He’d forgotten about Peterfeld. It had been decades since he’d last been there. The cottage was markedly smaller than the dower house here on Ivydale, but not so small as to be looked down upon. And it was within easy distance of Bath.
Did a single woman need much more than a small cottage with a handful of servants? Especially one who’d come from such humble beginnings. But if he was to offer Peterfeld to Rebekah, he needed to speak to his mother about it first.
From his remembrance, they’d only been to Peterfeld once because his mother had found it lacking—in every respect. Every time they’d been to Bath, they had let a townhouse on the Royal Crescent rather than stay at the family’s cottage. “It is not big enough for one of us, much less the family.” He could hear her voice as if it were yesterday. But his mother had always had rather lofty expectations. Aaron did not suspect Rebekah would be so dismissive of the place. It was—or had been—well cared for and was quite grand for its size.
Regardless of his mother's stated feelings for the cottage, if Aaron offered it to Rebekah without speaking to his mother first, she would undoubtedly discover fond memories of the place, such that she could not let it go.
He stood and walked over to the bell pull. There was also the option of just increasing Rebekah’s jointure—giving her a certain amount per annum until she remarried. Aaron was confident Rebekah would remarry—someone other than himself—before too long.
A maid knocked on the partially opened door. She curtsied. “You rang, m’lord?”
“Yes, would you please send someone to the dower house for my mother? I need to speak with her immediately.”
The girl dipped her head. “Right away, m’lord.”
Aaron ran a hand through his hair. Now if his mother would just get here, he could get this whole situation with Rebekah finished.
Aaron sat behind his desk as he waited for Rebekah. He would be more comfortable in a chair by the fire, but he felt the need for a buffer, just in case flirty Rebekah came to the meeting. It also hid his bouncing knee.
He was not nervous about the meeting as much as he was uncertain of how Rebekah would react to his offers. He feared there would be tears at some point, and he didn’t handle watering pots well.
A knock sounded on the door and he jumped, his bouncing knee knocking against the bottom of his desk’s center drawer. “Come.”
Rebekah’s face peered into the room. “You asked to see me, my lord?”
He should smile, set her at ease, but he did not want to give her false hope. What if she would only be happy with marriage? The notion felt arrogant, but a small part of him worried that Rebekah just did not wish to ever give up the title of Lady Brinton. Regardless, marriage was not something he was willing to entertain.
Based on Rebekah’s creased brow, he must have given her more of a grimace than something that provided any sense of reassurance. “Yes, Lady Brinton. Please, do come in.”
Her steps were tentative, her gaze glancing around the room as if checking for people lurking in the corners and dark spaces.
He motioned to the chair across from him, the chair his mother had vacated not more than an hour earlier. Thankfully, she had not claimed a preference for Peterfeld, giving Aaron leave to offer it as a solution to Rebekah’s problem.
He took a deep breath and leaned forward, placing his forearms on the desk and intertwining his fingers. “Lady Brinton, I understand your anxiety, of late, regarding your future.” He raised a brow. “I believe we discussed your idea, but as I pointed out, it is fraught with problems.”
Her face pinked, and she dropped her gaze to her lap. Aaron hoped this meant she had finally seen the error in her thinking.
“We need not discuss that point again. As I promised, I have come up with several options for you to choose from.”
She lifted her gaze. Equal parts hope and fear filled her eyes.
“Under normal circumstances, the dower house would be yours to use. However, since my mother still lives, that option is not available.” He glanced down at the missive from Mr. Blakely. “I have received a letter from my solicitor and from his information I can offer you the following options.” He captured her gaze in his. “You have time to consider these options. I will return to London for the Season after Twelfth Night and shall be at Larkspur House until Parliament adjourns. You have until then to see to your new arrangements.”
She nodded, even as her lip trembled. It still surprised him this woman before him was the same shameless flirt he had been dealing with for more than a week.
He reached for a paper on his desk. “I can offer you five thousand pounds above your current jointure. You would receive it as a onetime payment and could do with it what you wish. But it would require you to seek a different residence.”
Her eyes widened, but he did not know if it was for good or bad. Was she happy with the first option?
“The second would give you an additional five hundred pounds per annum—as long as you are unmarried. This option would also require you to seek another residence.”
Her lips parted. Drat, the woman’s emotions were hard to understand.
“The last option would not add to your jointure, however, it would provide you with a residence, and staff, until you remarry.”
Her lower jaw now nearly rested on her chest. “Where is the house?”
“In Somerset. Charlcombe to be precise.”
“That is near Bath, is it not?” Rebekah twisted her hands in her lap. She looked back up at Aaron. “Why are you sending me so far away? Why can I not stay here?”
Aaron sighed. “You know why, Lady Brinton.” He rotated his head right and left. Why was she making this so difficult? He was doing his best to provide for her. He owed Henry that much.
“I would be living there alone?” She licked her lips.
Aaron nodded. “You would have several staff and your maid with you. If you wished, I am certain we could arrange for a companion also.” Would those provisions make her happy?
Rebekah ran her hands down the front of her skirt. “You said I can think on it?”
He nodded. “Indeed. This is not a decision to be made hastily. I hope you will think about it in depth. If you wish, write your father and ask his opinion.”
She stood up and moved behind the chair, placing her hands on the back. “I do appreciate all you have done.” Her voice hitched. “I shall do as you advise and write to my father to ask for his guidance.” She pointed to the papers on his desk. “May I have a copy of my options? I should like to give my father accurate sums.”
Aaron picked up the paper and handed it to her. “If you have questions, please ask. I am at your service.”
She managed a shaky smile.
Aaron forced himself not to frown. Why was she still so emotional? Had he not given her three very generous offers—offers far beyond what was required for his brother’s widow?
“Thank you, my lord.” She bowed and turned toward the door.
Once it was closed firmly behind her, Aaron let out a sigh. It seemed anything less than marriage would not be acceptable in her eyes. The woman was destined to be disappointed.
He pushed out of his chair and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far side of the room. An icy breeze blew between the sash and the frame, the panes frosted around the edges.
He hated this harsh weather. Normally, even at this time of year, he’d be able to go for a ride and clear his head. But now, the air was so frigid he feared what it would do to Bruce’s lungs.
He clasped his hands behind his back. What was he to do instead? He grinned. Perhaps he should peruse the library.
Chapter 13
Gabby entered the sitting room, intent on finishing the blanket she was stitching for Peter and Caroline’s baby. If they ever were to have one. She knew no one else to give it to. Not so urgent a task without an actual babe on the way, but the snow left little else to do today.
Lady Brinton already occupied the sette
e closest to the fire, her head bowed low as she focused on her own sampler.
Gabby quietly made her way to the couch opposite.
Lady Brinton had not come down to dinner the previous evening, crying off because of a headache. Seeing her here this morning surely meant she was feeling better.
Gabby sat down and removed the blanket from her sewing basket.
Lady Brinton sighed and bent her head lower, muttering as she picked out several stitches.
Gabby placed several stitches in the blanket on her lap, stopping frequently to glance at the lady from under her lashes. This woman was a mystery. One day she was openly pursuing a match with Aaron and the next she was as quiet as a church mouse.
Lady Brinton scowled down at the fabric, yanking at the thread.
“Pardon me. Are you well, Lady Brinton?”
She looked up, her scowl staying firmly in place. “I am perfectly well. Do not concern yourself on my account.”
Gabby studied the lady, recognizing the look of fear and desperation in Lady Brinton’s eyes.
Gabby had seen that same look many times reflected from the mirror after her father’s death. It had come from the knowledge that she didn’t know what her future held, what was to become of her. She could guess the lady had similar concerns. A widow, especially one who had not produced an heir, was generally in a precarious situation unless her husband had provided for her.
Gabby pinched her lips together. Certainly, Lady Brinton’s husband had done so. Gabby looked around the finely decorated room. Money was not lacking at Ivydale.
She half-turned her attention back to the blanket. Was there anything she could say that would help the lady? Would Lady Brinton allow Gabby to be her friend?
“I realize I am speaking out of turn, but I understand how you are feeling. If you wish to talk to someone, I am a good listener.” Gabby pretended to look at her needlework, wanting the comment to feel casual and carefree.
A mirthless laugh escaped Lady Brinton’s lips. “You know nothing of how I feel. You’ve come here, all too eager to take one of the few eligible men from the deserving ladies of English descent.” She sneered. “Do not pretend to know my feelings.”
Gabby swallowed. Perhaps it would be better to leave this be, to let the lady suffer on her own. She had just made it obvious that she did not want Gabby’s friendship.
Staring at the deep green thread, Gabby formed the leaf of the flower she stitched. What she wouldn’t have given to have someone to confide in while she was struggling. Even with her new friendship with Eleanor, Gabby still did not feel comfortable in confiding everything to her, at least not yet.
“I know what it is to lie in bed at night, unable to sleep for fear of what will happen when I awake the next day.” She sighed. “I know what it is to have no notion if I shall have money enough to provide for my needs or if a workhouse is the only option. I know uncertainty.”
“How could you know such things?” She raked her eyes over Gabby. “You do not look as if you’ve suffered a day in your life.”
“I could say the same for you, my lady. But you do not know my story, just as I do not fully know yours. But that does not mean we do not share some similarities.”
Lady Brinton set her sampler in her lap. “Oh, pray tell. What similarities could we possibly have? Have you lost your husband, the only man you have ever loved?”
Gabby shook her head. “No, but I lost my father—the only family I had left and the only person ever to love me.”
Lady Brinton snapped her mouth shut. “How did you come to live with Lord and Lady Kirtley?”
“Lord Rockwell—he is Lady Kirtley’s brother— lived with my father and me for several years when I was a girl. He promised my father that should anything happen, he would become my guardian until I wed.” Gabby took a deep breath, dropping her stitchery into her lap. “I left my country for one I’d never seen—one that is at war with my homeland. I had not seen Peter in half a decade, and I had no notion if he would accept me or even remember his promise. For all I knew, his circumstances had changed, and he was no longer in a position to be my guardian.” She remembered those feelings of uncertainty as if they were yesterday—perhaps because she still had moments of unease.
Gabby picked up the blanket. “I very much would have liked to have a friend during those times. I had thought perhaps you may, as well. But I can see I was wrong. I apologize for bothering you.”
Lady Brinton was silent, but she did not resume her sewing. “You are not wrong.” Her voice was quiet and strained. “I am the one who should apologize. I was terribly rude.”
“Perhaps we could start again?” Gabby raised smiling eyes to her.
Lady Brinton nodded. “I don’t deserve your friendship, but I should like it, nonetheless.”
Gabby set her blanket to the side and stood up, walking around the low table between the two couches. “Lady Brinton, it is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Gabrielle Babineaux but as I can see we are to become dearest friends, you may call me Gabby.”
Lady Brinton stood and dipped her head. “The pleasure is all mine, Gabby. I would very much like it if you called me Rebekah.”
Gabby returned to her seat and picked up her blanket. “That is a lovely name. Is it from the bible?”
Rebekah nodded. “My father is a vicar. All of his children have biblical names.”
Gabby grinned. She rather liked that idea. Perhaps when she had children, she would do the same.
“Gabby, how did you do it? At times I feel as if the uncertainty will swallow me up and I shall never climb back out.” Her voice hitched.
“It was difficult, but what choice did I have? If I only worried about what would happen to me that day, it was easier to manage. And I did what I could to make a future for myself. I set out for England knowing little of how I would be received. I am fortunate things turned out like they did.”
Rebekah pulled a folded paper from her pocket. “When I married Henry, I could not have been happier. We were very fond of each other and lived happily. I never imagined he would die so young. As the daughter of a vicar, you can imagine my dowry was small. My father negotiated with Henry’s solicitor for my jointure. Henry was in good health; no one imagined I should need a jointure for some time.” She looked down at the paper. “I realize it was Mr. Blakely’s duty to make the best arrangements on Henry’s behalf, but was he not to be my solicitor also? Should he not have looked out for my interests as well?” She sighed and her face pinked. “I will not be living in poverty with what was allocated, but nearly.” She grimaced and looked down at the paper again. “I felt desperate which led me to behave in ways that are not my nature, hoping to secure my future any way I could. I am rather ashamed of myself now.”
A burning sensation flared up in Gabby’s stomach as she remembered the flirtatious woman she’d seen when she first arrived at Ivydale. This woman did not resemble that one in the least but still, her stomach churned.
“Aaron will not consider my plans for the future, but he has given me other options.”
Gabby’s body sagged back against the sofa. Was she saying Aaron had refused her advances? She had not thought him interested in Rebekah, but the relief surging through her now made her realized there was a small part of her which thought she may be wrong.
Rebekah handed the paper across the table. “I have written to my father to ask for his advice, but I truly do not know what is best and I do not know if I can wait for his answer.”
Gabby tied off the last stitch and reached for the paper, looking it over. The sums listed looked generous, but she was not very knowledgeable about what it cost to run a household. “I wish I could offer my advice, but I have little to give on this matter.” She handed the paper back. “Perhaps you could consult Lady Kirtley?”
Rebekah shook her head. “It is no longer the sums that concern me, either of these will allow me a comfortable life. It is finding my place wherever I go. Do I return to Bedfordshire and fi
nd a home near my parents or accept the cottage near Bath?” She folded the paper and slipped it in the cuff of her sleeve. “I believe Lord Brinton thinks me to remarry quickly. But I have already found a love match once. Can one hope to find that twice in a lifetime? Or am I resigned to marry for convenience?”
Gabby frowned. “Must you remarry at all?”
Rebekah shrugged. “What am I if not someone’s wife?”
While Gabby did not like the notion, she did not have an answer for it. “I’m sorry, but I do not know.”
“Nor do I, which is why I am uncertain which option is best.” Rebekah laid aside her sampler and straightened her back. “Until Aaron returns from London once Parliament adjourns, I am still mistress of this house and I intend to do my duty. I have heard Mrs. Perkins is soon to have her baby. I was to visit her today. Would you care to join me?”
Mrs. Perkins? While she had seemed nice enough to Gabby, her husband had not. Knowing what Rebekah did not, Gabby did not feel comfortable visiting the cottages, especially without Aaron.
Still, it thrilled Gabby that Rebekah was asking her to visit a tenant. Was that not a genuine gesture of friendship?
“I should love to, but I believe Mr. Perkins will not welcome me.” She glanced down at the blanket. “But I have only just finished this blanket. Perhaps you could give it to her?”
“Mr. Perkins is a gruff man, but he has never been unkind to me.”
“Yes, but you do not have a French accent.”
Rebekah nodded in understanding. “Ah. Perhaps it would be best if you did not go.” Rebekah’s eyes lit, and she clapped her hands together. “I nearly forgot. He will be helping in the stables today. It is a chore he does to earn his rent during the winter months. He will not be at home, which means you can come. Mrs. Perkins will love the blanket, I’m sure of it.”
Gabby bit the inside of her cheek. She still was not at ease with the notion, but Rebekah seemed confident he would not be home. Perhaps it would not be a problem if she went.
Thawing the Viscount's Heart: A Christmas Regency Romance (Belles of Christmas: Frost Fair Book 3) Page 11