The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5)

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The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5) Page 7

by Deborah M. Hathaway


  Her tone was sincere enough, but William knew the woman enough already to feel the censure in her words. What he could not understand, however, was the reasoning behind her sudden willingness to feign politeness.

  Perhaps something to do with the argument she’d had with her brother? Before he could decipher, Mrs. Paxton spoke to him from across the table.

  “So, Mr. Eastwood, do tell us more about yourself.”

  He placed his teacup on his saucer, bracing himself for the barrage of questions that always followed such a statement.

  “Have you any brothers or sisters?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am. My family consists of myself and my parents, but we find it suits us well.”

  “Your parents?” Mr. Paxton’s brow rose in surprise. “Forgive me. I assumed…You said Corcliffe fell under your care after your grandfather’s passing. I assumed control went to you because your parents…”

  His words ended in an uncomfortable silence, but William shook his head to ease the tension. “Not to worry. Of course that would be the natural assumption. My parents are alive, however, and are on holiday in the south, enjoying a bit of sun and sea.”

  Grandfather had forbidden Mother and Father to go to anywhere near the sea. Some rubbish excuse of the salty air making him ill, so he would not allow anyone to go since he could not. London was permitted occasionally, but for more than five years, they hadn’t left Cumbria once. William had been the one to push his parents to Cornwall a fortnight after the funeral, otherwise he was sure they would have lived out the rest of their lives in Coniston.

  The Paxtons—all but Miss Paxton—remained silent with heavy glances. Clearly, they wished to hear why exactly the control of the estates had passed over his father. William wished to keep the past where it belonged—in the past. It was one reason things were so easy with Charity and the Rutledges. They knew about his history, so he did not have to speak about it.

  But a stranger’s curiosity was insatiable unless he gave him or her just enough to thrive on.

  He continued. “My father passed control to me when he did not consider himself well enough to do so.”

  That was true. Father never thought himself capable of managing such properties.

  “You haven’t the ability to see to such matters, son,” Grandfather would say. “Leave it to me.”

  “And when you die, Father? What happens then?”

  “I will do my best to outlive you, for then I shan’t have to leave my property willingly in your hands.”

  Thank heavens the old man had been wrong. But his words had affected William’s father to the point that he didn’t think himself capable of anything—leaving the brunt of the work to William alone.

  “Fortunately,” William continued, “I’ve never minded a little hard labor.”

  “And fortunately, your hard labor has paid off,” Mrs. Paxton said. “You are a most admirable landlord. Is he not, Amy?”

  The words were meant to compensate for Miss Paxton’s earlier slight, he was sure of it.

  Miss Paxton blinked, as if coming out of a daze. With a quick look toward Hugh, she nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. Very admirable, indeed.”

  William studied her for a moment, but she merely took another sip of tea and peered out over the garden. He had not understood her anger toward him, not when he’d returned the criticisms she’d lobbed at him first. But now her sudden kindness was even more baffling.

  He hardly believed it had to do with anything her parents could have said. A sudden change of heart was even less believable. But the argument she’d had with her brother…

  “Have you lived in Coniston your whole life, Mr. Eastwood?” Mrs. Paxton asked next.

  He pulled his gaze away from Hugh, who stuffed a biscuit into his mouth.

  “Yes, I have,” William replied.

  “What a lovely place to grow up. Mr. Paxton and I spent a holiday in Ambleside when we were first married. Since then, we have made it a point to travel the Lake District nearly every year. Autumn is our favorite time to visit. Is it not, Mr. Paxton?”

  “Indeed. The views cannot be matched. Nor the lack of crowds.” He paused, a wink sent toward his wife. “And it is made especially delightful this time to have Hugh and Amy with us.”

  Miss Paxton’s eyes twinkled at her father’s words, though any trace of joy disappeared when she noted William looking at her.

  “This is our first time staying in Coniston, though,” Mr. Paxton continued. “We wouldn’t mind a suggestion or two on which sights to see first.”

  “Oh, yes. That would be very helpful, indeed,” Mrs. Paxton agreed.

  William thought for a moment, acutely aware of Miss Paxton glancing over to Hugh, who was staring at the biscuit he’d bitten in two, nodding his head as if he was heartily enjoying the sweet.

  “I would highly suggest taking the pathway around Coniston Water,” William said, struggling to focus. “Or if you prefer a heartier walk, I would suggest the Old Man of Coniston.”

  “Oh, excellent suggestions,” Mr. Paxton said.

  “Yes, indeed. I’ve never seen the Old Man before,” his wife said next with growing excitement.

  Silence followed, and Miss Paxton’s voice sprouted forth. “Who is the old man of Coniston?”

  All eyes fell on her innocent expression. Mr. and Mrs. Paxton chuckled, and Hugh threw back his head with a chortle.

  “Forgive me,” William said with an amused grin. “I should have explained. The Old Man of Coniston is what we call the fell just west of here.”

  Miss Paxton’s expression dropped, red tinting her cheeks. “I see. How silly of me.”

  More chuckling ensued, and, to William’s utter chagrin, his heart reached out to her. “It is a simple mistake. No harm done.”

  Instead of the gratitude he’d foolishly expected, Miss Paxton glanced up at him, anger darkening the blue of her eyes.

  He pulled back. Why was she not scowling at her family in such a way? They were the ones teasing her.

  Her lips slipped into a firm line until Hugh cleared his throat, and her gaze shifted to her brother as she removed her frown.

  “Well, such a fell sounds like a lovely thing to behold.”

  William stuck his tongue in his cheek, considering the woman for a moment as Mr. and Mrs. Paxton continued to speak with Hugh about the barren mountain range west of Coniston village.

  Surely Miss Paxton had been about to critique William. And this time, he knew what had stopped her. Her brother had some sort of hold over her, he was sure of it.

  His mind raced. He’d seen control evident in a relationship before. Mother and Father had cowered often around Grandfather. They’d hang their heads, never make eye contact, walked on protruding nails to avoid stepping a foot out of place.

  Miss Paxton, however, had not only swatted her brother but was standing up to him before.

  So why did it appear like she was relying so heavily upon him now?

  “Mr. Eastwood,” Mr. Paxton said, interrupting William’s musings, “we are anxious for your opinion on the matter. Where would you recommend is the best place to see views of the Old Man?”

  An idea sparked in his mind, like a candle glowing in the darkness. “As luck would have it, I do know the best place to see it. I know this is rather short notice, but I will be holding a little picnic on the grounds of Birchwick Hall this coming Thursday. We will be sure to take a walk to where we will have unbeatable views of the fell. I would be pleased to have you all there.”

  “Oh, how delightful!” Mrs. Paxton exclaimed.

  Her husband nodded. “Indeed, we will be happy to attend, Mr. Eastwood.”

  “I look forward to it, as well,” Hugh said, chewing through another biscuit, “as, I’m certain, does my sister.”

  He gave a significant look at Miss Paxton before she responded.

  “Of course,” she said with too much brightness. “I do enjoy parties.”

  “Excellent.” William hid his suspicion
. There would be time enough to decipher her behavior—and Hugh’s sudden influence over his sister.

  Though it was no business of his, he could not deny the inexplicable desire he had to decipher what secrecy was occurring between the siblings—and to ensure the same controlling relationship was not in place that he’d witnessed for so long between his parents and grandfather.

  Heaven help Hugh Paxton if it was.

  Chapter Seven

  Thursday came far too quickly for Amy. Hugh and their parents were of course more than thrilled to be finally stepping foot on the grounds of Mr. Eastwood’s fine estate. Their eyes hungrily took in the tan stonework, rectangular windows, and bronzed chimneys of the three-storied home.

  “How majestic,” Mama breathed as they were shown to the back of the estate and Birchwick’s immense gardens stretched out before them.

  “I’ve never seen such meticulous work,” Papa murmured.

  Neither had Amy. Not a blade of grass reached over the pathway they walked upon, and every hedge was cut with perfect precision. Even the trees held onto their red and orange foliage, as if their branches feared dropping a single leaf, thereby ruining the exactness of the estate.

  Instead of eying the scenery, Hugh walked backwards, still ogling the house with rounded eyes. “It’s larger than Roseley, that’s for certain.”

  Amy shook her head. Her family was besotted, clear as day. How was she the only one with any sense? They were focusing only on Mr. Eastwood’s wealth and privileged birth. But Amy could not help but wonder, if this estate was so immaculately kept, why were the others left in tatters? Mr. Eastwood had admitted to Father that Flitfield Cottage had faired as poorly as Corcliffe Manor just a short month ago, but the man had given no explanation as to why.

  Of course, he was allowed his privacy, but what naturally followed was Amy’s belief that Mr. Eastwood only cared to improve the estate that revealed just how affluent he was. Perhaps he was not as wonderful as everyone assumed.

  Or perhaps Amy was still bitter about his treatment of her upon their first meeting.

  “Are you ready, Amy?” Hugh came up to walk beside her, interrupting her thoughts. “This will be the true test of your will to trust me.”

  He winked. This certainly would be a test. She’d never trusted Hugh—especially when it came to matters of the heart. But then, Hugh had more than proven himself by not pushing her toward Mr. Eastwood. Her brother had shown her a level of respect she wasn’t sure he’d possessed until that moment.

  At any rate, she didn’t have much of a choice but to trust his advice. She certainly wasn’t succeeding on her own, as was evident in her earlier pursuit of Mr. Roberts.

  Nerves rustled in her stomach like brittle leaves trembling on a weak branch. “Are you certain I can do this, Hugh? I’m so worried I’ll make a fool of myself again.”

  He nudged her with his elbow. “You needn’t worry. I’m here to help. Unless, of course, another woman catches my fancy.”

  “You had better be teasing.”

  “Of course he is.” Father came up beside them, offering his arm to Amy, which she readily accepted. “For he knows, should he do anything that hurts you, he’ll answer to me.”

  Hugh feigned offense. “Have either of you any faith in me?”

  “No,” Amy and Papa declared simultaneously.

  Hugh pulled his lips down, blinking mutely. “I shall simply have to prove myself then, won’t I?”

  He shook his head, as if unable to comprehend his family’s lack of faith in him, then fell behind them to walk beside Mama, who gave him an encouraging pat on his arm.

  As they neared the party, laughter and conversation sailed across the grounds toward them. Grass and trees of orange and yellow stretched as far as one could see. The sparse, white clouds sailed across the otherwise blue skies, casting dark, uneven shapes across the green fields and a large white tent set up on the open stretch of grass.

  “Are you certain you wish to go through with this?”

  Amy peered quizzically at her father, having to crane her neck back to see his face due to his tall stature. “With the party?”

  “No, with Hugh advising you on how to find a husband.”

  “Oh,” she said with a shake of her head. “No, I’m not certain. But I really have no choice, do I?”

  “I wish…” He trailed off with a sigh.

  “What, Papa?”

  He hesitated, then with a touch of sorrow in his eyes, he smiled down at her. “I only wish you could see your value. Your goodness. Then you wouldn’t feel the need to seek advice from your brother to capture a gentleman’s attention. That is all.”

  The words sunk through her defenses, like water seeping through the cracks of a stone wall. She rested her head against his shoulder and arm in a brief embrace. “Oh, Papa. If only all men were like you, I wouldn’t have to follow Hugh’s advice on how to behave better.”

  He huffed. “There’s something I never thought I’d hear. Hugh instructing someone else on how to behave.”

  They shared a look of amusement before Papa continued. “I suppose we must give him credit for your change of heart towards Mr. Eastwood, though. That gentleman deserves our full respect, I must say.”

  She didn’t contest his words, even though she disagreed with him heartily.

  Father rested his free hand on her fingers wrapped around his arm. “Just promise me, cricket, to never extinguish that vivacity within you to live life to its fullest. A true gentleman would never think to dim that brightness, only to help it increase in strength. That fire you have inside, that is what makes you, you.”

  She swallowed the swelling emotion in her throat. “Thank you, Papa,” she whispered.

  If she could but find a gentleman half as good to her as her father was, she’d be very happy, indeed.

  Tucking his words into the folds of her heart, Amy walked toward the party with bravery and determination…until Mr. Eastwood stepped forward to greet them first.

  “Welcome to Birchwick Hall. I’m so pleased to have you with us.”

  His eyes settled on each one of them, lingering a moment longer on Amy.

  “Your home is stunning, Mr. Eastwood,” Mama said. “And the gardens are simply immaculate.”

  His smile faltered. “Thank you. My grandfather took great pride in this property.”

  Amy narrowed her eyes. His grandfather? Was that where Mr. Eastwood had inherited his vanity? They must have shared a close bond, what with his spirits falling at the mention of his grandfather.

  Mr. Eastwood cleared his throat. “Allow me to introduce you to the others.”

  He led the way forward, introducing the Paxtons to the three couples beneath the large tent. Mr. and Mrs. Booth were seated beside a young couple, the Shaws, who seemed incapable of removing their eyes from one another. Next to them was the older Mrs. Rutledge, who greeted them warmly after introducing them to her husband, Mr. Philip Rutledge, who sat beside her.

  “It is so good to see you again, Miss Paxton, Mrs. Paxton.” Mrs. Rutledge motioned to the chair beside her. “I trust you are enjoying your stay at the cottage.”

  “Indeed, we are,” Mama said as she took the seat, Papa standing behind her. “Are we not, Mr. Paxton?”

  As Father replied and the conversation continued, Amy’s attention wavered to the small group of younger people playing Battledore and Shuttlecock nearby. They raised their rackets high overhead, struggling to keep the shuttlecock flying through the air. A young woman in a soft blue dress jumped to reach it, not seeing the tall, thin gentleman nearby, who was also attempting to strike the feathered cork. In the next moment, they landed atop each other, a tangled mess on the grass.

  Scrambling apart, the young man and woman blushed from cheek to cheek, all while the rest of the group joyfully laughed at their discomfort.

  Amy couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

  “Do you enjoy the sport, Miss Paxton?”

  Amy turned to face Mrs. Rutledg
e. “Yes, I do.”

  “You ought to join in their game then. That is Mrs. Booth’s daughter in the blue dress.” Mrs. Booth nodded. “I’m certain they wouldn’t mind extra players if you and your brother joined them.”

  Instantly, Amy shook her head. “Oh, thank you. But I wouldn’t wish to impose.”

  “You are sure to be most welcome,” Mr. Rutledge encouraged. “You seem as if you know the difference between the top end of the racket and the bottom. Mr. Eastwood here certainly doesn’t.”

  The man winked at Amy, and her lips curled at his lighthearted teasing. Mr. Eastwood even seemed to have a spark in his eye.

  “That’s hardly true, sir. You’ve seen me play.”

  Mr. Rutledge nodded. “You play well enough, I suppose.”

  He shifted in his chair, wincing with a sudden grimace. Amy stared, pained wrinkles forming across his brow. Mr. and Mrs. Booth struck a conversation with Mama and Papa, but Amy stood by in silence as Mr. Eastwood leaned forward, whispering to Mr. Rutledge. “Would you be more comfortable inside?”

  “Nonsense, Will,” Mr. Rutledge whispered back. “The fresh air is making me feel more alive than I have in fifty years.”

  Will? He’d called Mr. Eastwood, Will? How close were these men? And what sort of pain was he feeling?

  Mr. Eastwood hesitated, though he relented with a sigh, his watchful eye on the elderly gentleman who still winced.

  Hugh’s words nearby finally pulled her attention away from the intimate moment, and she looked toward him.

  “I’m inclined to agree with them, sister.” He tossed his head toward the group of players. “Come, let us join in their fun.”

  Her mind tried to revert to the previous conversation. She hadn’t been lying when she’d said she enjoyed the game, but she didn’t take to playing with strangers. Perhaps she might fall in the same manner as the woman in blue, Miss Booth? Amy would be humiliated in Coniston, just as she was in Bath.

  She shook her head. “I think I should like to sit, Hugh,” she said softly as the conversation picked up between the others.

 

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