The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  As the walk progressed, the pathway narrowed, and the party fell into single-file between thick underbrush and a stone wall covered in moss. Grass poked through the larger crevices between the grey stones, like facial hair making its first attempt to grow on a young man’s chin.

  As Miss Booth merged forward, Hugh fell back to walk behind Amy. Hugh had never been able to grow facial hair. Could Mr. Eastwood? No doubt.

  “What on earth are you doing?” he hissed over her shoulder. “Speaking with Miss Booth is not going to find you a husband, Amy. You must converse with one of the gentlemen.”

  “Perhaps I would, had I your help like you promised I would.”

  He pulled back. “How am I not helping you?”

  Amy slowed her pace, ensuring the others moved farther away so they might not overhear her conversation with her brother. “You are more interested in flirting with Miss Cox than helping me,” she whispered over her shoulder. “Do not deny it, for you know that is true.”

  Hugh grinned from ear to ear. “Of course I am more interested in her.”

  Amy huffed a sigh, turning her back on him. When would she learn her lesson with her brother? “Well, you would be better off avoiding the young woman. Mr. Jones is clearly in love with her.”

  “I know.” Amy didn’t need to turn to hear the nonchalance in his tone. “That’s what makes it all the better.”

  She scoffed, shaking her head. “You are despicable, Hugh.”

  “Come now, I’ve been helping you, though you claim otherwise. Tell me which gentleman you prefer.”

  Amy pressed her lips together, refusing to speak. But when she admitted to herself that Hugh had in fact helped her, she relented with another sigh. “I still cannot decide.”

  “Simply choose one,” Hugh said, coming to stand beside her as the pathway widened.

  She eyed the back of Mr. Payne’s blond head and Mr. Fisher’s tall stature. “I’ve been able to speak to them both with relative ease, and they both appear to be well-respected by those here. I suppose I ought to follow my instincts. But then, when have those ever been right? Whom do you think I ought to pursue?” He didn’t respond. “Hugh?”

  “What is it?” he replied distractedly.

  Amy pursed her lips. She followed his gaze to where Miss Cox walked arm-in-arm with Mr. Jones. Miss Cox peered back at Hugh with a grin, which he readily returned.

  “Hugh!” Amy whispered with vehemence.

  He turned toward her in surprise. “Heavens, why do you feel the need to speak to me in such a way? No wonder Mr. Roberts was frightened of you.”

  She scowled. “You promised me you would not allow another woman to distract you from helping me.”

  “And I shall keep my promise. I swore to help you, and I will. Right now, as a matter of fact.” He quickened his step. “Mr. Fisher, Mr. Payne. My sister has a most pressing question for you both.”

  Amy’s mouth parted. What the devil did he think he was doing?

  With an innocent look, he sauntered forward to walk beside Miss Cox and Mr. Jones, leaving Amy at a loss for words as Mr. Payne and Mr. Fisher stood on either side of her.

  “Yes, what is your question, Miss Paxton?” Mr. Fisher asked.

  “Well, I…” She swallowed, fighting the urge to pelt Hugh with a pebble atop his smug head as he looked back at her with another smirk.

  She pulled her eyes away from him, desperate to find a question for these gentlemen, but her mind continued to draw blanks. That is, until a pheasant from somewhere in the nearby brush crowed out.

  “I was wondering what color pheasants were,” she blurted out.

  What a perfectly horrid question. She knew what a pheasant looked like, and so did Hugh. What would these men think of her?

  They shared a glance.

  “You truly have never seen one before?” Mr. Fisher asked.

  “Oh, of course I have. I was merely having a discussion with my brother. He claimed ring-necked pheasants were more green-feathered, but I disagreed. He really can be foolish at times.” There, that would teach Hugh. “At any rate, I wanted a second or third opinion on the matter.”

  The gentlemen nodded with expressions of understanding. Thank heavens she’d managed to avoid them thinking she was an utter ninny.

  Mr. Payne replied first. “Well, your brother was slightly misinformed, I believe. A pheasant has a head full of feathers that are far more blue than they are green, I would say.”

  “Mmm, yes, I agree,” Mr. Fisher added. “Either way, they are far more colorful as a whole than their female counterparts.”

  Amy looked between them both, slightly more confident now they weren’t looking at her as if she’d gone mad. Hugh had told her gentlemen liked their ego to be stroked—much like a hound enjoyed a good petting. Hugh hadn’t appreciated her adding that last part, but it was rather fitting. Perhaps it was time to try that.

  “You appear to have a vast knowledge of pheasants, sir,” she said to Mr. Fisher.

  His chest puffed out like a robin’s. “Indeed, I do.”

  “As do I,” Mr. Payne piped in. “Were you aware, Miss Paxton, that they usually walk or run, as opposed to flying?”

  “Indeed?” Amy gave a feigned look of fascination.

  Pheasants were not her first choice in conversation topics, but at least the gentlemen seemed to be enjoying themselves.

  Hugh and Miss Cox’s laughter drifted toward her, chipping away at her raising spirits, but she focused all the harder on the gentlemen beside her.

  Mr. Fisher was next to volley another fact. “When pheasants do fly, though, they are able to sail as quickly as a horse can run.”

  “Heavens!” she said with an exaggerated hand to her chest.

  “Ah, they may fly hastily, but not so swiftly that I cannot shoot them from the sky.” Mr. Payne imitated a gunshot in the air.

  Amy’s eyes widened. She hadn’t expected that response. Nor had Mr. Fisher, by the color of his face that matched the red of a cardinal’s feathers.

  “Yes,” he muttered stoically. “‘Tis a marvel you are able to scare pheasants from their nesting grounds with hounds and still manage to capture them mid-flight.”

  Mr. Payne huffed a mirthless laugh. “Well, a gentleman must eat.”

  “And is said gentleman averse to fruits and vegetables? Cakes? Bread and cheese? There’s a plethora of options aside from birds, Payne, as you well know.”

  Amy stared directly ahead of her, blinking mutely as their argument continued. Miss Booth had said they had all grown up together. Did that mean Mr. Payne and Mr. Fisher often argued in such a way?

  “How you even call yourself a man is beyond me, Fisher.”

  “I don’t believe skinning birds is a requirement of manhood, Payne.”

  Amy looked between the both of them. “Gentlemen, surely we can agree to disagree here.”

  Her attempt to ease the argument was weak, at best. How would Hugh have her handle the situation?

  “Tell Mr. Fisher you love a good pheasant for dinner.”

  Well that certainly wouldn’t help diffuse the situation.

  “You are right, of course, Miss Paxton,” Mr. Fisher said in an unaffected tone. “Payne and I will never see eye-to-eye when it comes to his barbarism.”

  “No, indeed,” Mr. Payne agreed with a strained smile. “Nor will we ever agree over Mr. Fisher’s judgmental comments.”

  Amy blew out a slow breath, looking between them both again as they stared daggers at one another.

  “Fisher, Payne. Can you not see how terribly uncomfortable you are making Miss Paxton?”

  Amy’s heart thumped anxiously against her chest. Mr. Eastwood had slowed his progression to fall back to their small party and was now staring rather condemningly at his guests.

  “Oh, dear,” Mr. Fisher said with a contrite glance. “I do apologize, Miss Paxton.”

  “As do I, ma’am,” Mr. Payne added.

  “Oh, it is no trouble,” she said hurriedly.

/>   But both of them glanced away uncomfortably, tipping their heads in a bow and swiftly moving toward the others ahead of them.

  Amy watched their departing figures, longing to call them back, but she held her tongue. Her chance was lost. And now these men were scared away from her, too.

  All because of Mr. Eastwood.

  Indignation burned within her, and she stopped her progression to face him directly. “Just what do you think you are doing, sir?”

  Chapter Nine

  William stopped. “Pardon me?”

  Miss Paxton waved her hand toward the retreating gentlemen, remaining where she stood. Her voice was low, though it did not mask her frustration one bit. “You’ve run them both off now! Who knows when they shall return. This is all your doing.”

  He stared at her incredulously as she stormed off. She was upset with him? He could not make sense of the woman. He’d been watching her all day, but he was nowhere closer to discovering the truth about her behavior. She was all that was polite and amiable, only to turn caustic and biting in the very next moment—but only ever around William.

  Was she truly still upset about the chicken incident, or was there something more? Either way, he was running out of patience.

  Patience. Mr. Rutledge always said William needed more of it.

  With an aggravated sigh, he jogged to catch up with her. “Miss Paxton, I assure you, I thought only to help, as I didn’t think you were enjoying yourself in the midst of the argument. Rest assured, I will not interfere in such a way again, unless you should wish it.”

  She blinked, anger fading away as her eyes rounded. They darted toward the group. “That is perfectly all right. You were trying to help, as you said. And of course I greatly appreciate the gesture.”

  William narrowed his eyes. Another switch of character. Was this the real Miss Paxton, or was she the angry one from before?

  He glanced to where she stared, spotting Hugh, who had somehow managed to coax his way between Miss Cox and Mr. Jones and was now the one escorting the woman.

  Whatever was going on with Miss Paxton, William was certain her brother had something to do with it. She constantly looked to Hugh for…approval? Permission? William couldn’t be sure. But if control played even the smallest part in their relationship, he had to do something to help.

  His parents had never been able to stand up to Grandfather, even with William taking the initiative to do so himself. But perhaps, if he befriended Miss Paxton, he might help her find courage of her own.

  For now, it was time to swallow his pride. “Miss Paxton, forgive me if this is untoward, but I would like to begin our relationship anew.”

  She stared up at him warily, so he rushed forward.

  “As friends,” he clarified. “We did not meet on the best of terms, and I take full responsibility. You see, moments before I happened upon you, the hen I was carrying, well, she deposited her waste upon my waistcoat.”

  Her brow raised, but she made no further reaction.

  William continued. “I was rather put out, as I’m sure you can imagine. I’d spent half the morning chasing after the indigent wretches, particularly that last stubborn hen, so when she escaped my clutches yet again, directly into your unsuspecting face, I fear I took out my frustrations on you, and for that, I truly apologize. As well as for the other ungentlemanly words I’ve expressed to you.”

  He ended his speech, barely aware that he held his breath as he waited to see if she would grant him forgiveness. If she did not, William would swear the woman off forever, and she would have to learn how to stand up to her brother on her own.

  Much to William’s relief—for he did not know if he could allow such an injustice to occur—Miss Paxton’s lip twitched, and her features softened.

  “Your apology is accepted, Mr. Eastwood. If only you will accept my own apology for my treatment of you that first day. And for my words in the village. And then by the gate after that. And a few moments ago concerning the other gentlemen. And the negative thoughts I’ve had about you every day from our first meeting up until this moment.”

  He stared at her, blanking as to what to say in response to such a confession. Her smile was hesitant and rather pained, and suddenly, the humor of her words percolated throughout him.

  He laughed. It had been a long time since he’d genuinely laughed. Since long before Grandfather died. “Well, I do believe you are getting the better end of the deal. You are receiving my forgiveness for so many things.”

  His tone was light to ensure she knew he was in jest. “I am not unaware of your generosity, sir. But you did throw a chicken into my face.”

  He winced. “Ah, that I did. But only to keep my shirt and breeches clean from her…deposits.”

  Miss Paxton smiled fully this time, lips thinning and eyes squinting, creating small wrinkles at the sides. The reach of her grin was wide, though not too large to be displeasing or distracting. It was just enough to lighten the very air around her.

  At the sight, William’s heart forgot to keep its rhythm. He’d never seen anything so splendid, so bright, so infectious. And he wanted to keep it there for as long as he could.

  “You’ve led us on a pathway with no end, sir!”

  Blast her brother.

  William looked forward, reluctantly tearing his eyes from Miss Paxton’s cheery expression that vanished at Hugh’s declaration.

  The group had maneuvered around fallen stones swathed halfway in tall, overgrown grass and was now congregating near a wooden gate, where the pathway eventually disappeared.

  “Worry not.” He left Miss Paxton’s side to open the gate for his guests. “I’ve already spoken with Mr. Smith, and he has agreed to allow us passage across his fields. At the other side, we will have reached the best view of the Old Man.”

  “Oh, wonderful,” Miss Cox said, clasping onto Hugh’s arm. “This has been such a delightful walk. I’ll be loath to see it end.”

  William tipped his head to each of his guests who passed by, waiting until the last—Miss Paxton—had entered the gate before closing it.

  After securing the latch, he turned to join the others, stopping short just before he would have barreled directly into Miss Paxton, who stood just beyond the gate.

  Had she been waiting for him? No, that was ridiculous. She hardly seemed to notice him anyway, her eyes fixated on something at the opposite end of the field.

  He walked around her, expecting her to join him, but she remained still. Following her gaze, he discovered two large Highland cows grazing in the corner of the field, their shaggy, orange coats and long, pointed horns standing out against the backdrop of the verdant grass and dark stone wall.

  “Are you well, Miss Paxton?” he asked as she remained frozen to her spot.

  “Yes.”

  She didn’t move.

  “Then would you like to continue?”

  “Yes.” She took one step forward, then another, her focus staying on the cows.

  “Are you frightened of them?” he asked gingerly, not wishing to have her take offense and destroy the progress they’d made.

  “No, no,” she said a little too quickly. “I merely expected a field of sheep, not cows.”

  “Yes, the Smiths have a certain affinity for the creatures. They find them less cumbersome than sheep.” He smiled, but Miss Paxton didn’t respond. “You needn’t worry about them. They’re gentle creatures, and we are far enough away that we shan’t bother them, and they shan’t bother us.”

  That seemed to ease her worries to some degree, though her shoulders still raised tautly in her tan-colored spencer.

  His brow pursed. Was she truly so terrified of them? Well, forcing her to do something she was afraid of would do nothing but injure her. He’d learned as much from Grandfather.

  “If you wish, we do not have to cross the field at all. There is a way around the wall that merely adds a quarter of an hour. I wouldn’t wish for you to be pressured into doing something you have no desire to do.�
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  His pointed comment was a little heavy-handed, but Miss Paxton didn’t seem to notice.

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. I would hate to bring everyone back to walk elsewhere. No, I can do this.” She took one final glance at the cows then faced forward with squared shoulders. “I want to do this.”

  They had not taken two steps together before one of the cows bellowed out a long call, and Miss Paxton started, her pace increasing. “You’re sure they won’t charge?”

  “I’m absolutely certain.”

  He hid his grin, maneuvering to the other side of her so he stood between her and the cows. He’d never met anyone afraid of cows before, but he supposed growing up away from the country life had not done Miss Paxton any favors.

  Charity was not afraid of cows. She was not afraid of anything.

  She did not have so charming a smile as Miss Paxton, but—

  He frowned, stopping his thoughts. Where the devil had that come from? A pretty smile mattered not to him in comparison to a strong mind, and Charity had a strong mind, even more so than Miss Booth or Miss Cox. Charity never did anything she didn’t want to do. Admittedly, sometimes to a fault.

  His brow furrowed, his thoughts muddling until he noted Miss Paxton fidgeting beside him, peering around him to keep her eye on the cows.

  The woman was in need of a distraction. Perhaps a conversation would do nicely. After all, he still had a long way to go if he was going to befriend her enough to convince her she didn’t need her brother’s approval for every move she made.

  “What is it about these cows that makes you so fearful?” he asked.

  She peered up at him guardedly. “It is not just these cows. It is all cows. They can’t be trusted, what with how large they loom.”

  Her lips pulled down. Why did he want to see them lift again so badly?

  “So you are afraid of horses, too, then?”

  “Horses don’t have horns,” she said with a grim expression.

  He chewed his lip to prevent another grin. What was it about this woman being afraid of Highland cows that was just so…so adorable?

  “So cows you dislike, horses, you fare well enough with.”