The vicar’s words faded from William’s attention, the weight shifting off his chest and shoulders as the coffin disappeared out of sight. He drew in a deep breath of the fresh rain.
Grandfather was gone. Without his coffin in sight, without the man’s constant, watchful eye on him, William was finally free.
When the vicar ended, and the condolences were delivered by the men in attendance, he and Father were left at the gravesite.
William stood by in silence as Father drew in a steadying breath, his tired eyes still staring at the dirt being piled atop the coffin.
“Would you mind, son, just for a moment, if…”
Nodding at once, William stepped away from his father to allow him privacy. Mr. Rutledge stood nearby, leaning heavily against his walking stick.
“How is he?” Mr. Rutledge whispered with a motion of his head to Father.
“Adjusting,” William replied.
They stood for a moment in silence, rain tapping on the leaves behind them creating a calming ambience. Or perhaps it was merely being around Mr. Rutledge that prompted that peace inside William. He’d always felt that way around the gentleman.
“Mrs. Rutledge asked me to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. But if you wish to be with your family…”
“No, no. I would be more than happy to join you.” William had always preferred dining and visiting with the Rutledges to remaining at home. The elderly couple had been better parent figures for William than his own mother and father had. Being with them was a nice change of pace to the gloom he’d always experienced at Birchwick Hall.
“Mrs. Rutledge will be pleased. I’m sure she’ll make another apple pie to celebrate your coming.”
William smiled. “Then I look forward to tomorrow even more so.”
Mr. Rutledge shifted his feet with a wince, and William frowned. “You ought to go home, sir. You’ve been more than kind to venture out.”
William had been witness to Mr. Rutledge’s pains for years. As a young boy, when he needed to escape Grandfather, he would go to the Rutledges, where he was always treated with respect and kindness. He’d seen the elderly man’s health deteriorate year after year, though Mr. Rutledge’s goodness remained.
William knew what a struggle it must have been to even come to the graveyard. Although, he wasn’t surprised. Mr. Rutledge had always been selflessly kind.
Mr. Rutledge grimaced as he shifted again. “I think that will be for the best.” He gingerly raised a hand to clasp William’s shoulder. “Take care, William, of yourself and your parents. And we shall visit tomorrow.”
William nodded as Mr. Rutledge hobbled away. How grateful William was for having the man as an example. Heaven knew he didn’t have anyone else for that.
Intent on waiting by the carriages, William left the headstones behind, only then seeing a young woman standing just beyond the church, half-shrouded beneath grand yew trees.
Charity.
He changed his direction toward her as she stepped out from beneath the tree, her dark dress complementing the blackness of her curls, protected by a wide bonnet.
She nodded her head in greeting as he approached, her red lips void of any smile. “I do apologize for intruding. Mama advised me not to come, but after the procession, I wanted to ensure you were well.”
“That is very kind of you, but I am well. It is Father I worry over.”
He looked behind him, Father’s shoulders sunken so far forward, his head nearly disappeared from William’s viewpoint.
“I’m certain he merely needs time,” Charity offered.
There was the logical answer for which he was hoping. He’d always admired Charity’s intelligence and strength of mind. That was one of the reasons Grandfather had disapproved of her as a match—which was why William had been drawn to become her friend in the first place.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I only hope his spirits will improve when he discovers all that life has to offer when one does not have one’s every move dictated by another.”
“And will you discover the same one day?” Charity stared up at him with that intent gaze she’d had ever since she was a little girl asking to play with him in his garden.
“You know I have already tasted more freedom than my parents ever have.”
He may not have been able to prevent Grandfather from controlling every aspect of Mother and Father’s lives—and even part of William’s. But he’d done his best to keep the man’s dictatorial hand from extending to others, which was why William had kept his distance from Charity.
Until now.
“At any rate, my life will be far better now.” He paused, staring into the dark brown of her eyes. “Our lives will be better.”
He hoped to make her smile, but her lips stretched into a solemn line. “You still wish to proceed, then?”
“Of course. I see no reason not to.”
“Even with my departure?”
William paused. Departure? Departure. That was right. Charity was to leave for London with her mother that very week. Still, that was no reason to stop planning for what they both knew was to occur.
“Have you any objection?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Only…you recall my mother’s stipulations, of course.”
“Yes, I do.”
How could he forget? Mrs. Winslow, Charity’s widowed mother, was requiring Charity to spend a few months in London to provide her with a little more “experience” before settling down and starting a family.
William didn’t blame Mrs. Winslow. The woman had married at the young age of fifteen and often spoke of her regret in doing so. Though Charity was two and twenty now, Mrs. Winslow was simply behaving with caution. He couldn’t fault her for that, nor Charity for thinking it wise to do, as well.
“So I shall go to London then,” Charity said, “and if I return without having fallen in love with another and you have not fallen in love with another…”
A touch of insecurity lowered her gaze. William reached forth, taking one of Charity’s gloved hands within his own. “That is not something you need to concern yourself over, surely. We shall wed.”
Finally, a whisper of a smile brushed against her lips, but it vanished in a heartbeat. “I wish I did not have to go for so long. I shall miss you.”
“And I, you. Your absence here will be felt keenly.”
This time, her smile remained. Good. She didn’t show it very often—yet another similarity between them. They didn’t really have much to be joyful about.
“I fear I must depart now. Mama will be waiting for my return.” She faced him again, holding out her hand to him. “I shall see you in three months’ time, yes?”
“Yes.” He reached forward, placing a kiss to the back of her glove. “I look forward to it.”
And he would.
As Charity departed from the churchyard, disappearing amidst the yew trees once again, William blew out a deep breath.
Three months. He would miss his friend, their weekly horse rides by the lake, their philosophical conversations. Life was easy with Charity—and easy was what he needed for his future.
But not now. Now was the time for him to work. To set his estates in order, to see to the tenants who were now his, and to convince his parents to take much-needed time away at the sea.
And in three months, he would marry Charity.
Because he would make his parents proud. Because his duty demanded it. Because he’d planned his whole life for it.
And because it’s just what Grandfather wouldn’t have wanted.
Chapter Three
Coniston, September 1816—One Month Later
Papa peered out of the moving carriage’s window. “I’ve been assured that Corcliffe Manor is the loveliest country house in all the Lake District. I’m sure it will become a quick favorite. We’ll be certain to stay here every year from this point forward. Ah, here we are.”
Amy leaned forward in the carriage seat, excitement stirring within her
at his words. She was anxious to arrive at their new home—well, their home for the next two months—as well as to be rid of this jostling carriage. Her curls had nearly flattened out at her temples from all the bouncing.
But as the carriage stopped and she peered out of the window, she was met with the sight of faded white doors, overgrown ivy, cracked windows, and a garden in desperate need of a good trimming. Her smile vanished.
“Is that it?” she asked, her voice falling flat.
“Oh, dear,” Mama murmured. “Mr. Paxton, are you certain we are at the right location?”
Papa frowned, leaning past his wife and moving up and down to better see the derelict manor. “I’m certain Bryant followed the innkeeper’s directions perfectly.”
His thick brow pursed as their footman opened the carriage door. Father stepped down first, followed swiftly by Amy.
“Perhaps you ought to remain inside for a moment, Amy,” Mama advised, still seated inside.
“No, Mama, please. My legs are desperate for a little stretch.”
Mama relented with a sigh, focusing her attention instead on their second carriage pulling up behind with their help. The maids, valet, and footman stood there with whispered words to one another, unsure how to proceed about their duties.
“Mr. Bryant,” Papa said. “Are you certain this is Corcliffe Manor?”
“Yes, sir.” Mr. Bryant hopped down from his spot at the front of the carriage. “Says it right there.”
He motioned to a crooked sign with a crack straight down the center, the piece of wood dangling from the fence with a single wire.
Sure enough, Corcliffe Manor was written across the sign.
“Perhaps this is why the innkeeper gave us such an odd look when we asked for directions here,” Papa mumbled.
“Yes, sir. I would’ve driven up the rest of the drive, sir, but as you can see, it ain’t fit for travel.”
All eyes fell on the large holes littering the drive that stretched up to the side of the house.
“Oh, dear,” Mama said again. “Clearly they are not ready for us. What are we to do, Mr. Paxton?”
Papa tapped nervous fingers to his lips. “I suppose we knock. Perhaps someone will be here who can help to guide us toward the next step.”
He moved forward, and Amy instantly followed.
“No, Amy, you must stay with me.”
“But, Mama, you do recall my legs.” She motioned down with a theatrical gesture, and Mama relented with another sigh. Amy scurried ahead to catch up with Papa while the rest of the household remained with Mama. Everyone apart from Hugh, of course, who had stayed behind at the Black Bull Inn for a drink and no doubt a few games—much to Papa’s utter disapproval.
Amy was relieved to be away from her brother for a moment. For the past month, she’d been bracing herself to keep her agreement with Hugh. At times, she wished to go back on the deal, but as the rumors began to surface about what had occurred between Amy and Mr. Roberts, she was reminded yet again to continue with her decision to follow Hugh’s advice in the Lake District—and to forget Mr. Roberts’s rejection entirely.
The latter was proving rather easy. The former, however, she knew she would struggle with more.
As she approached the manor with Papa, the neglect of the house became more and more pronounced. Most of the windows were so dirty, one could not see within them if one tried, and the outside chairs and tables were overturned with only the barest of hints that the rusted furniture had once been white.
“What could cause such an abandonment of one’s home?” she wondered aloud.
“Perhaps they could no longer afford the upkeep,” Father suggested with a shrug. “Though, Mr. Chamberlain’s last letter a mere month ago assured me the property was in a beautiful state.”
Amy wrinkled her nose, stepping over a broken stone vase, spilled dirt, and dead flowers strewn across the pathway. This manor was one of the first stately homes visible outside the center of Coniston. How poorly it reflected on the town as a whole. “Well, whatever has occurred to allow such negligence, it is a tragedy. To think of the disrespect shown to what was once surely a beautiful home.”
“Mmm. Indeed.”
“Do they attempt to cheat us, do you think, in bringing us here?”
Father hesitated. “I’d like to believe that is not the case.”
Amy’s chest tightened at the idea of such dishonesty—especially to her kind and loving father. If they did find the owner, she wasn’t certain she’d be able to keep her thoughts to herself.
They stood at the entrance together as Father knocked, waited, then knocked again.
“Just as I feared. Not a soul to be seen.”
Amy leaned to one side, peering through the window from where she stood before Father knocked one last time.
“No, we shall have to return to town and ask for aid there,” he said.
The thought of willingly riding in that rumbling contraption again was almost too much for Amy to bear. Just a moment longer was all she needed to stretch her legs. Then she’d be more than fine to return.
With quick steps, she moved to the window and cupped her hands against the glass, pressing her face close to the window.
“Amy…”
“I’ll be but a moment.” She scrunched up her nose to see better through the dust grasping onto the glass.
The inside was just as filthy as the out, though white cloths were draped over the furniture in the main entryway. Rugs were rolled and propped up on the sides of the walls, and a thick layer of dust coated the banister. It appeared as if no one had set foot inside the manor in years—apart from the freshly swept section of the floor and a small wooden bucket filled with water. A rag hung over the edge of it, and water dripped down from the fabric to the floor.
Amy pulled back with satisfaction. “There is someone here.”
“You saw someone?”
“No, but I saw evidence of someone. See for yourself.”
Papa took a few hesitant steps forward, glancing around him as if to avoid being spotted spying, then took her place at the window.
“Ah, you are right. The water.” He pulled away, looking around the grounds. “Perhaps they are outside?”
They wandered away from the door onto the overgrown grass.
“Excuse me?” Papa called out. “Is anyone there?”
No response.
“Perhaps they are behind the house,” Father suggested. “I’ll take a quick look while you return to Mama and the carriages.”
“But, Papa—”
“We’ve already upset your mother enough, I think. Go on.”
With a stifled sigh, Amy nodded. It was just as well. She’d have to get back in the carriage sooner or later, as they could not stay here.
Grumbling internally, she stomped along the pathway to the main drive near the stables as Papa went in the opposite direction.
Amy was not typically grumpy, but knowing her father might have been swindled—and knowing she and her family could very well be spending the night at the Black Bull Inn instead of what could’ve been a lovely stay in this manor—her patience was thinning.
How irresponsible of the gentleman who owned such a property and allowed them to lease the home. If Papa found him, he’d be courteous, as usual. Even if the gentleman needed a good talking to. Now Amy, on the other hand…If only she had the chance to speak with him. Tell him how unkind, how disruptive his decision was to…
She paused along the drive, turning to the shrill sound of a chicken’s squawking, followed by more clucking behind the stables.
Chickens? That had to mean someone was here. Unless her father was the one disrupting the hens.
Still, she’d better be sure.
“Amy?”
She paused, looking over her shoulder to where Mama called from the just-visible carriage.
Amy nodded, though she held up a forefinger, signaling for her mother to wait just a moment. Swiftly, she turned and headed for the sta
bles that were rather fortunately placed just out of sight from the carriages and Mama’s disapproving gaze.
She poked her head into the stables first. Old, damp straw filled the ground to capacity, the stale scent accosting her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and backed out of the edifice. No one had been inside there that day, or that year, by the look of it.
She rounded the stables next, and the clucking grew louder until she turned the corner and reached the back of the building, coming upon a small henhouse with three chickens wandering within. Their heads tipped to the side in a jerking motion as she approached, as if they wondered what this strange woman was doing on their property.
Smiling, she bent down toward them on the outside of the henhouse. “Good morning, ladies.”
They clucked in response. Their lush golden feathers shone in the warm sunlight, their bodies full and plump.
“You certainly seem well-taken care of, eh? But where is your master?”
More squawking.
“You aren’t being of much help, you know.” She smiled at her own joke. “Well, whatever happens, I shall seek after your well-being. Will that suffice?”
Cluck, cluck, cluck.
“Excellent.” She stood from her hunched position and looked around her, dusting off her skirts in the process.
There was no one in sight back here, either. She blew out a breath. The hens were clearly fed and watered, what with their glossy feathers and swelling chests. But if the owner could allow his manor to become derelict, who knew what he’d allow to happen to these hens.
Indignation rose within her. Even the mere idea of anyone neglecting the animals made her ill. Turning on her heel, she made for the front drive. Mama was typically just as defensive of animals. Once she heard of the chickens on the property, surely she’d be as defensive as Amy.
But Amy did not return to the carriage, for just as she rounded the corner of the stables, she came face-to-face with a cream, pointed beak and small, beady eyes.
Yelping, she lifted her hands and jumped back in surprise. The chicken, frightened by Amy’s shriek, frantically flapped her wings, sending the pungent scent of poultry and golden feathers flying toward her.
The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5) Page 3