Mischief and Manors

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I didn’t care that Owen stepped closer and put his hands on my brothers’ shoulders, or that his smile grew. “We wished to surprise you.”

  “Oh? Really? Surprise me with what?” My voice was hard and unfeeling. I liked the sound.

  Owen’s smile fell into a rueful frown. “I apologize, Annette, I thought you wouldn’t mind.”

  I didn’t answer. I did not wish to speak another word to that manipulative, much-too-handsome man. The awkwardness of last night still thrived in the air between us and he acted as if it was not there. I needed him to give my brothers back to me and return to Miss Lyons. Surely he was missing her violently at this point.

  “I am sincerely sorry,” he said. “Please forgive me.”

  I could feel his gaze on me; I could imagine the sincerity on his face.

  “There was no climbing involved this time.” I could hear the grin in his voice.

  I stared at the ground.

  Then to my dismay, he knelt down in front of me, entering my line of sight without warning. The teasing gleam was in his eyes. “Annette Downing, I beg you, forgive me for abducting your brothers without your consent. It will not happen again.” One side of his mouth lifted higher than the other as he spoke, denting his cheek with that dimple.

  I felt the threat of laughter in my chest, despite the anger and resentment that I felt only moments before. But somehow I managed to keep a straight face. “Very well. I forgive you. But you better have taught them something amazing.”

  Owen laughed, a sound I had missed so much. “Boys, present your masterpiece.”

  Peter withdrew a folded piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it to me in a neat square. He erupted into giggles as I raised an eyebrow in his direction. Charles joined in, stepping backward.

  “They wrote it on their own,” Owen said. “I only guided them in the right direction.”

  Not sure what to expect, I unfolded the “masterpiece” and read.

  Annette, O, Annette

  Her hair is the color of the crust of bread

  She makes us laugh every day

  She tucks us into our little beds

  Annette, O, Annette

  I resisted the urge to laugh, lifting the paper higher so I couldn’t see Owen’s shaking shoulders.

  We are her brothers, atrocious ones

  She is our sister and is very kind

  Even though she is a lady, she still runs

  Annette, O, Annette

  My laughter escaped as I finished their poem, and Owen joined immediately. I stepped toward Peter and Charles and threw my arms around them again. “That was a wonderful poem! Which one of you is going to be as famous as Shakespeare?”

  Peter pointed at himself, nodding emphatically. I laughed at Charles’s scowl and pressed my thumbs to each side of his mouth, lifting his frown into a smile. He giggled, pulling his head away.

  “I am sure that you will both be even greater than Shakespeare. Thank you. I do run quite a lot, don’t I?”

  This made them giggle, and I squeezed them tighter. I almost glanced at Owen, to thank him with a smile, or a few short words, but I stopped myself. My heart could not endure such torture any longer. And I didn’t want my newfound ill opinion of Owen to be changed by his pretty words. I could not believe a single one of them.

  “I think Grandfather is missing you two,” I said, brushing a stray curl from Charles’s forehead. “I had better take you to the library.”

  Peter’s giggles halted. “I don’t want to go to the library.”

  “I don’t either,” Charles added. “Owen said he would show us the orsher.”

  “Orchard,” Owen corrected with a laugh. “And yes, I did make such a promise. Would you like to join us?”

  “Yes, please come, Annette!” Charles said, tugging on my skirts.

  I sighed inwardly, wishing my brothers were not so adorable, and wishing that Owen was not acting this way—that everything could be the same as before. It was completely false, and we both knew it. His smile was weakening my defenses as it always did, but at this moment I lacked the strength to rebuild them. I would speak cooly, avoid his eyes as much as possible, and keep my distance.

  “Very well, I’ll come,” I said plainly.

  Within seconds of my response, I was being pulled along by the arm toward the orchard on the northeast corner of the property. I had been there only once since I arrived here, and remembered the experience as very unnerving.

  When we reached the iron gate at the entrance, Owen motioned us ahead of him. I was greeted by the sweet, sticky smell of fresh apples. The trees made a canopy of shade above and around me, their remaining flowers the color of new snow. Their branches and leaves grew so close that they stood as one wall on both sides, not allowing the light breeze to penetrate their barriers, robbing the air of all sound but the soft rustle of leaves. The small pockets of light that entered through the gaps between branches reflected off the path, creating the illusion of walking on gold.

  I gazed at my surroundings in awe. I had forgotten the beauty of this place. Or perhaps I hadn’t noticed it before.

  The little bench where Owen and I had sat my second day here remained unmoved, nestled near the trunk of a tree halfway down the path.

  “Would you like to sit down?” Owen asked, stepping up beside me.

  My stomach flipped as I tried to predict the outcome in my mind. I would sit down, Owen would sit beside me and talk to me, and smile, and possibly even laugh. It was a perfect storm.

  “No, thank you,” I answered, focusing my gaze on Peter and Charles as they jumped, trying to touch the bottom branches of each tree. “I would rather stand.”

  “Then I will stand also,” he said decidedly.

  I could feel his gaze on the side of my face, watching every blink of my eye. The seconds stretched on and I was tempted to make light conversation, if only to dispel the silence, when Owen said, “Please let me know what I have done so I may apologize.”

  This brought my gaze to his face. His brow was furrowed with concern and his eyes showed regret.

  “You have done nothing to warrant an apology. In fact, you deserve my gratitude. Peter and Charles’s poem was darling.” My voice was stiff.

  Owen shook his head. “No, Annette,” he walked in front of me, “something is wrong.”

  He was right. Something was very wrong. I had let myself fall in love with him. And every pound of my heart testified that it was true.

  “Nothing is wrong,” I repeated. I forced myself to hold his gaze, to create believability. It didn’t work.

  “Did you find out about Willowbourne?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  I remembered what Grandmother had revealed to me about Owen’s inheritance. I had been angry at the time, wishing he had trusted me enough to tell me. “Your Grandmother may have mentioned something.”

  He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I wanted to tell you. And I almost did, I was just … afraid.”

  I felt as though he had just shared a deep secret. Owen afraid? I never would have thought it possible. “Afraid of what?”

  He looked down, his uncertainty obvious. After several seconds he looked up again. “I was afraid that you would see me differently if you knew. That … my possessions would become who I was. Does that make sense?”

  I nodded, feeling an unwelcome smile on my lips. “You are not a large house, Owen. And you are not dozens of acres of beautiful property either.”

  He laughed, making my smile grow. “And you, Annette, are not a pitied girl who lacks the accomplishments of most ladies because of her hapless circumstances.” His voice softened, losing the traces of laughter. “You are so much more than that. You are strong and brave and selfless and unfailingly kind. You are optimistic and caring and lovely.”

  I knew I was blushing and I hated myself for it. Owen was only doing what he did best—deceiving me, trying to make me believe his words. But I knew better.

  “That is not true, Owe
n. Most people do not see me in that way,” I said, my voice defensive. “Most people see me as the unaccomplished, unfortunate girl that I am. My misfortune has defined the opinion most people have of me, including my aunt, who is admired only for her assumed charity toward my brothers and me. Only what is seen can truly exist.”

  Owen shook his head subtly, his eyes full of such softness that I felt crumbled. “I am afraid that sometimes what most people fail to see is what truly exists. They invent an opinion of someone and move along, not daring to discover the true character beneath the facade. And do you remember what we agreed we had in common, your first day here?”

  I shook my head, although I did remember, and I predicted his words before he spoke them.

  “We are not like most people,” he said, smiling wider now. “And we would never try to be.”

  I couldn’t help the smile that sneaked onto my face.

  “And so the privilege is mine to have seen what truly exists within you, Annette. What most people have missed.” His expression turned solemn, and a sadness settled in his gaze. “I will remember always.”

  My throat tightened with the unexpected threat of tears. Was this his way of saying farewell? Acknowledging that after today he would be engaged and everything would change more than it already had? I could no longer accept that Owen had always been insincere. He had been a great friend, and I could not deny that. It was not his fault that I fell for his charm. The fault was entirely my own.

  “Well, then.” It was all I could think to say.

  Owen cleared his throat. “Thank you for giving me incentive to visit Willowbourne. I needed to go back and visit—for my aunt’s sake as well as my own. My aunt and cousins were very distraught, and were put at peace to know that they could remain living there.” He paused, smiling. “You would love my aunt. And Peter and Charles would have a wonderful time with the younger children there.” He looked down at his feet. “Please come visit often.”

  The thought of visiting Owen and Miss Lyons in their beautiful home sickened me. No. After I left Kellaway Manor, seeing Owen again was not an option. But for politeness sake, I said, “We will see if … we can stop by. Eventually … maybe.”

  Owen was still looking down and I could see something of a battle in his features. Then he looked up, his expression far from relaxed. Something was bothering him. He hesitated for a second longer, staring at me with that same battle in his eyes. “You could live there,” he said suddenly. “At Willowbourne.”

  My heart all but stopped. I was sure the shock showed on my face.

  The look in his eyes was fragile, broken, and it plucked at my heartstrings without mercy. “Don’t worry, Annette. I assure you, what you told me last night is perfectly understood.” His jaw clenched after the words, but he continued, “You and your brothers can live there, and I will act as your guardian. I could not bear to know that you were living with your aunt again.”

  His mention of the previous night consumed me. It hadn’t been a real proposal, but what if my answer had been different? Would he have proposed? Hope gripped me again. What if he did love me? I scolded myself. My conversation with Alice this morning was enough to know that he did not. He was going to marry Miss Lyons and they were going to live happily ever after at Willowbourne together. And I did not want to be a part of it. That would be suffering like I had never known.

  “Thank you for the offer, but I cannot accept,” I said, a lump in my throat. “My aunt needs us to return.” I started toward my brothers, intending to leave with them immediately, regretting that I had even come.

  Owen was walking after me. “Annette—”

  “No, Owen.” I said, turning around quickly, then facing my brothers again. My chin was trembling. “No.” I took them each by the hand and led them through the gate, ignoring their protests. I didn’t look at Owen as I passed, afraid of what I would see.

  Something within me broke as I stepped out of the orchard. And then the one promise I had managed to keep broke just as quickly. A tear leaked from my eye, sliding down my cheek, on territory it hadn’t seen for years. A second immediately followed, and my body shuddered with a silent sob. I bit my lip, begging myself to stop. I was stronger than this.

  But the tears kept coming. I didn’t have a free hand to wipe them, so I let them fall, praying that Peter and Charles would not look up—that they wouldn’t see the weak thing their sister had become.

  But they were already looking up, watching me with eyebrows drawn together and questions in their eyes. “Why are you sad?” Peter asked.

  I forced a smile onto my face and released his hand to dry my cheeks. “Not to worry. I will be just fine.” I wished the words were true. I took a deep, shaky breath. “Now run along to the library. Grandfather has been missing you all day.”

  With a final concerned peek at my face, they hurried to the house. I followed them slowly, trying to regain my composure. I was not a watering pot. I did not cry over a man! It had been a five-year struggle to meet what was required of me, but I had somehow managed.

  Now, all that was required of me was to make my heart understand and forget. It seemed a simple task, but my heart was even more independent than I was these days, and it didn’t want to forget. So I walked over the grass to the house with my hand pressed to my chest, hoping to somehow keep the pieces of that broken thing together inside me.

  A

  It was around six of the clock when Grandmother hurried me up the stairs to begin getting ready for the ball. Lizzie was waiting for me in my room when I arrived, smiling again, which shocked me, but obviously anxious to begin, which didn’t shock me at all. “You are going to look ravishing tonight, Miss. I am sure of it.”

  It was then that I spied the pink gown on my bed, hanging off the edge, its skirts flowing down like a fountain. It was intricately beaded on the neckline, and made of what I could judge to be very fine fabric. Mrs. Kellaway must have paid a substantial amount of money for it.

  I couldn’t stop staring. Was I really going to wear that? It was beautiful to say the least. And I hated it. In some way, the color was not only connected to my mother anymore. It was also connected to Owen. The pink rose he had given me. And I had lost him too.

  But that did not matter any longer. Tonight I had a goal in mind. Tonight I was to fall out of love with Owen, and to do that, I was to see that he carried out his proposal. And after I see that he is truly gone forever, and that he truly does not care for me, and that he truly can never be mine, I will be content. I will take my brothers with me in the morning and return to Aunt Ruth. To the life we led before, and I will love them and only them for the rest of my life, and we will never visit Willowbourne. It was a definitive plan, not to be brought to alteration by any charming words.

  As Lizzie helped me into the gown, I didn’t dwell on it. I repeated my plan in my mind, determination igniting in my soul like a torch. Tonight was not a night of weakness. Owen’s blue eyes would have no effect on me tonight. I was blind to his charm.

  “Miss Downing!” Lizzie gasped. “You already look stunning and I have not even done your hair!” She let out a sound resembling a yelp as she pulled me to the mirror. I tugged my gloves on as I sat down, refusing to look at my reflection.

  Much later, she stepped back, clearly admiring her work. I glanced up, hoping to see the glint of determination in my eyes that I had seen only a few days ago. It was there, burning visibly, daring Owen to try to woo me. But tonight he was not going to succeed.

  “Wait!” Lizzie exclaimed as I stood to leave.

  I turned to her without expression.

  She smiled, waving a box in the air. “You forgot the matching slippers.”

  A

  Chapter 19

  The guests were already entering the ballroom when I arrived. I thought of my brothers secure with Grandfather in the library. I desperately wished I could be with them, but the ball was an essential part of my plan. And my plan could not be tampered with.

 
I searched the room for Mrs. Kellaway, or Alice, or even Miss Lyons in the various groups of chatting women that were not engaged in the dance. I found Alice with two other ladies standing in a triangle, whispering excitedly.

  I moved toward them, and Alice looked up just as I was approaching. “Annette! Oh, you look lovely! Come, come, meet my friends.”

  She pulled me forward with a gloved hand and introduced me as if we were the dearest of friends. I smiled politely and took a steadying breath, preparing to deliver my first rehearsed line. In a whispered voice, I said, “Where is Miss Lyons tonight? We must ensure that your brother carries out his proposal.” I smiled slyly, matching the look on Alice’s face.

  “Yes. We must. She is currently dancing with Edmond, and Owen is here somewhere … I saw him only a few short minutes ago.”

  I scanned the crowd, searching the mass of laughing faces for Owen. I did not see him. The song ended, and a gentleman invited Alice to the next dance. I stayed where I was, standing alone. Where was he? My eyes continued their search.

  Across the room, I noticed a tall, dark-haired young man watching me as he sipped out of a large glass. He was leaning against the wall, speaking in hushed tones to a man standing beside him. The man glanced my way then threw a smile in the dark-haired man’s direction.

  I looked away quickly. Were they speaking about me? Turning and walking a few steps to the right, I sneaked a glance behind me to see if they were still staring. They certainly were.

  I swallowed and scanned the room again, wishing desperately that I could find someone to speak to instead of standing here awkwardly. Alice’s friends had disappeared to the dance floor, so I was helplessly alone when the dark-haired man started across the room, his steps and his gaze in my direction.

  I looked down, tugging at my gloves as a distraction. I was not accustomed to speaking to unknown gentlemen, and I was certainly not accustomed to receiving attention from them. It was making me acutely uncomfortable to have one headed in my direction.