious relief. “In a village this size too. The news would get around and the talk would begin.”

  “And you should not have to bear that sort of poker talk. No. I agree entirely.” Thaddeus thought for a moment, all the while smoothing the front of his plaid waistcoat, a habit he had while thinking. “An alternative, then. I shall ask Farley to recommend someone. Is this objectionable fellow coming to visit you again?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “Not much time then.” Thaddeus clapped his hands together and then rubbed them back and forth in anticipation of a satisfying victory. “I shall send Angus the nine miles to Whitby as soon as I’ve written a letter to Farley. There should be light for another three hours, plenty of time for his journey. He’ll stay the night there, meet whomever Farley recommends, and hopefully bring him back here in plenty of time for you to interview. What do you say, Miss Horton?”

  He looked eagerly at Amelia and then sat down beside her, not nearly at the farthest distance from her that he could have. Really he was sitting quite close to her and the idea of how near she was caused his heart to flip in his chest and his blood to race through his veins. “Will you permit me to do this service for you?”

  “Is it too much of an intrusion, Mr. Milborough? I feel as if I should refuse, yet I do not know what else to do.”

  “If that is your only scruple, Miss Horton, then I shall leave you so I might compose the letter.”

  Thaddeus reluctantly rose from the bench and stepped away. He nodded decisively and turned, only to come up short at the view of the Misses White walking sedately down the public path. They caught sight of him and nodded congenially. Then they noticed Amelia on the bench and stiffe
ned. Their middle-aged double chins rose into the air and they stopped, standing arm in arm, twenty feet away from the bench.

  Chapter Four

  “Miss Sadie. Miss Ann,” he called out in his calm, gentle way as soon as he’d bowed to them. “Good evening. Have you been introduced to my neighbor, Miss Horton?” He waved them forward, patiently waiting for them to force themselves to come flush with the bench. “Permit me to make her known to you, dear ladies.”

  Amelia reluctantly stood up, feeling awkward and exposed, and turned toward the women whom Mrs. Edley had freely stigmatized as the worse gossips of the North Riding. They ruled whatever society the village enjoyed and she dreaded what they would say to her.

  “Miss Sadie White, Miss Ann White, may I present Miss Amelia Horton of Rose Thorn Cottage?” The two women inclined their gray, bonneted heads toward her but did not meet her eyes. They looked somewhere over her left shoulder, studiously avoiding the evidence of her shame.

  “Miss Horton, this is Miss Sadie and Miss Ann White of Selby Lane Cottage. They look after the flowers at the church and are the leaders of our local Women’s Guild.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Amelia managed, though her voice sounded frightened to her own critical ears. “The flowers look lovely every Sunday.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Sadie said through folded lips.

  Miss Ann unbent slightly toward this outcast from better society. “I’ve seen that Mr. Shufflebottom is in town again.” She sniffed and pursed her lips before continuing as though speaking was against her better judgment. “He is putting up at the Runswick Bay Arms.”

  “I believe that is his habit,” Amelia agreed, casting an agonized look at her neighbor. He smiled and nodded complacently. Did he not understand how hard this was for her?

  “Ann. Enough said,” Miss Sadie whispered, attempting to drag her sister away with her. However, Miss Ann was the heavier of the two and did not budge easily.

  “Have you known Mr. Shufflebottom long, Miss Horton?” Miss Ann asked, ignoring her sister’s impatient tugging.

  “Well, yes. He’s my family’s solicitor,” Amelia explained, puzzled by her persistent interest. “Is there anything amiss?”

  “You might say there is,” Miss Ann said. Miss Sadie snorted elegantly and looked far down the path as if she could will them to be away from this spot. However, in a hushed voice she revealed, “I’m afraid Mr. Shufflebottom is quite fond of his…drink.”

  “I had no idea,” murmured Amelia.

  “If you’d like my advice, Miss Horton, and I’m not saying I’m giving any, mind, then I’d find a different solicitor—one who doesn’t talk so much when he is inebriated.”

  “Oh dear,” Amelia said weakly, putting out her hand to steady herself as she swayed slightly. Thaddeus stepped forward quickly and held out his arm. She took it gratefully while watching Miss Sadie’s eyebrows rise so high that they disappeared beneath the smooth bands of her gray hair.

  “Ladies, we were just discussing the wisdom of Miss Horton choosing a different man of business,” Thaddeus revealed. He looked keenly at the two ape-leaders. “What do you think? I have never met the man but he sounds to me like a bounder.”

  “He is, Mr. Milborough. He is.”

  “I don’t believe that a woman in Miss Horton’s delicate situation should be required to endure the attentions of such a man,” Thaddeus remarked, forcing them to confront the very thing they’d rather not have to notice. Automatically their eyes turned to look at Amelia’s abdomen. “Do you not agree?”

  “Indeed,” Miss Ann stated, nodding sharply. She elbowed her older sister in the ribs.

  “Of course,” Miss Sadie squeaked, but rallied beneath her sister’s glare. “No lady should have to endure the ill-mannered.”

  “You are both too kind,” Amelia said, nodding at each. She felt they deserved some first-hand gossip as a reward. “Mr. Milborough has offered to have his man of business recommend a replacement for Mr. Shufflebottom.”

  “An excellent notion, sir,” Miss Ann commented. She relented and let her sister drag her away. As a parting volley, she said, “We hope to see you on Sunday, Miss Horton.”

  “I shall be there, Miss White,” Amelia called.

  Thaddeus watched Miss Horton’s face to see if he had angered her with his revelations to the Misses White. She turned away from watching the two spinsters walk with dignity down the path and then she smiled at him—a big broad smile that showed her lovely white teeth and that reached her bright, glittering eyes.

  “Thank you, Mr. Milborough,” she choked. “Thank you very, very much. Now that they have spoken to me, others will as well.”

  “Do you…do you think you could call me Thaddeus?” he asked wistfully, struck down by her gratitude. “When we are alone, that is?” His soul stilled and waited for her reply, hardly crediting that within the space of one day he had progressed from longing just to speak a word or two with her to the point of asking her to use his Christian name.

  “Only if you will call me Amelia.”

  “It would be my honor, Amelia,” he told her. Tentatively, Thaddeus reached out and took her hand. It fluttered in his large one like a captured bird. He covered it and pressed it warmly. Overwhelmed, he gave a husky chuckle, brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, and then returned it to her before he did what he really wanted to do, which was to clasp her in his arms and never let her go. “I must attend to that letter and send Angus off or else he will not arrive before dark.”

  Amelia permitted him to escort her to her garden gate and he left with a bounce in his purposeful step. She could barely breathe her heart was beating so fast. She couldn’t stop grinning and a little laugh escaped now and then.

  * * * * *

  At eleven o’clock the next morning, Angus drew up in front of Rose Thorn Cottage in his master’s sporty Tilbury. He deposited the gentleman whom Mr. Farley had recommended at the bottom of the walk and indicated with his whip that the solicitor should continue on his own. Mrs. Edley opened the door to him and led him into the front parlor where his potential employer awaited his arrival.

  “Mr. Smith, mum,” the housekeeper announced, glaring at him. He stoically ignored her, having been forewarned by Angus McLeod to “Show no fear, laddie, and all will be well.” She waved him farther into the room. “The solicitor.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Edley. Would you bring us some tea, please?”

  Mr. Smith proved to be a dark, meticulously correct gentleman in his mid-thirties. His was a powerful build, almost pugilistic, and Amelia had no trouble believing he could intimidate her smaller, rounder solicitor. He gave his particulars and after being hired, listened attentively to Amelia before offering his advice.

  “Miss Horton, Mr. Shufflebottom is bringing your quarterly allowance this afternoon, is this not correct?”

  “It is.”

  He cleared his throat behind his hand, then gave her a friendly but cunning look. “Excuse me, ma’am, but I suggest we use a little stratagem. Understand, I do not normally prefer to act in such a fashion toward a fellow solicitor, but sometimes needs must. So I suggest you meet him alone and accept your money from him before we reveal my presence or your desire to exchange his services for mine.”

  “You believe he might otherwise withhold my funds?”

  “Quite likely. I will set your wishes in motion immediately upon my return to Whitby. However, Mr. Shufflebottom has the power to make the process difficult.”

  “I see. We will proceed as you suggest.”

  Chapter Five

  When Angus interrupted him, Thaddeus was working—or rather trying to work—among his specimens in the large conservatory he��d had built upon the purchase of this house.

  “The wee lass is here,” he said abruptly. “In the parlor.”

  The news brought about a farcical reaction. Thaddeus dropped his wooden dibber into the full watering can sitting on the floor at his side. The water splashed up and splattered his trouser
legs. He stepped back in surprise and almost fell over a bench upon which reposed the flat of seedlings he’d been transplanting. The seedlings tipped off and would have hit the floor if not for Angus’ quick action.

  “Get a hold of yourself, sir!” Angus said sharply. He placed the seedlings somewhere safe. His master was numbly untying his apron.

  “Here? Angus? Here?”

  “Aye, sir.” Angus grabbed the apron before it landed on the tiled floor.

  “Where’s my coat? I can’t see her in my shirt sleeves again!”

  “I have it here,” Angus soothed. “I brought it from your chamber before I came to fetch ye.”

  “She shouldn’t have come here,” Thaddeus pronounced, shoving one arm into the coat without rolling down his sleeve. The other went in likewise. “The proprieties.”

  “Och, ye need not concern yourself about those,” Angus promised, smoothing the brown Manchester velvet jacket across his master’s shoulders. “That battle-axe has come with her to maintain the proprieties.”

  “I’m shaking in my boots,” Thaddeus confessed. He smoothed his hair into place and stood for inspection. “How do I look?”

  “Your boots, sir,” Angus pointed at the garden boots his master preferred to wear in the conservatory while he worked. Grass-studded mud freely covered the sides and soles.

  “Bloody hell,” Thaddeus cursed, staring helplessly at the boots. “Stocking feet would be better than these.”

  “Oh, aye. But your Oxfords are jist over here,” Angus pointed out, going to the spot where his master left his shoes when he changed into his garden boots. A wooden chair waited nearby. “Sit yourself down and I’ll change your boots.”

  “Thank you, Angus. You are a godsend.”

  “As ye’ve said afore.”

  “Not often enough, I’m sure,” Thaddeus pressed, holding out first one foot and then the other. His chest felt tight, yet excitement zinged through him like a force of nature. She was in his house. In. His. House. Oh Lord, he thought, closing his eyes and trying to remain calm. “Is she in the front parlor?”