Notice: ebook piracy is both illegal and immoral. If you suspect that you received this ebook from an illegitimate distributor or retailer, please look at our list of authorized distributors. If you received this book from a retailer or promotion not on this list, then neither the author nor publisher have been paid for their work. Please support us so that we can continue to provide you with quality literature.
© 2016 Ashtyn Newbold
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of Cedar Fort, Inc. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.
ISBN 13: 978-1-4621-2713-9
Published by Sweetwater Books, an imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., 2373 W. 700 S., Springville, UT 84663
Distributed by Cedar Fort, Inc., www.cedarfort.com
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Newbold, Ashtyn, 1998- author.
Title: Mischief and manors / Ashtyn Newbold.
Description: Springville, Utah : Sweetwater Books, An imprint of Cedar Fort, Inc., [2016]
Identifiers: LCCN 2016030677 (print) | LCCN 2016032895 (ebook) | ISBN 9781462119370 (perfect bound : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781462127139 (epub, pdf, mobi)
Subjects: LCSH: Orphans--Fiction. | Nineteenth century, setting. | GSAFD: Regency fiction. | LCGFT: Romance fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3614.E568 M57 2016 (print) | LCC PS3614.E568 (ebook) | DDC 813/.6--dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016030677
Cover design by Priscilla Chaves
Cover design © 2016 by Cedar Fort, Inc.
Edited and typeset by Jessica Romrell
To mischief-makers, matchmakers, and romantics everywhere.
And Mom, who is all three.
A
Chapter 1
Maidstone, England 1818
Broken fingernails and tattered lace were the cause of problems for many young ladies. A missing invitation to a ball could start a revolt. Surely the snub of a handsome gentleman would be enough to retrieve the smelling salts.
But today, much like every day, it wasn’t any of these things that were causing me trouble. It was my younger brothers.
I hadn’t noticed them leave my side. The clear shop window had been too great a distraction. So I hurried down the path, scolding myself for letting them out of my sight and for letting my imagination convince me I could afford a single item in that shop. Pretty ribbons and jewelry were not beyond the attentions of my admiring eye—just the coins that jangled in my reticule.
“Peter! Charles!” I called out, darting between laughing faces and rolling carriages. I stopped around a bend to scan the area, focusing my gaze on a man with whom I was regretfully acquainted. Although I could see only his balding head, I continued forward, sensing I had discovered my brothers’ location.
As predicted, a closer view revealed two little heads, one covered in blond curls, the other in dark brown, standing beside the pie man. I released a huffed breath as I moved toward them. Not again.
Peter and Charles had a history of mischief, some of which centered on this man, Mr. Coburn. He sold pies in the village each week and my brothers grew increasingly clever in their efforts to steal from him. I had earnestly tried to engrave on their minds that stealing was bad, but they always needed to be reminded.
When I was twenty feet from where they stood near a bakery on the side of the road, I caught Charles’s eye. His gaze froze on mine and then flickered to the small pie he held in his hand. I arched an eyebrow at him, tapping my foot and shaking my head. It seemed my stance had the opposite effect of what I intended, for Charles slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling sudden giggles. Peter was watching me too, a look of defeat on his face. It appeared that their latest strategy was to have Peter engage the pie man in conversation while Charles sneaked behind him and captured the pies. It amazed me that two little boys of seven and five could concoct such a devious plan.
As I came closer, Charles dropped the pie grudgingly into the pie man’s basket, sharing a scowl with his older brother. I couldn’t help but smile. They looked so much alike. Aside from Peter’s darker hair and two inches of extra height, they could be twins.
I took a deep breath of relief and walked across the gravel to stand beside Peter. Mr. Coburn glanced in my direction with a grin that was more smirk than smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Downing.” He bowed with mock civility. “I see you have left your brothers unattended yet again. How surprising.”
I tried not to look too closely at his eyes. They were, in a word, revolting. They were a color most closely resembling bath water, and were pooling with a substance I could not name. Their miniscule size left them on the brink of existence. I held back a gag. “And to you,” I greeted, ignoring his second remark.
He frowned, giving my brothers a sharp look. “I do not appreciate their company. They are ruffians.” He cleared his throat and eyed me with a warning. “I do not take pleasure in associating with ruffians.”
I rolled my eyes inwardly. Ruffians? There were hundreds of things I could have said, and would have enjoyed saying, but containing my spite for the moment, I settled for, “I am sorry. It will not happen again.”
Mr. Coburn seemed far from satisfied. I could see his beady eyes examining my face. A sardonic smile tipped his lips and I predicted his words before he spoke them. “Spending too much time in the sun, are we now?”
He was referring to my sunburnt face and, impossibly, I felt it burn hotter. “I misplaced my bonnet,” I replied.
“What a daft thing to do. Perhaps the outcome was deserved.” He grunted in disapproval and smoothed his hair over the bald patch on the top of his head.
My pride bristled.
“May I inquire after your age, Miss Downing?” he asked after a pause.
“I am nineteen.”
The tremendous snort that followed made me jump. “Each of my daughters was married before the age of seventeen, and my youngest is soon to be married … if she recovers from her illness.” For a moment his face flashed with sadness, but as soon as I noticed it, it was gone, replaced by his egotistical smirk. “At any rate, if you ever hope to be married, I suggest you stop spending so much time out of doors and more time tending to your appearance. With no dowry or connections, your appearance is all you are left with.” He shook his head, giving me a disparaging look. “You are not ugly, but there is certainly work to be done.”
I kept my mouth shut, afraid of what I would say if I chose to respond. My words could not be trusted when I had such fire racing through my veins. The man was absurd, and the biggest hypocrite alive.
“These two could use some assistance as well.” He glanced at my brothers with a look of disgust. “Their behavior is completely unsatisfactory.”
I followed his gaze behind me where Peter and Charles had now engaged themselves in the task of crafting very unflattering pictures in the dirt of who could only be Mr. Coburn, dragging their index fingers in the shape of hunched shoulders, a large belly, and the tail of his ridiculous coat.
I quickly pulled them to their feet and wiped the dirt from the seats of their trousers, making them giggle. My face burned with embarrassment, but part of m
e hoped the pie man would recognize his image in the dirt. It would probably do him some good, as his depiction of himself must have been equal to that of a Greek god at the very least.
He cleared his throat once my brothers were at my side again. “As I was saying … their behavior. Mrs. Filbee is far too elegant to allow such misconduct, so it must be your doing.” He paused to dab at his eyes with a handkerchief. “I am not surprised.”
My fists clenched at my sides. What an arrogant, odious man!
“And what, pray tell, is that horrendous creature they attempted to make a drawing of? Yes, drawing is primarily a woman’s pastime, but a basic understanding of the craft should certainly be taught at an early age. If, of course, such simple minds could embrace the talent. Unlikely,” he mumbled.
I took a steadying breath, but it was futile. I think it was safe to assume that Mr. Coburn needed to hear some humbling words. So I released the reins on my anger and allowed it to charge at him, full speed. But not without a bit of amusement, of course.
I walked a few steps closer, leaned toward him slightly, and squinted my eyes. “Mr. Coburn!” I gasped. “It appears your eyes have become even smaller since I saw you last. And what is that substance leaking from them?” I shuddered. “Perhaps you should see a physician about that.”
“And you should stop eating so many pies for a while,” Charles added with a thoughtful glance at Mr. Coburn’s middle.
I nodded, nearly bursting from suppressed laughter. Somehow I managed to keep my smile in check. “He would be very wise to address some of his own issues before he begins fretting about ours.”
Mr. Coburn glared at me through the horrifying substance.
Before I could lose my nerve, I took my brothers by their hands and smiled. “I thank you for your hypocrisy, Mr. Coburn. Good day.” We turned swiftly and moved down the path, my heart racing in my chest. I ignored the feeling of the pie man’s gaze on my back as we walked.
How long had it been since I had stood up for myself and my brothers? Until now, I had always remained silent, accepting the criticism. I felt strong, and strong was how I liked to feel. It was not easy, but silence was not how I wanted to live any longer. Silence was the sound of the sky at night, of the dead in the ground, of flowers as they bloomed. Not of me.
Peter and Charles erupted into giggles as soon as we were out of Mr. Coburn’s sight. A little smile curved my lips as I watched them.
“Annette! I can’t believe you said that!” Peter managed, turning his blue eyes up to me.
I grinned, grateful that I had won their admiration. “Yes, you can,” I said teasingly. “But do you know what I cannot believe? I cannot believe that you two tried to steal from him again.”
Charles clasped his hands together with a shy smile. “We almost got one.”
I shook my head, my expression turning to a gentle rebuke. “Stealing is wrong. We must pay with money for the things that we want. We cannot just have them. We must pay for the things we want. Repeat it to me so I know you understand.”
“We must pay for the things we want,” they said together.
I smiled, content that they understood. For now, at least.
We walked in silence for a while as we passed the tall trees that separated the village from Oak Cottage. It was only three miles from the village, and it was a lovely day, so I did not object to the walk. The heat today was mild for summer, but my sunburnt face still burned uncomfortably under the sunlight.
It wasn’t long until Charles started giggling again, sharing secret smiles with Peter. They both looked up at me, the tell-tale mischievous twinkle in both sets of blue eyes.
“What?” I asked with suspicion.
They snickered again, covering their mouths in an attempt to muffle the sound. “I know where your bonnet is,” Charles said between giggles.
I stopped my steps. “Where did you put it?”
More laughter. I waited, folding my arms. I did not like where this was going.
“We put it with—with Aunt Ruth’s … ,” Peter fell into a fit of giggles before finishing, but Charles finished for him.
“ … Underthings!”
I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head. I should have known my brothers were the culprits of my disappearing bonnet. But they hid it with Aunt Ruth’s underthings? Ruth Filbee was not a woman to be trifled with, and my brothers knew that better than anyone.
They must have noticed my lack of amusement, because their giggles had fallen silent. “Is she going to be angry?” Charles asked, his face all seriousness now.
My heart melted in an instant. “She has called upon a friend this afternoon, so if you remove my bonnet from her … underthings, as soon as we return, she will never know. Not to worry. But you must be careful, do you understand?”
They nodded, squeezing my hands a little tighter.
As soon as the point of Oak Cottage peeked above the hill, my brothers were running, racing to the door as they always did. In the five years that we had lived here—nearly Charles’s entire lifetime—I had never been able to call this place home. A home was a place of peace, security, refuge. Oak Cottage was none of those things. It was beautiful to the outside eye—I had heard it dubbed “fashionably quaint”—but I had trouble finding beauty in the place where I’d felt so much misery. It was hard to see beauty in Oak Cottage when I’d known true beauty once.
The house was positioned at the peak of a hill, appropriately named for the multitude of oak trees surrounding it on all sides. The facade was grey stone, carved with precision but with enough artistry to give it character. The plot of land set so far above level ground was not envied, mostly because of traveling inconvenience, so Aunt Ruth had received it for a very inexpensive price. But the price, I knew, was not the only thing that enticed her to purchase the home. Living on a hill would allow her to do what she loved most: put as many people beneath her as possible.
When I reached the top of the hill, I placed my hand on the door handle and turned it, but the door would not open. I pushed a little harder, opening a crack between the door and frame to reveal the glowing faces of my brothers, assuming themselves completely jocular, holding the door shut.
“You two are atrocious, do you know that?” I teased.
“Yes, we know that!” Peter and Charles exclaimed in unison, erupting yet again into high-pitched giggles.
I curled the corners of my mouth into a smirk. “Very well, boys, if you must be atrocious, then I must be atrocious right back.” A series of shrieks followed my words.
Smiling, I stepped away a small number of steps, turned my shoulder to the door, and came at it with full force. I turned the handle at the perfect moment and the door swung open—causing my brothers to be knocked to their backsides several feet behind the threshold.
“Was that atrocious enough?” I asked, faking sincerity.
“Yes!” they shrieked.
I walked a few steps closer and arched an eyebrow questionably, at each of them in turn. “Are you quite sure?” My voice was all mischief.
Charles moved away from me, scooting backward on the wooden floor. “Yes, yes we’re sure!” he screeched, eyes widening. Peter began to follow Charles’s representation of what he thought to be a good way of escape, scooting backward beside him.
I paused, as if considering their response. “I don’t think so.” I lunged forward and my fingers landed first on Peter. I tickled all over his stomach and ribs—definitely his weakest point when it came to tickling. He released a sound somewhere between laughter and screaming as he thrashed and kicked on the ground. I gave him a break and moved on to Charles, who was still attempting his escape. I grasped his arm and tickled beneath his chin on his neck.
“No!” He giggled hysterically and pressed his chin down, trapping my fingers and eliminating passage for me to tickle him any further.
“Very well,” I sighed, “I suppose we are even.” I grinned wickedly and caught my breath, helping my giggling brothers to their
feet. “Now hurry and retrieve my bonnet. It won’t be long until Aunt Ruth returns.” At the mention of our aunt, they hurried from the room without a sound.
As soon as they were down the hall, I turned to the small mirror resting on the wall beside me, examining the damage of my sunburn. The red seemed to have intensified, contrasting starkly with my dull green eyes and bronze hair. Another day in the sun had darkened the scarlet at least one shade.
I sighed. It was times like these that I was grateful I did not hold beauty to the importance and priority that most young ladies did. I had more important matters to attend to. And why should I care? Even if Mr. Coburn was right that all I had was my appearance, I did not plan on marrying. As soon as I was able, I would find a family to take me on as a governess. Until then, my brothers needed me to protect them and look after them and love them always. And I was to do it myself. There was no man in the world that could ever steal the place in my heart reserved especially for my brothers.
With these firm thoughts in mind, I turned away from the mirror. The moment I did, I heard the door slide open behind me and felt the rush of warm air at my back.
I whirled around. Aunt Ruth stood in the doorway, her silver-streaked hair pulled back tightly, her eyes turned on me. My breath stopped in my lungs. She was home early and my brothers were still in her bedchamber. Panic crept methodically into my stomach.
I didn’t know if it was her hard, grey eyes, or her strong, thick arms that used to frighten me more. She was large for a woman. Large for a man, even. It had taken five years, but I could finally speak to her without cringing or dropping my gaze. Do not make her angry, I told myself. As long as she was in a cheerful mood, all would be fine.
I smiled in greeting as she stepped inside and closed the door. After achieving a clear look at her face, it did not take long for me to realize that she did not require provocation. She was already very angry.
She stomped into the room until she was several paces ahead of me and then turned, giving me a look that I knew meant danger. “I crossed paths with Mr. Coburn on my way here.” Her voice was quiet, shaking with rage. “Your brothers attempted to steal from him again!”
Mischief and Manors Page 1