Brides Of Privilege (v1.3)

by Kasey Michaels

  “I’m worried that we’re depleting all your food, miss.” Duncan helped himself to a cup of tea and leaned his back against the trunk of a gnarled tree and he slowly savored the dessert.

  “Nonsense. Don’t you worry about my food. What you’ve given me is far more important.” Molly filled William’s cup and felt the heat rise to her cheeks at the way he was staring at her.

  He looked so natural, so right, sitting in the grass of her garden, one arm wrapped around his bent knee, the other holding a cup of tea, while sunlight played over his face, casting him in light and shadow.

  She pulled herself back from her thoughts. “My roof has been leaking for years now. And I couldn’t afford to hire anyone from town to replace my thatch. Without the generosity of the three of you, I’d surely be facing a very bleak winter.”

  “It’s hard to think of winter when the weather is this gentle.” Duncan glanced from William to Molly, wondering if either was aware of what was in their eyes. It would seem his young friend was reaching a milestone in his life. Though for now, he probably wasn’t even aware of it.

  The old man drained his cup and scrambled to his feet. “It’s time we got back to our work, men.”

  Reluctantly William followed suit.

  While he worked, he found himself thinking about the way he’d teased Duncan and Tyler about the widow Warner’s tea parties. Now that he’d experienced one for himself, he had to admit that Duncan was right. Her food did indeed rival the angels. And despite the heat of the day and the challenging work, he was having the time of his life.

  Molly Warner, it would seem, had the rare ability to make even the most tedious task on the most ordinary day seem like a slice of heaven.

  Chapter 7

  What’s this, old man?” William looked up from the table, where he was neatly writing in a column of figures in one of Lord Kent’s ledgers.

  Duncan was standing behind him, holding out his dark coat, which looked as clean as when it was new. “I hung this on the branch of a tree and brushed it. I figured you’d want to be looking your best today.”

  “Looking my best? Whatever for?”

  The old man merely smiled. “The lass has to walk all the way to town this morning for Sunday services, carrying that heavy basket on her arm.”

  William gave him a suspicious look. “I suppose you volunteered my services.”

  “Not in so many words. But I—” the old man had the good manners to look ashamed “—I did suggest that you might be willing to lend a hand.”

  “If you’re so concerned, why didn’t you offer to go yourself?”

  Duncan rubbed his knee. “I would but all these extra chores I’ve taken on have made the old joints a bit stiff.”

  “I see. Very well.” William allowed himself to be helped into his coat. He gave a last lingering look at the ledgers, then turned away. At the door he paused to see the boy and man watching him. “If you hear that the church collapsed on the entire congregation, you’ll know why. I’m not sure the town of Surrey is ready for this.”

  “You’ll do just fine, sir.” Duncan limped to the door and stood watching as William started across the field toward Molly’s cottage. When he closed the door, his limp was suddenly forgotten. He turned to his grandson. “Come, lad. Let’s take Wolf for a nice long walk through the forest. Maybe we’ll take a basket along in case we spy any blueberries.”

  * * *

  “William.” Molly couldn’t hide her surprise when she found him standing on her stoop. “I was just about to leave for town.”

  He took the basket from her arm. “I thought I’d walk along.” He glanced up at the sunlight spilling over the edges of high, ruffled clouds. “It looks like a grand day for a walk.”

  She latched the door, and was even more surprised when he offered his arm. Her own smile widened as she linked her arm with his. “It does indeed.”

  He studied the parcels inside the basket, wrapped in plain white linen to shield them from the dust of the road. “Are you pleased with the gown and shawl?”

  “Oh, aye. More than pleased. I only hope Mistress Cannon will be, as well.”

  “And how can she not?” He closed a hand over hers. “Tell me. Can any other woman in Surrey sew as fine a seam as you?”

  “Nay. I had a fine teacher. But I’ve learned that in this life, success doesn’t always come to the one who does the best job, but rather to the one who wields the most influence.”

  He’d know something about that. Because of his father’s wrathful edict, he’d found many doors closed to him. There were many in England who believed that the disinherited son of an earl must be a scoundrel.

  He nudged aside such thoughts, keeping his tone cheerful. “You wield a bit of influence yourself, Mistress Warner. Look at how Duncan and Tyler sing your praises. Not to mention Wolf, who, I’m told, has now become your lapdog.” He bent close. “A woman who can tame both man and beast does truly inspire awe, my lady.”

  “Oh, William, if only I had your confidence.” She gave a delighted laugh. “When I’m with you, I almost believe such fantasies.”

  “Then believe, dear lady. The proof is in the man you see beside you. Do you think I would be willing to idle away my morning in church for anyone but you?”

  The two were still sharing a laugh when they reached the home of Camilla Cannon. It was one of the finest in all of Surrey.

  Though it had been William’s intention to remain outside the gates, he couldn’t seem to tear himself away from Molly for even a brief time. And so he accompanied her along the pathway and up the steps. A manservant invited them inside and led them into a grand room where they sat until the lady of the house could be summoned.

  Camilla Canon came dancing lightly down the stairs and into the parlor, completely ignoring Molly when she caught sight of William.

  “I hope this means you accept my invitation to tea next week.”

  He managed to keep his smile in place, though in truth, it took a bit of work, for he’d forgotten all about it.”I’d be honored. What day will your cousin be arriving?”

  ‘‘My husband and I will be fetching her up from the country by midweek.” She glanced in puzzlement toward Molly. “Did the two of you come together?”

  Molly flushed. “In a manner of speaking. I was on my way to town when my neighbor happened by.”

  Accepting the explanation, Camilla stared hopefully at the basket. “Is this my gown and shawl, Molly?”

  “Aye, Mistress Cannon.” Molly unwrapped the gown first and held it up for her inspection.

  William could see, by the woman’s eyes, that she was delighted as she examined the workmanship before handing it over to a maid.

  “And the shawl?”

  Molly proudly unwrapped the second parcel. Even William’s jaw dropped at the beauty of her work.

  “Oh, my.” Camilla Cannon put a hand to the soft, delicate shawl that could have been spun by angels. Each tiny stitch was perfection. “Molly, this is exquisite.” She reached into her pocket and removed several coins, which she gave to Molly. “I can’t wait for everyone to see me in this. I do hope you’ll agree to make me more.”

  “Aye. I’d be happy to, Mistress Cannon, if you but say the word.”

  “You’ll be hearing from me soon, Molly.” She looked beyond the young widow to the man standing behind her. “As for you, William Colton, I’ll send one of my servants with the time and day of tea.”

  He nodded.

  Camilla Cannon was still examining her fine goods when the butler escorted William and Molly to the door.

  When they were safely away, he saw Molly staring at the coins in her hand. She looked up to see him grinning broadly.

  “Didn’t I tell you she’d love your work?”

  She nodded. “But I didn’t believe you.”

  He paused and caught her hands between both of his. “Now do you believe?”

  “Aye.” She closed her eyes a moment, allowing the relief to wash over her. For
another fortnight or so, she would have food in her larder and would manage to keep the roof over her head. And soon she would have enough saved to pay off her father’s debts.

  Gradually they were swallowed up by the crowd of men and women hurrying toward the chapel.

  William leaned close to whisper, “If you’d like to celebrate, we could skip the service and find a cozy inn where we could break our fast.”

  “Oh, William.” She looked scandalized. “After this fine blessing, I do believe I have to attend Sunday service before I celebrate my good fortune.”

  “What’s this?” He pressed his lips to her temple. “Afraid it might be snatched from you?”

  She flushed. “I suppose that’s part of it.”

  He felt a wave of regret at his light banter. After all, she’d known a great deal of grief in her young life.

  “But I also feel the need to give thanks for this, William.”

  “All right.” He turned toward the chapel, keeping her hand tucked in his. “We’ll pray first. Then we’ll drink a bit of tea to celebrate your good fortune.”

  * * *

  “You don’t like your tea?” William closed a hand over Molly’s, concerned by the way she was staring into the cup, as though looking for something in its depths.

  She looked up, startled. “Oh, it’s fine. It’s better than fine.” She lifted the cup to her lips and drank.

  “It warms me clear to my toes.” The way his touch did, though she couldn’t possibly say that aloud.

  “You seem troubled.”

  She shook her head. “I was just trying to recall the last time I’d eaten food I hadn’t had to cook myself. I think it was when I was ten and three, and I was with my father. I felt very special, and very grown-up.” She smiled. “I’m feeling the same way now.”

  “You are special, Molly.”

  She flushed at his compliment.

  “And this is a special day.”

  “How so?”

  His smile matched hers. “If the look on Camilla Cannon’s face was any indication of the way she feels about your handiwork, I’d say she’s about to spread the word far and wide that Molly Warner is the finest seamstress in all of Surrey. Perhaps in all of England. Women will be flocking to your door, eager to show off for their friends and neighbors.”

  “Such a pretty dream.” She looked over at him. “I’ll just settle for what I have. For with these coins added to what I’ve saved, I’ll soon have enough to pay my father’s debts, and I’ll not have to fear the constable ordering me from my home.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She flushed and looked away. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.

  He touched a hand to her cheek. “Tell me, Molly. Why would the constable order you from your own home?”

  She sighed and ran a finger around the edge of the cup, avoiding his eyes. “When my father grew ill, there was no way to care for him and earn my keep as well. When his meager savings were gone, I was forced to go to Lord Bowers, who owns the land adjoining mine to the south. He loaned me the money to settle my father’s debts, with the understanding that I would repay the loan within the year, or he would lay claim to my property.”

  “How much longer do you have to repay the debt?”

  “It’s overdue. But he’s a kind man. He’s given me a grace period. Lord Bowers said, as long as no one else steps up to pay the debt and lay claim to the land, he’ll give me whatever time I need.” She touched a hand to the coins in her pocket. “I’ve been forced to live a frugal existence, and will for many more years to come, but at least I’ve been able to hold on to my legacy, small though it is.”

  “Then this is indeed a celebration.” He signaled the serving wench and ordered ale.

  Molly shook her head but he ignored her protest. When the wench had retreated, he touched his glass to Molly’s. Looking into her eyes, he whispered, “To your legacy.”

  They drank.

  “Tell me, Molly.” He leaned closer. “If you were to make any dream come true, what would it be?”

  She looked away a moment, until he caught her face and turned it toward him.

  “You’ll laugh,” she said softly.

  “Nay. And to prove it, if you tell me yours, I’ll tell you mine.”

  She looked into his blue eyes and saw herself reflected there. There was something about him that inspired her trust. And she found herself telling him what she’d never told another soul.

  “If I could have but one dream, it would be to travel to the New World.”

  His eyes widened. “You would risk all and go to America?”

  She nodded. “I know it’s a foolish dream. But I’ve heard it said that even those of lowly birth can attain great things there. The citizens of that far-off land care nothing for nobility. Even those who arrive in disgrace have the freedom to begin life anew.” Her eyes glistened, and without realizing it, she reached a hand to his. “Think of it, William. A place where each person is judged, not by past glories or mistakes, but by how they choose to live then-lives from the moment they set foot on that hallowed ground.”

  He gave her a gentle smile. “You think America is a holy place?”

  “What else would you call the soil of freedom?” She blushed and looked down at the table. “You must surely think me addled.”

  “Nay.” He closed his hand over hers and was rewarded with her look of pure surprise. “I must admit, Molly, that I’ve given little thought to that strange land across the sea. These past few years have been spent trying to prove that my life counts for something.”

  “Every life counts for something, William.”

  He felt the warmth of her touch spreading along his arm, and singing through his veins, and realized that he had no need of ale when he was with her.

  As voices swirled around them in the crowded room, he heard only hers, trilling with laughter. As faces moved past his line of vision, he saw only hers, so lovely it took his breath away. It occurred to William that he was having a wonderful time.

  How long had it been since he’d felt so carefree? Since he’d sat at a fine table and laughed with a beautiful woman, and shared the secrets of his heart?

  When their goblets were empty, he walked her home, amazed that it was already late afternoon.

  “Where has the day gone?”

  Molly seemed equally surprised. “I don’t know, William. It has passed much too quickly.”

  “Aye.” Because of the company, he realized. He suddenly released her hand. “Stay here.”

  She stared in openmouthed surprise as he left her by the side of the road and dashed through the field, picking an armload of wildflowers. When he could carry no more, he returned to press them into her arms.

  “Oh, William. You did this for me?”

  The look on her face was priceless. For the space of several seconds she merely stared at them. Then, to hide the tears that threatened, she buried her face in them, breathing in their perfume.

  He couldn’t recall when his heart had ever felt this light. At her door he dragged her close, crushing the flowers between them to kiss her full on the mouth.

  “William!” Her face flamed. “It’s broad daylight. People might see us.”

  “Let them.” He kissed her again for good measure, loving the way her eyes warmed and her lips softened under his. If he could, he would stand here like this until day turned into evening, and evening into night, holding her, kissing her, wanting her. Aye, wanting her with an ache that had no cure.

  “Good day to you, Molly.”

  “Good day to you, William.”

  He strode away, feeling as though he could leap over fences. Over trees. And all the while, the fragrance of wildflowers filled his lungs. The taste of Molly’s lips, as sweet, as clean as a forest stream, remained on his.

  When he returned to his cottage, he found Duncan and Tyler, hands and mouths stained blue from then-trek in the woods.

  “How was your day with the lass?” Dun
can got up to toss another log under the kettle of stew.

  It occurred to William that the old man’s limp had miraculously disappeared. But he decided to say nothing about it. He was in far too fine a mood.

  “The day was grand.” William removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, having decided that the evening would best be spent working on Lord Kent’s ledgers. Otherwise, he might give in to the temptation to walk back to Molly’s cottage and taste those lips again.

  If he did, there would be no stopping him. Not until he’d tasted every lovely inch of her. And allowed himself to give in to this need that was threatening to slowly drive him mad.

  Chapter 8

  William closed the ledger and snuffed the candle. He felt a measure of satisfaction that he’d managed to concentrate, despite the distracting thoughts of Molly that had plagued him throughout the evening. At least now he understood why her clothes were so shabby, despite the fact that she was such a fine seamstress. Even the simplest fabric would have drained her precious savings. Every coin she earned was necessary to pay her debt.

  Then he realized something else. By sending Duncan and Tyler to help with her chores, he’d actually cost her more money. Her pride wouldn’t allow her to accept their help without some sort of payment. And so she’d let other work go to mend their clothes quickly. And had probably gone without food herself in order to feed them.

  Foolish female. His hands clenched at his sides. What else was she suffering in order to hold on to that relic of her childhood? How many nights must she go without sleep, just to pay the debt of a dead man?

  It was pride that drove her. He knew something about that. He’d had far too much in his youth. But he now realized that much of what he considered pride was actually arrogance. It had taken the loss of everything he’d once considered important before he’d begun to realize what was truly important in this life. Respect for self. And the love of a few good friends.

  He smiled as he heard the sound of snoring from the other room. Duncan and young Tyler had retired to their beds shortly after dark. Those two had added so much to his life. They were, he realized, his family now. He’d thought he was saving them from a life of abject poverty. But they’d given him so much more than he’d given them. They’d brought him out of his own misery to appreciate the sound of other voices in his home. Laughter. Teasing. A reason to get up each morning. A reason to return to his own home each night.