by Sahara Kelly
Pushing the library door wide, she stood there, surveying the interior and the combatants within, both of whom turned to look at her.
“Ah, here you are, Miss Nightingale. Do come in.” Sir Gerald crossed the carpet, his footfalls silent, muffled by the richly coloured pile covering the dark wood floor.
“Thank you, Sir Gerald.” She dropped a correct curtsey this time. “Your kindness is much appreciated. And what a lovely room.” She looked around, deliberately ignoring the tall man glowering at her.
“You must allow me to introduce my son, Miss Nightingale. This ill-mannered lout, whose ranting opinions you doubtless heard, as did a good portion of the village, is Piers. Piers Crawford.”
Her heart thudded beneath the pretty bodice as she first saw his face, but she fought back the surprising response, ignoring the stirring of things within her best left alone.
“How do you do, Mr Crawford.” Once again she curtseyed, although not as low as before. She might be penniless and almost destitute, but she had not completely forgotten the rules of behaviour her mama had taught her so long ago.
“Miss Nightingale.” He stared at her for a long moment, then bowed, almost an afterthought, his face expressionless. “Your arrival has come as somewhat of a surprise, but I understand you are to be our estate manager.”
“Sir Gerald has very kindly made that offer, yes. But I believe there are some matters to be discussed before we formalise anything.” She sensed some of his stiffness disappear at her words.
“Ah. Yes. That is an excellent notion. The position is not to be assumed lightly, of course. We will need to know your experience, discuss the current disposition of our estate and what you might offer in the way of ideas for it to be best handled, things like that.”
“Sherry, Miss Nightingale?” Sir Gerald slyly interrupted his son’s inquisition.
“Thank you, sir, that would be lovely.” She accepted a glass and sipped. “Mmm. Very pleasant.” She noted with approval that her hand was steady as a rock.
Not to be deterred, Piers continued. “You are aware that Crawford Hall is a strict settlement, Miss Nightingale?”
She took the chair Sir Gerald indicated and arranged her skirts carefully. “As opposed to an entail? I understand the difference. I have not, as yet, learned anything of the Hall’s particulars, of course.”
He opened his mouth, but she forestalled him.
“But there are some constants that probably apply. I would assume that your rents are, in fact, now paid in cash. Do you know if your tenants’ leases are copyhold? And how long for?”
Piers blinked. “Um…”
“And if any land is mortgaged, are you familiar with the disposition of those funds? If they are in bonds, then the current interest rate must be monitored regularly. Then there are the varying rights to be managed…things like timber rights crop up now and again. I doubt that mining rights are important in this area, but I am aware of some landowners who exercise their water rights when mills are involved…”
Silence fell as she concluded. She remained calm, keeping her gaze on Piers Crawford’s face.
He finished his sherry. “I am told you have an uncanny knack with figures, Miss Nightingale. You will admit that it is unusual, to say the least.”
Disliking his attitude, and with the confidence of someone who had nothing left to lose, Jessie rose and walked to him, staring him right in the eyes, ignoring the quiver of awareness that once more shot through her body.
“If women were permitted an education equal to men, it would not be so unusual, sir. And to eliminate any other matters that might prey on your mind, I am not your father’s mistress, nor his whore. I am not interested in being anyone’s mistress and, given your narrow-minded display of masculine superiority, I would never even consider being yours.” She glanced at Sir Gerald. “It would be my honour to serve as Crawford Hall’s estate manager, but since the current owner is Sir Gerald, not you, whether I assume that position or not is entirely up to him. For which I am devoutly thankful.”
If she could have left the room on a flounce, she would have, but fortunately the butler chose that very moment to announce that dinner was served.
Sir Gerald, a grin twitching his lips, held out his arm. “Shall we, Miss Nightingale?”
She walked to his side, allowing her face to display her shared amusement. “We shall, Sir Gerald. Indeed we shall.”
Chapter Three
Dinner was one of the tastiest meals Jessie had enjoyed in quite some time.
Simple fresh foods cooked with a skill that many of London’s finest chefs would probably have done well to emulate.
Sir Gerald deftly kept the conversation casual, and even Piers contributed more than a growl now and then. Discovering with evident delight that Jessie was well read, books quickly became a topic to be thoroughly discussed over soup, and from that a consideration of Mr Shakespeare’s works took all of them through the main dishes to the sweet course.
Sighing with pleasure, Jessie finished the last of her apple pie. “I have to confess I have seldom enjoyed a meal more, Sir Gerald.”
He smiled. “I’m glad to hear it, Miss Nightingale. And since I’m disinclined to leave you on your own, I suggest we all adjourn to the parlour for tea. I tire more easily these days, especially when travelling to town, so it’ll be an early night for us, I’m afraid.”
“A welcome suggestion, sir,” said Jesse, standing as the gentlemen rose to their feet. “The room you’ve generously assigned me is one guaranteed to insure a good night’s sleep.”
“Ah, yes.” Her host led her across the hall to another room, where a fire burned and the tea tray was set out, right next to the brandy. “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Nightingale. And please pour tea if you would? I’d like mine with milk, but Piers will probably take a brandy.”
Jessie carefully obeyed, hearing a clink as Piers decanted a healthy portion of the golden liquor. After the day she’d had, she wouldn’t have refused a glass of her own, but remained silent and enjoyed the tea.
“Well then,” began Sir Gerald, crossing his legs comfortably. “If you agree, I think we might start you off on the morrow, Miss Nightingale. You can view the estate office here in the Hall, and Piers can take you to the estate manager’s residence.”
Jessie blinked. “There’s a residence?”
“Indeed, yes. It’s quite small, a mere cottage actually, but snug and well maintained. We’ll have to assign you a maid and probably a footman, too, since it would be advisable for a young woman to have some company in such circumstances.”
“You certainly couldn’t live here in the Hall, Miss Nightingale.” Piers’ tone contained a note of cool scorn.
She ignored it. “I appreciate that, of course, Mr Crawford. However accommodations such as those you’ve described, seem luxurious indeed for an estate manager.”
Sir Gerald’s lips curled into an amused grin. “We rate that position most highly. In fact, we’re rather eccentric here at the Hall, because we rate all those who work for us as very important people. Far more so than some guests who drop by from London.”
“A unique attitude, to say the least,” observed Jessie. “But one that has a great deal of merit, in my humble opinion.”
“You realise that your wages cannot yet match those of your predecessor,” commented Piers coolly.
“Since I don’t know what those were, Mr Crawford, I can make no observation as to that matter. I shall leave it in your father’s capable hands, and trust him to deliver whatever recompense he feels suitable.”
Sir Gerald shot his son a look of amusement. “Quite correct. I will ensure that the business is settled to everyone’s satisfaction, Piers. Since you’ve never bothered your head about it before, I see no reason for you to worry about it now.”
Jessie watched Piers’ face, wondering if he would be angry at the subtle rebuke. He merely shook his head, his shoulders rising and falling on a sigh. “I never know what to make of t
hese fits and starts you engage in, Father. But you appreciate I have the utmost confidence in your decisions, no matter how idiosyncratic they may be.”
“Even though I’m hiring a woman to do what is currently—and has been for centuries—a man’s job?”
Piers’ gaze drifted to Jessie and rested on her for a few brief moments. She was being assessed, she knew. It was quite unmistakable. She raised her chin and stared back. But not by a flicker of an eyelash did he indicate his thoughts.
“It will either be a complete failure, or Miss Nightingale will astound me by demonstrating proficiency at it.” He downed the rest of his brandy and stood. “Time will tell, Father. I’ll give you both a month. If Crawford Hall is still standing, and we’re not teetering on the brink of financial disaster, I will declare Miss Nightingale satisfactory.” He walked to the door. “That’s my final word on the matter. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ma’am. Be ready to move to your new quarters. Half past eight tomorrow morning. Sharp.”
Jessie didn’t even have chance to rise and curtsey, for he was gone before the echo of his last order had faded from the room.
Sir Gerald put his cup and saucer back on the tray as Jessie rose, knowing the evening was at an end. “Be patient with him, Miss Nightingale. I tend to present him with surprises now and again, and he puts up with me far better than others would.”
“It’s not my place to be anything other than patient, Sir Gerald,” she replied quietly. “I am deeply aware of the confidence you’ve expressed in my abilities, which—given the fact we’ve not known each other for a whole day yet—is extraordinary. Unheard of, in fact.” She gazed at him. “I will do my best not to let you down.”
“You need not reassure me,” he nodded. “I knew as soon as we began conversing that your mind is quite different to that of your contemporaries. And I decided to listen to my intuition and take a chance. The more we talk, the less that chance becomes. I’ve always trusted my instincts, Miss Nightingale But time will tell, so off to bed with you. I hope you sleep well, because I foresee a somewhat challenging day tomorrow.” His lips twisted into a wry grin.
“I’ve dealt with my fair share of critics, sir,” she grinned back. “And I doubt Mr Crawford could be any worse than the mamas of some of the children I’ve had to deal with.”
“Good point,” he chuckled, opening the door for her. “Very good point indeed.”
*~~*~~*
A warm bed, a soft pillow and the knowledge that she was, for the first time in a long time, completely safe, allowed Jessie the pleasure of a wonderfully restful night’s sleep.
Although she awoke to the early chirps of birds outside her window, she stretched and indulged herself by snuggling the quilt up under her chin and watching the patterns change on the ceiling as the sun rose on a new day.
She was going to have a home of her own.
Albeit at the pleasure of the Crawford Hall owner, it would still be hers for now, at least. A private place where she could shut out the world if she wanted, and relish her privacy and solitude. It didn’t have to be shared with fears and worries about where the next meal would be coming from or if she would be sent packing because of her birth.
Did the Crawfords breed true? Would Piers Crawford be a man given to fairness and willingness to try something shockingly new?
She prayed for the latter, her thoughts dodging from one place to another, jumping back in time to when she had been a governess, befriended by an estate manager who had enjoyed a variety of discussions with her about his work and what it involved. Others would have been astonished she could understand any of it, but he had quickly recognised her ability to comprehend such things.
She, in her turn, comprehended that his interests lay solely in his estate books, and the local curate. He made no overt gestures or attentions toward her at all, even though he was attractive and unwed. It wasn’t long before she added up the inconsistencies and understood his preferences.
Jessie never judged people. She’d suffered enough from being judged herself. Until someone displayed their true nature, she accepted them as they presented themselves.
Mr Piers Crawford had presented himself as surprised, suspicious and disapproving, all of which he had a right to be. Therefore, she would withhold any final judgement until she spent more time with him and understood the truth of the man.
He had the most penetrating hazel eyes, neither green nor brown but a pleasing blend of both with flecks of gold.
A thought that popped out of nowhere and sent a warm trickle of awareness coursing down her spine. She quickly pushed it aside and rose, just as a tap on the door announced the arrival of Thompkins and a most welcome morning cup of tea.
And so began the day for Miss Jessie Nightingale, the new Estate Manager of Crawford Hall.
She hurried through the breakfast on the tray Thompkins had thoughtfully brought upstairs, while the maid rummaged in the cupboards again and produced a serviceable gown of rich brown bombazine. It looked both practical and warm, and Jessie was quite happy to allow herself to be pinned and tucked until Thompkins declared the fit to be perfect.
“I will have to purchase some clothing of my own,” said Jessie, looking in the mirror and adjusting the single frill of lace around her neck. “I can’t wear Mrs Chalmers’ dresses too often.”
“I’m sure Sir Gerald will make sure you have what you need, Miss,” answered Thompkins. “There’s a seamstress in the village—Barton Craw, that is, about a mile or so down the road—and she does for most of us. Very talented she is.” The maid smoothed a lock of hair to her satisfaction. “And Berry cottage is ever so nice.”
“Berry cottage?” Jessie raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, it’s on the far side of the kitchen garden, and the back looks out onto the berry field.”
“Strawberries?”
“More blackberries and raspberries, I think. Maybe some gooseberries…”
Jessie’s mouth watered at the thought. “I am very much looking forward to seeing it,” she said eagerly.
“Mr Crawford is to meet you at half-past eight in the hall, and it’s nearly that now, so if you’re ready, Miss…”
“I’m ready.” She remembered to collect her reticule, though it held no more than a handkerchief and a comb. She still felt more at ease with the formality of it on her arm.
Walking down the staircase as the grandfather clock solemnly tolled the half-hour, she saw him waiting for her and straightened her spine even more.
“Good morning, Miss Nightingale.” He dipped his head politely. “I trust you passed a satisfactory night?”
“Indeed I did, sir. Thank you for asking.” She reached his side and curtseyed. “And I am eager to visit what I understand is known as Berry cottage?”
“Then let us be on our way.” He held out his arm.
She took it, tucking her hand beneath his elbow. This was no formal escort into dinner, this was a walk outside and through gardens. Her shoes fit, but not well enough to traipse over forest paths. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but not knowing what to expect, she took a firm grip on his arm, absently noting the solid muscle beneath the jacket.
“Fortunately, it is a pleasant morning, so you need not concern yourself about mud or wet grass.” He led her along the hallway and turned into a passage that ended with steps down to an outside door. “Here we are. The kitchen garden.” He inhaled. “Reminds me of my childhood here, when I helped my mother pick herbs for various dishes.” He pointed as they walked along paths bordered by plants readying themselves for winter. “Rosemary. Just smell it. Makes one’s mouth water, doesn’t it?” He smiled and nodded at a maid gathering various green things from one of the beds.
Amused by his unexpected charm, Jessie agreed. “It does indeed. As does the sage…over there, I believe? Next to what must be mint…”
“Ah, I see you too enjoy the different fragrances of such places.”
She cocked her head at the sounds coming from a nearby field.
“I am told you have an interest in sheep, Mr Crawford.”
“Miss Nightingale, you don’t know the half of it. Sheep are my life, in many ways.”
“I would venture to comment that such a thing must be a solitary and sad state of affairs, but the enthusiasm in your voice tells me otherwise.”
Their steps took them through a gate in the wall. “You will learn,” was all he said. “And here we are.”
Jessie stared at the delightful cottage, gleaming windows reflecting the morning sun, a few late chrysanthemums bordering the spotless front path, and a thatched roof curving over the glass that clearly brought light into upstairs rooms.
“Oh how charming,” she exclaimed, her eyes roaming over the lovely facade. “I can scarcely believe I’m to live here…”
Piers took the key from his pocket and passed it to her. “Here you are. You should unlock your new residence.”
It was heavy, but she held it tightly, slipping it into the keyhole where it turned smoothly. She unlatched the door and stepped inside, greeted by the scent of beeswax and some long-gone cigar, mixed with leather and wood smoke.
She breathed in as Piers entered behind her and she heard the lock click. They were finally alone.
“It’s…” she struggled for words.
Strong arms came around her. “As perfect as you are, Jessie.”
The air went out of her lungs for several seconds, and she struggled to gasp as he held her snugly against him.
Turning, she reached up and let her hands rest on his shoulders as he kicked the door closed behind them, isolating them from the rest of the world. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered. “I truly cannot believe this.”
“Neither can I. I’ve thought of nothing but you, ached for no one but you.” His face neared hers. “Did I not say that we would see each other again?”
His hands closed on her back, thrusting their bodies together as he kissed her, his mouth eager, hungry, his tongue meeting hers in a fierce duel that had her moaning with pleasure within moments.