by Lauren Smith
Mr. Boyd and Mrs. Nelson had balked at first when Milly had made it clear she wished to actually do much of the physical labor alongside the staff. They hadn’t minded when Owen was there to join her, but now that there was plenty of help to go around, the servants had insisted she go rest. A few heated arguments had ensued throughout the morning following Owen’s departure, but once the new staff had arrived, both the butler and the housekeeper were too distracted by the necessary training of the new young men and ladies to put up any resistance to Milly’s new control of the house. After two days, everyone had settled into a routine of work while they waited for Owen to return.
Milly was exhausted after the last few days of hard work and looked forward to a quiet evening reading in a chair with a blanket wrapped around her.
The library door opened and Mr. Boyd entered, a package in his hands.
“Mistress, this came with the evening post.” He handed her the package.
“Thank you, Mr. Boyd. How are the footmen?” she inquired.
The butler straightened his shoulders with a natural air that demanded respect. “They will do. A bit rambunctious, but well-tempered lads.”
She bit her lip to hide her smile. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.” She studied the package in her hands, seeing the name of a hotel as the sender. “Mr. Boyd, who sent this?” she asked.
The butler hesitated. “Perhaps Mr. Hadley. He has been known to take rooms there when in London.”
Owen? She sat up, despite the protestations of her body. Ever since she’d read the telegram, questions had been building, plaguing upon her mind and heart as she wondered where and what Owen might be doing. She would never have asked a servant anything in the past, not something so intimate about her husband, but she felt that she and Mr. Boyd were almost comrades in arms in the battle to restore Wesden Heath to its former glory.
She squared her shoulders and spoke. “Mr. Boyd, may I ask you something? I’m afraid it might be a bit personal, but it has to do with my husband. What do you know about Jack? Mr. Hadley received a telegram asking him to go to London to help someone named Jack. I assume it’s Jack Watson? Owen mentioned him to me once, but I don’t know very much about him.”
Mr. Boyd cleared his throat, looking out a distant window on the opposite end of the library before replying. “Mr. Jack Watson has been a friend of Mr. Hadley’s since they were boys. Fought in the war together. Mr. Watson even lived here for a time after the war but—”
“But what?” she pressed, digging her fingers into the arm of the chair. She felt she was close to something, to a realization of some bigger puzzle that was almost within reach.
“Please, Mr. Boyd. I need to know.” It was the first time in her life she had begged for anything.
“Er…My apologies, Mrs. Hadley, but it’s a sensitive matter and not fit for the ears of well-bred ladies.”
Milly almost smiled at his protectiveness of her even in such a small way, but she needed the truth. “Mr. Boyd, I assure you, I am no fainting violet—please, continue.”
He hesitated but after another pleading look from her he continued. “The summer that Mr. Watson spent at the Heath, Mr. Hadley had been engaged to a young woman in the village. There was some unpleasantness during that summer, and Mr. Watson left in the fall, just before Mr. Hadley broke off the engagement and returned to London for a time.”
“A young lady in town?” she echoed faintly, her ears ringing. “Would that young lady be Scarlett Brandon?”
The immediate flush in the butler’s cheeks was the only answer she needed.
She had to wonder whether Owen had been telling her the truth. Had Scarlett truly fallen in love with another man? If she had, then why hadn’t she married him? And had that man been Mr. Watson?
“Why did Mr. Watson leave Wesden Heath?” If Jack was the man Scarlett had been in love with, she needed to know why he’d left without marrying her. She knew a man didn’t need a reason to abandon a woman; they did it all the time. But her instincts whispered there was a reason.
“I believe there was some discussion as to whether Mr. Watson believed himself a suitable match. You see, he suffers quite badly from soldier’s heart, due to the war, mistress. He didn’t wish to have a wife endure his melancholy moods.”
“Oh…,” she said, her heart twinging with a ghost of pain.
She couldn’t forget the night Owen had woken up, a cold sweat dewing on his skin, muttering about needing forgiveness. He’d been choking on air and it had frightened her and saddened her. Was what Jack Watson faced somehow worse than that? If so, she might see how a man would hesitate to marry…
“Will that be all, mistress?” Mr. Boyd asked politely.
“Yes, thank you,” she said. When she was alone, she studied the package, then carefully unwrapped it. It was a first edition of H. Rider Haggard’s Allan Quatermain. A letter was tucked inside the front cover and she opened the book, instantly enveloped with the aroma of musty pages. A smell she adored, because it made her think of the library at Pepperwirth Vale. The letter was from Owen, and as she began to read, she could hear his voice, perhaps because she longed to hear him speak.
Milly,
I hope you’re reading this. I hated the way we parted. I did not offer you a complete explanation of Mr. Brandon’s comments, nor did I explain the reason for my hasty departure. I chide myself for both actions. As soon as I am able, I shall explain all of it to you. I thought to keep such things a secret, perhaps because in truth they are not my secrets to tell. But I know that truth must exist for us and I cannot keep the truth from you. There is much that lies between us, more than simply our marriage. I do not wish to damage what we are building. Please consider Allan Quatermain a gift, a begging for your forgiveness. I realize you were forced to leave your own library behind. If you let me, I shall spend the rest of our lives filling Wesden Heath’s library with every book your heart desires. I am not the most eloquent man when it comes to speaking from my heart, but I know that the thought of losing you fills me with a heavy ache. I shall write to you every day while away. Please, give me a chance to win your trust and to win your heart.
Faithfully yours,
Owen
“Give me a chance to win your heart.” She murmured the words aloud and realized her lips were trembling with a small smile. The man said he was not eloquent in matters of the heart, yet he was wooing her with his words.
She turned her attention again to his gift, stroking the spine of the book before she let herself peek at the first page. A good book had a way of erasing one’s troubles, dulling one’s ache, and lightening one’s heart. She wanted to read it straightaway but knew she had something more important to do first.
A few minutes later, she had paper and pen, ready to write Owen back.
Owen,
If you have not realized by now, I am quite stubborn, but not lacking in sensibility. A few days before, I did not fully understand the situation. I am better informed now regarding Mr. Brandon and his sister as well as the truth you spoke to me regarding your involvement in the matter of her situation. Your duty is to care for Mr. Watson. Yes, I know everything. I was able to glean this information from Mr. Boyd. Do not be cross with him. He betrayed no confidence. I shall remain here, with Allan, waiting for you to return. Please write to me every day as you promised. I shall write back.
Milly paused, then decided to add a quick note about the progress she’d made in the house and closed her letter with Your Milly. It felt silly, girlish even, but she couldn’t bear to cross it out. She summoned one of the new footmen and gave him instructions to send it to London at Owen’s hotel and then settled down to supper and reading.
It didn’t erase her longing for him, or the fact that she’d grown fond of the way he’d tease her or challenge her to do or try things she normally wouldn’t. There was more to it, though. He loved Wesden like she did Pepperwirth Vale. And seeing him so in love with a place made her feel like a kindred spirit with him. She
nibbled a bite of her bread and tucked the blanket more firmly around her as she opened the novel again. The night seemed a little less lonely as she felt Owen’s gift transport her to the distant lands of Africa.
Chapter 12
Ten days had passed since Owen had left Milly alone and gone to rescue Jack. He’d spent his time reading the responses that she’d sent him while Jack slept. Owen could scarcely believe that she’d actually written him back.
He leaned back against the bed in the hotel room while Jack packed his bag. Owen lifted the latest letter that had been received the night before. She had written him every single day, not even waiting for responses to his letters and he had done the same. He didn’t want to think about the fortune he’d spent in hiring messengers to drive to Wesden and back with his letters.
The last letter unfolded in his hands and he read the words again, unable to keep from smiling.
Owen,
I finally cleared away a great mess in the attics. I would love to tease you about having bats in the belfry but I imagine you’d find some way to say I brought the bats with me from Pepperwirth Vale. It gave the maids quite a fright. They will need some persuading to clean up there. I do miss your teasing. I thought I would hate that most about you, that you would taunt me, but as always you prove me wrong. Do you know how frustrating that is for a woman who has sworn not to like the husband she was forced to marry? I suppose I’ll have to forgive you for that.
Owen snorted. His Milly was forgiving him for ruining her. Now that he’d come to know her, come to really see who she was beneath her aloof façade…he would have chosen her over Rowena in a heartbeat if he’d had to do it all over again. He probably should never tell her that, though. He focused back on the letter.
How is Jack? I hope he’s faring better. I believe bringing him home to Wesden might do him some good. We may both take care of him then. I miss you, and I’m afraid your parents’ library is sorely lacking in literature. When you get home, you’ll take me to town for books, won’t you? Perhaps I might finally tempt you into reading She.
The ink had dried a little and then he’d seen a darker patch, as though she’d paused for a while and then started writing again.
I have been speaking to the schoolmaster of the little village Helena not too far from Wesden and I think he will let me assist in teaching the girls. It will take some convincing with their parents, but I should like to do this.
She was to achieve her dream, the one she’d whispered to him during one of the evenings after working themselves to death on the house and grounds. He hadn’t dared laugh or scoff at her hopes of making the lives of other girls better. It had surprised him, but then he’d felt a burning pride in his chest at her hope to change the world, one child at a time. When he returned to Wesden, he would do everything he could to help her.
He brushed his thumb over the closing words of her letter.
Come home soon, husband. The nights are cold and lonely without you here.
Your Milly.
His face actually hurt from how much he was smiling. My Milly.
He carefully folded the last letter and collected the stack of remaining letters she’d sent, humming softly as he packed them into his coat pocket. Jack was placing shirts into a traveling case. He was still too pale, too thin, but his eyes were bright, and not with drink or fever.
“You truly want me to come home with you while you’re settling in with your bride?” Jack flashed him a charming grin, a ghost of a smile that had broken many hearts, including Scarlett Brandon’s.
“I do. What happened to you, Jack, that’s within my power to stop. Therefore, you are coming back with me and what’s more you will pay a visit to Ms. Brandon.”
At this Jack froze. “Scarlett?”
Owen nodded as he collected his own travel case. “Yes. One visit. If you wish to see her again after that, I would be glad of that, but you owe the woman one visit.”
During the last ten days, Jack had been wild, weak, screaming until his voice had broken, but with just one utterance of Scarlett’s name and the man looked like a light breeze could have knocked him off his feet.
“I don’t—” Jack raked a hand through his hair and shook his head.
“You will.” Owen told him. “My wife and I argued over Scarlett because she didn’t know the full story. You will visit Scarlett because you owe me.”
Jack swallowed. “Very well. Are you ready?”
“Yes. The cab should be waiting for us.”
He settled the hotel bill and then he and Jack climbed into the hired cab. The entire drive from London to Wesden, Owen rehearsed a thousand things in his mind and reread Milly’s letters. In the last ten days, she had slowly opened herself up to him, shown that soft, compassionate, intelligent side, but he’d also seen what her father had said to look for. A partner. She had single-handedly reorganized the accounting of the house, hired new staff, and was restoring his childhood home to its former glory. How could he not appreciate a woman who was capable of doing that?
By the time the cab arrived at the house, it was late in the evening. Owen nudged Jack in the ribs, rousing his friend from sleep.
“What? Oh.” Jack yawned and stretched before he climbed out ahead of Owen.
Mr. Boyd was there to meet them at the door. When they entered the hall, Owen halted. The lamps were dim but glowing, the musty scent was gone, the carpets looked bright, and the bannisters and floors were glossy with polish.
“Sir?” Boyd prompted, his dark brows lifting in concern and question.
“The house…” He knew Milly had been making progress, but he couldn’t believe how visible the work was. Even the old grandfather clock by the base of the stairs was ticking away. The clock hadn’t worked in years.
“Mrs. Hadley has been most effective, sir.”
Owen laughed in delight. “I can see that.” Having his home look warm and welcoming again…he hadn’t thought it possible.
“Where is Mrs. Hadley?” He glanced around, disappointment knifing through him. He had hoped—foolishly so—that Milly would have been waiting up for him.
“The mistress is in the library, sir.”
“The library?”
Mr. Boyd’s face turned ruddy. “Yes, sir. She’s taken to falling asleep in there every evening since you departed.”
“Ahh…” Owen cleared his throat. “Why don’t you see Mr. Watson settled and I shall go find her.”
“Very good, sir.” Mr. Boyd led Jack up the stairs while Owen removed his coat and gloves, handing them to a waiting footman. A new one he didn’t recognize.
“What’s your name?” he asked the lad.
“Stephen Parker, sir.” The footman took the coat and gloves.
“Stephen, good to meet you. Would you have Cook send a dinner to Mr. Watson and a tray for two to my chamber?”
“Of course, sir.” The lad dashed off.
Owen grinned at the younger man’s exuberance before he headed to the library. It was the least used room in Wesden. His family had never been much into reading for leisure, but he had a new appreciation for it now. Having spent the last ten days helping Jack, watching over him as he got free of the influence of drink, Owen had been forced to read to pass the time. He’d sent Leo to the nearest bookshop to have him buy a collection of Haggard novels. He’d taken Milly’s copy of She with him but wanted to read others by the same author. Reading She had changed him, or rather the way he understood Milly. The story of She was beautiful, yet tragic. It was more than a simple entertaining novel. Milly had excellent taste in literature and he planned to let her build the library at Wesden into a room they would both enjoy.
When he reached the library, he found the door ajar. Firelight flickered against the walls and shelves as he nudged the door open. Milly slept curled up beneath a woolen blanket in a chair by the fire. Owen tread softly on the carpets as he approached her. Her hair was loose about her shoulders in luscious chestnut waves. His hands twitched with the n
eed to bury his fingers in the soft coils. A book, the one he’d sent her, Allan Quatermain, was open on her lap. His lips curved into a smile as he leaned down, set the book aside, and collected his wife into his arms. He started walking and was halfway to his chamber when she stirred.
“Owen?” She covered her mouth as she yawned and blinked, gazing up at him. He adored her eyes, the way the bright blue could soften to such rich velvet black when she was in the dark.
“I didn’t mean to wake you.” He apologized just as they reached his bedchamber. Thankfully Evans was there, holding the door open to allow them in.
“Stephen just brought your food, sir. Nice and hot,” Evans assured him before he nodded to the bed. “Constance laid out the mistress’s nightdress for you. Ring if you need us.”
“Good night, Evans.” Owen lowered his wife to the bed and sat down beside her as Evans left and closed the door behind them.
“What time is it?” Milly sat up and attempted to comb her fingers through her hair.
“Late. I’ve only just got back. Jack is in a room down the hall.”
At the mention of his friend, Milly reached out, placing one hand over his, the tender gesture making his heart swell.
“How is he? I couldn’t tell much from your letters.” Her searching gaze called to him, and he leaned over, brushing a kiss on her forehead.
“Better. He will stay here for a time, until I can be assured he won’t fall back into bad habits.”
She nodded and gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“That was a very brave thing you’ve done. Mr. Watson is fortunate to have you as a friend.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “Jack suffers more than I do. The war didn’t simply scar him; it destroyed him. I feel as though…” His throat tightened and he turned his face away, unable to admit his secret shame. She would despise him for it.