“Based on my experience, it most certainly is,” Mr. Richards confirmed, his eyes locked upon her in a way that made her shift awkwardly. “Have you always been a great reader, Mrs. Chandler?” he asked, bringing his attention back to her.
“Not always,” she answered truthfully, though it seemed odd for him to ask about her past reading rather than discuss her current choices. “I was taught from the classics, of course, and was familiar with all manner of literature from my youth, but it has only been since arriving at the cottage that I have turned my mind to reading for pleasure or edification.” She met his eyes briefly and then lowered her head, hoping the brim of her cap would prevent him seeing her too closely. She was only six or seven feet away from him and mindful of his scrutiny. “Do you enjoy reading, Mr. Richards?”
“Very much,” he said. “My mother is a great lover of literature—poetry especially—and encouraged me from childhood. There was a time when I thought I might pursue my education in literature but then my interests turned. Though I would not mind being a professor, I think I would mind very much living away from Yorkshire, which would be necessary if I wanted to make a future of teaching.”
“You are born and raised in Yorkshire, then?”
“All my life save for my time at Oxford and a brief foray in London. Have you ever lived in London?”
Amber shifted in her chair and fidgeted with the braided edge of the rug in her lap. “For a short time only,” she said, eager to direct attention from herself. “What of your mother’s people? Are they Yorkshire-born as well?”
He graciously took the lion’s share of the conversation from that point forward, telling her of his mother—who was Yorkshire-born and bred the same as his father, though her family was Scottish only a few generations back. Amber was tempted to tell him of her own Scottish roots, but feared moving the focus to herself.
He had just asked after her family when the tea arrived on a matching service. Suzanne set the tray on the table and withdrew, leaving Amber to serve the tea which she had not expected. She hesitated a moment, but was unwilling to call Suzanne back.
“What a lovely service,” Amber said, lifting one of the cups to inspect the yellow flowered pattern and hoping to direct his attention away from her. “I did not know you were bringing such accommodations.”
“I feared that you might only have one cup,” Mr. Richards said with a smile that warmed her neck and face.
Amber had to move closer to him to serve the sandwiches and strawberry tarts he had brought, not to mention the tea. For ease of movement, she pushed the rug aside and hoped he would not look too closely. She held tight to Suzanne’s assurance that the lack of light in the room would hide her youth, though it seemed ridiculous to consider.
Amber complimented the tarts he proclaimed to be his favorite since his youth, and then asked him about the document he had found in the library two months earlier. He went on at length to explain his arrangement with his brother and she found herself quite fascinated. “And your brother was agreeable to your request?”
“I am most indebted to him for it.”
Amber sat back against the settee and regarded him. “I hope I do not sound impertinent, but does it not feel more secure to have your interests managed by your brother for a guaranteed income? Being dependent on weather and yield seems worrisome.”
“But land is a heritage of another kind,” Mr. Richards explained, then went on to speak of his desire to have his own children as well as future generations possess something of rising value, which would give them security rather than having to rely on a good marriage with gentry of higher order than themselves.
It was quite a remarkable explanation and presented a perspective she had never before considered. She wondered what her situation would have been if she had not been raised simply to look for a husband who would secure her comfort. It was beyond consideration that she, as a woman, could own and manage land, but the more Mr. Richards spoke of the satisfaction of working with one’s property and having investment into his own living, the more she wondered what options might be open to her should she seek independence her own way.
Amber did not mind asking Mr. Peters for financial consideration when a need arose, but she was always fearful he might deny her request. He had when she’d requested new furniture for the main floor last October; she could barely abide the heavy old-fashioned stuff, which was as uncomfortable as it was ugly. He had refused her, claiming that it was an expense beyond what he was entitled to release, and while she now saw the request as rather frivolous, what if she did not have to ask after such things? What if she managed her own ledgers and accounts and could decide for herself where the money went?
“And what of society?” Amber asked, hoping that her forwardness would not upset the ease between them. “Are you not choosing a station for your family below the one you have enjoyed? Is that not a worry?”
“There are those who may close their door to me. I daresay there are some who see my independence as impertinent. Luckily, another man’s opinion—or the opinion of all of a singular society—does not define my course. I have had enjoyable interaction with men of many different levels and find them as good and intriguing as men of our class. It does not bother me to proclaim myself one of them, nor does it concern me for my children. I have always found greater security in a man’s character than in his station.”
Amber could do naught but regard him as she pondered on his feelings. They were quite singular, yet entrancing too. To regard character above position was a progressive idea indeed, and one that sparked an odd hope in her chest as she reflected on Suzanne’s opinion that there were people who would prefer Amber’s changed character to the beauty she once possessed.
She also reflected on Suzanne’s character. From infancy Amber had been taught that she was superior to the classes below her, that she was of greater intelligence and morality than all other classes simply because of her station. Interacting with Suzanne had proven that quite false, as Suzanne possessed qualities of goodness and determination Amber had never seen in her life. That awareness presented the further possibility that people of character could reside in any class. In fact, perhaps there was greater chance of such attributes in people not raised to disparage others as Amber had been.
“I have quite bored you, Mrs. Chandler,” Mr. Richards said when she did not answer him. “I apologize.”
“Do not apologize,” Amber said, widening her smile in hopes of easing his mind. Again she found it difficult to look away but forced herself to do so. His eyes were far too intense for her comfort, and she feared at any moment he would call her out on her charade and demand the truth. “I have found your explanations most interesting. I can now better understand the comfort of managing your own interests and having to account to no one.”
One side of his mouth came up in a crooked grin that made her breath catch. “I am glad to hear you are not overly scandalized by my self-sufficiency.”
She forced herself to look away again. “Not in the least, Mr. Richards.” Her heart rate increased, and she found herself not minding it in the least.
Chapter 42
“Might I ask after your history, Mrs. Chandler? I hope it is not too much for me to say, but you are not so old as I had supposed you to be.”
Heat filled Amber’s face and chest, and she pulled the rug back onto her lap as she fumbled for an answer. What could she tell him that would not reveal her deception? How could she explain herself without speaking further untruths—an idea that settled miserably in her chest? She felt her breathing becoming shallow as she failed to find an adequate lie she would not hate herself for saying.
“I have made you uncomfortable,” Mr. Richards said, embarrassing her further by admitting notice of her discomfort, but also giving her relief. “You have been nothing but gracious to me, and I have overstepped my bounds. Please forgive me.”
“There is nothing to forgive, sir,” she said, though she kept her eyes
on the floor. “I understand your curiosity, but I have had . . . a difficult time of things and came to Yorkshire in need of relief from certain pressures. I fear I am unprepared to speak of it.”
“I repeat my apology,” Mr. Richards said. “I am certain your reasons are just.”
“I assure you they are,” Amber said with a nod, relieved that he did not press her.
“It is obvious to me that you are from a privileged class, which, if I may be so bold, are not often found in such circumstances as you are, though the house is quite pleasing. Is it a trial to have but one servant to attend you?”
Amber hesitated, not wanting to be rude and dismiss another request of information he’d made of her. Surely she could answer him without revealing too much. “Mrs. Miller is very capable and perhaps, given your unique perspectives, you might understand an odd kind of pride in my attendance to those things necessary for daily life. As you guessed, I was certainly not raised to it, but Mrs. Miller has been patient with me, and I have come to find great security in knowing how to meet our needs, though I could most certainly not do it without her.”
“Fascinating,” he said under his breath, causing her to give him a quick glance. He smiled when she met his eye, and she looked away before his gaze captured her completely. Had she heard derision in that reply? Had she embarrassed them both by admitting to such things? The chair creaked as he straightened his posture. “I am sure I have stayed quite long enough,” he said, though he sounded reluctant to go, which gave her hope he was not turned away by her confession. “I wonder if I might call on you again. I have found this afternoon quite enjoyable.”
Call on you again, Amber repeated. Her thoughts began spinning in circles as she argued with herself over the wisdom of such a thing. Of course she wanted him to come again, but to what end? He had already realized she was not elderly—what else would he discover if he came again? It would be difficult to darken the room any more without it being quite ridiculous, but beyond that she could not bear to know him better as it would only make it more difficult when she did not see him again. She had created her enjoyable memory of sharing tea with him. That she wanted more, and he did too, was both exciting and frightening.
Suzanne’s voice from the doorway drew Amber’s attention before she could answer. “I should be happy to have the service in readiness to return to you on your next visit, Mr. Richards.”
Amber felt her eyes go wide at the maid’s forwardness, which was far beyond her bounds. Suzanne was focused on their guest, however, and did not see her mistress’s displeasure.
“If it is all right with you, Mrs. Chandler, I should like to give this service to you as a further sign of my gratitude. After hearing my tale, you certainly better understand the importance of the lease agreement I only found because of your generosity.”
“I could not keep your service,” Amber said, turning her attention to the set. It was quaint compared to the silver sets her mother insisted upon at Hampton Grove and the more delicate porcelains of the London house, and yet it fit this cottage and this man so perfectly she found herself wanting it very much.
“I insist that you keep it,” Thomas said. “It seems perfect for this house.”
She looked up at him again and realized that the tea set represented more than the cottage—it represented him and she would cherish the connection. “I had thought the same thing.”
He smiled broadly. “Then we agree that it must stay and that we shall share in its use again when next I come to visit. Would tomorrow be acceptable? I do not mean to sound overly eager but I believe the weather may hold a few more days yet, and I would like to take advantage of the fairer skies for my travel.”
Those eyes had her quite trapped, and she found herself nodding. He thanked her for the afternoon and then followed Suzanne to the door. When Suzanne returned to the library after showing him out, Amber was holding her teacup in both hands as though it were a baby bird.
“I should not have agreed to let him return, Suzanne.” She looked up, panicking over what she’d done. “And I do not thank you for putting me in such a position.”
“Did you not enjoy his company?”
“Very much,” she said, a bit breathless at the truth of it. “But I cannot allow him to continue his attentions. He could see that I was not an old woman as he’d expected. What shall I do if he discovers my deception?”
Suzanne began gathering together the tea service to return to the kitchen. “Do not worry yourself so much,” she said. “Take joy in things that are joyful, there is no harm in that.”
“Allowing him to return—tomorrow no less—is far too inviting. What if he becomes . . . interested in furthering his acquaintance with me?”
“You still have a say no matter what his interests are,” Suzanne said as she stood with the tray in hand. “And formalities are not the same here in the country. As he said, the weather may not hold long enough for him to schedule a return further out—we have had nearly two weeks without preventative weather as it is. Enjoy another afternoon with him and then tell him not to return if that’s what you’ve a mind to do.”
Could I tell him not to return? Amber wondered as Suzanne left the room. She stood and folded the heavy blanket from her legs before returning it to the basket beside the fireplace. It would have been easier for everyone if she had told him today not to return. And yet her selfish heart had not been able to do it when the opportunity presented itself. Would she be any more able next time to request he not return should he ask again?
She found Suzanne in the kitchen with a pleased smile on her face as she set about caring for the service.
“If I am to receive Mr. Richards again I must exact from you a promise, Suzanne.”
“Yes?” she asked with her eyebrows raised expectantly. One did not consider the impact of eyebrows in communication until one no longer had them.
“I must have your word that if I should need to refuse him another visit you will not stand in my way as you did today.”
Suzanne pulled her eyebrows together. “I would not have thought my reply stood in your way. Did you truly mean to refuse his request after such a comfortable afternoon?”
“In truth I do not know if I shall be able to say it to his person, perhaps I will be a coward and send a letter, and if that is the case, I shall need your promise to assist me in that as well.”
Suzanne’s disapproval was evident but Amber spoke first. “I know you are conspiring to make a match between us, but I continue to assert that you and I are of a different mind toward that possibility. If I am to entertain him tomorrow I must have your word that if I am intent to sever my relationship with him afterward that you will support me in it.”
“And if I won’t promise such a thing?” Suzanne said, displaying an irritating measure of cheekiness.
“Then I shall refuse to see him when he arrives. I will let him take that long journey in the cold and the wind and deny him entrance to the house so as to prevent your interference.”
“That would be most ill-mannered of you,” Suzanne said, but Amber could see she was conflicted. She was choosing between one more visit she very much wanted Amber to enjoy, or an extreme inconvenience to a man who did not deserve it. Amber felt certain she could never be so rude to Mr. Richards as to turn him away; she was counting on Suzanne’s romantic sensibilities to prevent it from happening.
“I will not hesitate to be as ill-mannered as I must be. I am an eccentric widow living in the home of a woman who was known for her discontent,” Amber said. “And you know I am perfectly capable of such rudeness if I’m of a mind to do it, though I find no joy in such things as perhaps I once did. I need your word that you will assist me in whatever way I request.”
Suzanne regarded her a few moments longer and then finally nodded. “I promise to help you refuse him if you choose to do so.”
Chapter 43
For Thomas, the invigoration of an afternoon in Miss Sterlington’s company lasted well int
o the next day. Upon finishing a meeting with the architect, Thomas hurried in to change his clothes and then retrieved a basket of refreshments from the kitchen, kissed Mrs. Berdsten on the cheek, and took Farthing at a faster pace than he ought. His boots were splattered with mud by the time of his arrival, and he was glad for his greatcoat that protected his riding coat from similar treatment.
He arrived at Step Cottage with a fresh determination to gain Miss Sterlington’s trust enough that she would reveal herself. It would not do for them to continue with a deception between them, but he wanted it to be Miss Sterlington who broke her silence rather than he who called her out. From the ease between them the day before, he expected she would find great relief in confessing the whole of it. She could not be comfortable in her ruse, and yet he believed she was comfortable in his company. Comfortable enough to trust him, he hoped.
Mrs. Miller answered his knock, smiling a welcome as he entered the cottage and removed his coat, hanging it himself rather than expecting her to do it. “It is very good to see you again, Mr. Richards.”
He grinned broadly and bowed to her. “And very good to see you again as well, Mrs. Miller.” He handed over the basket, which she took, eagerly pulling back the cloth to inspect the contents before looking up at him with raised brows. “You are too good to us,” she said.
“My cook insisted on filling the basket to the brim after the compliments I shared of her former selection.”
“Ham and preserves—and is this a cherry cordial?” She lifted out a bottle.
“Indeed it is. Some of the very finest you’ll find in the county I’d wager.”
“We are much indebted,” Suzanne said. “Miss . . . Mrs. Chandler awaits you in the library.” She paused and held his eyes in a way he believed meant that she had deliberately given Miss Sterlington’s correct form of address. She was leaving him bread crumbs without knowing he was in possession of nearly the full loaf.
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