The spinster and the wastrel

by Louise Bergin

  "No one can be virtuous without God's help."

  If her eyes had been cast down, he would have suspected her of false meekness, but she met his gaze directly. Pinned by the surety in her clear brown eyes, it was his turn to feel flustered. "Er, yes, of course. You will not forget I intend to call on you to discuss my ... my proposal?"

  "I will not forget," she promised.

  He believed her, for she was the type of woman who kept her word. Although unable to prevent her meeting with the solicitor, he thought he might still salvage something from this mess.

  "Until then." Sir Gerard bowed his farewell.

  When he straightened up, he caught the trace of that elusive violet perfume scenting the air. It was so out of place in the office that he nearly sniffed like a hunting dog. Maintaining his composure, he retrieved his hat and gloves from the clerk and stepped outside. The cold air stung his cheeks, clearing the stuffiness of the solicitor's rooms from his mind. Pulling his hat lower on his head, he welcomed the chill because it served to sharpen his wits. He would need every bit of cleverness he possessed to wheedle his money free from this adventuress.

  Slowing his stroll to the livery, he was no longer certain his charm would work. The clarity of her gaze as it met his shook him deeply. He continued to name her an adventuress, but she was unlike the London ladies with whom he was familiar. They simpered at his coquetry and responded with outrageous quips of their own.

  At the reading, he had judged Annette Courtney plain. How had he overlooked the strength and determination that were obviously so much a part of her character? From the way she held her shoulders straight, not hiding her tall height, to the way she faced him directly, even when his words flustered her, she was different. The discrepancy bothered him. It could be harder than he had anticipated retrieving his money.

  He collected his beloved horse, Silver Shadow, from the stables. He rubbed the gray stallion's nose and listened to his nickers of welcome. Animals never judged him. They gave their loyalty without question.

  "Did they treat you royally?" he asked the horse.

  The animal nudged him back playfully. When Sir Gerard mounted and headed home, his problems still weighed on his mind, but the feel of the strongly muscled horse beneath him lessened those worries.

  He exulted in the way they moved together down the wet, snowy lanes. He did not race because Silver Shadow was too precious to risk, yet he rejoiced at the sting of the wind against his face and the sound of his horse's hooves echoing in the winter quiet. He was still master here.

  Amazingly, even though it was January, a whiff of springtime violets seemed to hang in the air.

  Gkaptet £Mtee

  Annette had expected there would be piles of paperwork associated with her inheritance, but she had not anticipated the amount of detail her new wealth required. It overwhelmed her, forcing her meeting with Sir Gerard from the center of her attention. She had signed her name so often that her pen needed re-sharpening.

  Despite having lived in Upper Brampton all of her life, she discovered how little she knew of the village's financial underpinnings. Naturally, the entailed farms were not a part of her inheritance, but she could claim ownership to several prime parcels of pastureland, including the lush Green Meadow. She also held an interest in several shops, which the solicitor assured her would provide her with a steady income. The sum he quoted made her wonder how the merchants earned any profit.

  "However," Piers Keller continued with his list, only this time Annette noticed an almost pained frown on his face, "you will not be receiving anything from the old warehouse. Ever since that new storage place opened down south, the farmers have preferred to take their crops over there."

  "You mean that great empty building behind the general store is mine, too?" Annette had always assumed it belonged to the shopkeeper.

  Keller nodded. "Yes, Sir Nigel accepted it in place of a defaulted loan, but he never kept it up. Now the repairs would be so expensive, the place could never turn a profit. You might as well let it fall down on its own."

  "Falling down was not the fate I was considering," she said. Her dream of a village school leapt fully formed into her mind. She could see the children eagerly seated in rows on their benches as they learned. Perhaps now she could see those children gathered in reality.

  She leaned forward to mention the school when she realized the solicitor had continued with his enumeration of her possessions.

  "There is quite a bit of money tied up in securities. I would not recommend that you sell them, because they are currently giving a solid yield of two percent." He wagged his finger at her. "You never want to make the mistake of selling your capital. Live within your means."

  "I certainly intend to do so," she replied, wondering how he thought she had managed before on a far littler income. "What will the amount of interest be?"

  He harrumphed and stared at her sternly. "You should receive about one thousand pounds annually. I can advance you fifty pounds today. You will receive the remainder once the bank is instructed that you are the new owner."

  "A thousand pounds!" Annette echoed weakly. "With fifty for today!"

  She was grateful she was sitting down because the news caused black spots to swim before her eyes. The smell of book leather, paper, and candle wax over-

  whelmed her as her sight faded. She had never had much use for women who fainted, but for the first time in her life, a swoon was possible.

  "Miss Courtney! Are you all right?"

  With a start, Annette realized she had slumped in her chair. The solicitor stood beside her. He patted her wrists, his brow twisted with concern.

  "May I get you something? Water?" He hesitated. "Or would you prefer some ratafia?"

  Annette smiled slightly. Her mind clearing, she doubted such a female drink would be available in such a masculine enclave as a solicitor's office. "You actually have some ratafia here?"

  He shook his head. "I can send my clerk out for it, if you wish."

  "What a difficult client you must anticipate me to be." She straightened up and smoothed her skirt. "A glass of water will suffice."

  When it had been procured, Annette once again turned her attention to the wealth they were discussing. Now that she knew how much of a miser Sir Nigel had been, she wondered at the hardness of his heart and regretted she had not convinced him to further help the unfortunate. The small donations she had wrested from him had been dearly won. At least she would never be in the position of begging from his nephew.

  "Mr. Keller, why did Sir Nigel leave his money to me? Should it not have gone to Sir Gerard?"

  The solicitor steepled his fingers and looked over them at her. "Sir Nigel spent his life acquiring his wealth and made his investments carefully. He respected money."

  Annette thought he had worshiped it, but she did not interrupt.

  The old baronet did not want his life's work to be wasted. He wanted it to be conserved and knew you would care for it wisely."

  1 am not a miser," she burst out "He only knew me because I hounded him for donations—meager though the> -a ere "

  Keller nodded. "True, but the money he gave you v.as well spent. You were reliable, while his nephew's reputation proved otherwise."

  Annette knew she had used Sir Nigel's donations prudently. Was her wise use of his charity the reason she had inherited? Her biblical training had taught her that if a man could be trusted in small things, he could be trusted in larger.

  "Perhaps Sir Gerard's reputation was exaggerated or inaccurate," she suggested The amount of money was so large she feared an injustice might have been done.

  "I doubt it." The man's tone was as dry as the paper filling his office. Sir Nigel often received stories from London about his nephew's attendance at society parties where gambling occurred.'' He nodded significantly at her. "When tasked with it Sir Gerard only asked for a loan to live on. The old baronet knew better than to finance such a risky proposition. He never even gave his nephew an allow
ance. That man earned his reputation as a wastrel."

  Annette's eyes widened at the revelation. "No allowance 0 How did Sir Gerard surviI

  Shrugging, Keller replied. 'Apparently by his wits. Don't waste your sympathy on him. He knows how to watch out for himself. He has done it all of his life "

  It amazed her that Sir Gerard had looked so much like a gentleman, considering his lack of income. A member of

  tbe ton wouki never sloop to work to support himself, so tit "fnl gambling must be the answer. Yet it bothered her that she was the recipient of the wealth, though she could understand Sir Nigel's thinking. She would not want the money wasted on gambling either. She had other, better, plans for it

  The solicitor cleared his throat, "Now that we have gone over your inheritance, do you have any immediate plans for it

  Annette nodded her head briskly and inched her chair closer to his desk. "Yes. I do. I will take that fifty pounds you mentioned and use it to pay off some of my bills. Then I want to take a closer look at that warehouse. 1 think it would be the perfect site for my scbooL"

  Keller blinked. "School:' What scbooir

  "I have long wanted the children of Upper Brampton and the surrounding farms to attend a school, but the families are too poor to pay for one." Enthusiasm filled Annette. The reality of her dream was taking shape. Her words tumbled over each other as she poured out the wish of her heart "I could never collect enough donations to start one of my own. There were always more pressing needs. Now I can use that old warehouse. I have enough money to both help the unfortunate in the village and teach their children. This is a wonderful opportunity."

  The solicitor held up his hands m an effort to slow the onslaught "Have you given this matter enough thought Miss Courtney? You only learned the extent of your holdings today."

  "True, but I have wanted to open a school for so long." She smiled with excitement T even requested Mr. Patterson donate the use of his warehouse. Of course, when he

  refused me, I did not know that it no longer belonged to him."

  "He was likely ashamed to tell you about his defaulted loan," Keller commented.

  "Very possible," Annette agreed, but she was more interested in her future plans than what had happened in the past. "The first thing to do is have the warehouse inspected and make any necessary repairs. I also must alert the neighbors the school will soon be opening."

  The solicitor cleared his throat. "There are some questions you must consider before opening the school, such as who will be the teacher? What will be taught? Who will be the students and how much will you charge them?"

  Annette laughed. "Don't worry so. I have the answers. I will be the teacher, and the children will learn reading, arithmetic, and their Bible. I already told you the students will be from the village."

  "The village children!" From the shock on his face, he plainly had not heard her before. He drummed his fingers on the desktop. "When you said a school, I assumed you meant for young ladies. Why would you want to teach the locals? An education would be cruel. It will only give them ideas above their station that can never be fulfilled."

  An iron bar seemed to slide along Annette's back, and she straightened up in her chair. The excitement vanished from her voice when she answered. Only the crisp tones she habitually spoke with remained. "They deserve to be taught to read and cipher to make their lives easier, while studying the Bible will lead them to God."

  "They can attend church for that." Since he muttered the statement, Annette pretended she did not hear him.

  "I will have Tubbs inspect the warehouse," she continued. "He is a decent carpenter. The opening date of the

  school will depend upon the amount of repairs required. I will need access to more of my funds, so I suggest you be prepared for those expenses."

  A disagreeable look crossed his face, but the man nodded. "What income do you expect from this school?"

  "None," she replied. "This will be free to the students."

  He gasped. "Free! You will not get a return on your investment that way!"

  "I am not looking for a monetary return."

  "Sir Nigel would never approve such an expense!"

  "I know." Annette remembered the times she had attempted to interest the old baronet in her school, only to be met with outright derision and refusal. "His opinion does not matter. The money is mine. All those papers I just signed prove it."

  "I never heard of a school like that. At least, not around here."

  Before such a weak argument, Annette rolled her eyes. "This is an age of innovation. I want to try something new."

  She challenged him with a stare. Dropping his gaze to his desk, Keller picked up a quill. He ran the feather through his fingers and then sighed.

  "Perhaps," he said. "But people do not change their ways easily. Your school may not be as accepted as you think. There could be resistance. May I offer you some advice?"

  She looked at him. Both of them knew that country people were even slower to change their ways than the educated, and her students would come from that class. "What do you have in mind?"

  "Set up a board of trustees to oversee your school."

  'Trustees!" Annette was aghast. This was her idea. Her

  dream. "I do not need or want anyone telling me how to run my school."

  "If it is only you in charge, you may have trouble."

  "The people around here know me."

  "No matter how highly your reputation for good works is regarded around here, you are still a woman. Trustees can give you the protective authority. The people are familiar with an oversight board because of the poorhouses and the church."

  "I do not want any interference."

  He shrugged. "Most of these board positions are strictly ceremonial."

  As she studied him, her eyes narrowed. "Whom did you have in mind for these sinecure positions?"

  Keller tapped the quill against the desktop before replying. "I would recommend the vicar, the new baronet, and myself."

  'The baronet?" She nearly squeaked out the name. "How could you choose him? You just told me how terrible his reputation is."

  "No matter. His title naturally causes one to consider him. People in this area are used to looking up to the baronet. Even with a new baronet, his tacit approval as a trustee will smooth your work."

  Annette wanted to argue with the solicitor, but she knew he was right. The three trustees he listed were the traditional leaders of the village. Country people were strong on tradition. They would distrust her new school less if those to whom they looked for leadership extended their approval.

  She said. "I understand about the baronet. Since you named yourself, does this mean you changed your mind about my school?"

  He inclined his head. "I would be willing to serve in the oversight position. Of course, I can assist you in managing its expenses, so that you get value for your money."

  "I can handle the administration of the school on my own.'" she told him sharply. "Since I must bow to country custom, there will be a board of trustees, but I expect no interference from it."

  "I understand." He rubbed his hands briskly. "Once you have asked the others, I will draw up the necessary papers."

  She sighed at how complex her dream was becoming. "I will ask the vicar to join you."

  "And the baronet?"

  "Yes, him, too." To herself, she muttered, "Maybe he will say no."

  But that hope had little life. She thought it all too likely Sir Gerard would relish the opportunity to interfere with her plans.

  Sir Gerard pulled on the reins to halt Silver Shadow as the walls of Hathaway Hall came into view through the dark branches of the trees lining the road. The horse tossed his head in mild protest. Plainly he wanted his stall.

  Sir Gerard also wanted to be warm and inside, but for the moment he was content to gaze upon his home. For so long he had waited to be the master of Hathaway Hall, that he needed to drink in the sight of it to confirm his ownership. Built at the en
d of the seventeenth century, the house stood atop a slight rise and was surrounded by a small park. Two wings jutted from the central section, protecting a stone-paved courtyard from the worst of the wind. At the top of the steps, the big wooden door barred the world outside. Although it was only noon, the day was

  overcast and there was a scent of a storm in the air. Candlelight winked from some of the windows, promising a warm reception within. The implied welcome cheered his heart.

  From his spot on the drive, the place appeared to be under siege. His uncle had not cared for the expense involved to maintain a large amount of formal landscape. The dried remains of weeds cluttered the lawn. On this gray January day, it almost seemed as if the forest advanced upon the hall. The barren branches reached out to grasp the stone walls. Care had not been lavished upon the property during the previous baronet's tenure, even though repairs had been competently done. No one cheated his uncle out of his money. Sir Nigel may be only recently deceased, but life had long ago died behind the dull gray walls of Hathaway Hall.

  Leaning forward to pat Silver Shadow's neck, Sir Gerard reflected on his plans for his home. At last, it was his home. Above all, he intended to make it the place he had always believed it could be.

  After his father's death, he had been sent to live with his uncle. He had never admitted it to anyone, but originally he had looked forward to living with old Sir Nigel. Although only eleven years old, Gerard had already learned the impossibility of living up to his father's standards of perfect conduct, education, and piety. He had never won his father's approval, but he hoped his uncle would be different.

  As a boy, Gerard had not realized the significance of the fact that his father and uncle were brothers and raised in the same strict tradition. He had only exchanged his place of residence. No love, no warmth existed at Hathaway Hall, only the same impossible standards that he