The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  “Oh, but the streets will be so very muddy, Charity,” Mrs. Winslow said, concerned as ever for her daughter’s well-being.

  “That is true,” William agreed.

  “I’m certain William will see she returns clean and in one piece,” Mother said. “Will you not, son?”

  William nodded. “Of course.”

  The carriage pulled away, and William moved toward the outskirts of town, only to be halted a brief moment as Charity threaded her hand through his arm.

  When Miss Paxton had done the very same, it had taken a great deal of focus to keep moving one step in front of the other. With Charity, there was not even a stirring of his heart.

  Did he expect there to be one, after he’d declared—to Miss Paxton, no less—that he did not love Charity?

  In truth, he knew all along that he did not, though he’d regretted his words the moment they’d left his mouth. He knew Miss Paxton would never tell a soul, but admitting to not loving the woman he’d planned to marry was not ideal.

  “What are you thinking of so deeply, William?”

  He blinked. “Nothing of importance. I’m glad you suggested to walk. It is proving to be a fine day after all.”

  Charity squeezed his arm. His heart didn’t respond. “I must admit, I had an ulterior motive in asking you. You do recall how I dislike walking?”

  “Of course.” Amy enjoyed walking, like he did.

  “It is just that, well, we’ve not had much time with only the two of us since my return, and I would very much like to discuss our future.”

  He’d always admired her boldness. She had been the only woman he knew who did not dance around with words—until he met Miss Paxton. Now Miss Paxton’s boldness impressed him, and Charity’s, well, frankly, it frightened him.

  Would she be discussing how their future was affected by his obvious attachment to Miss Paxton?

  He tugged at his cravat with his free hand. “Very well.”

  “The Paxtons seem like a fine family.”

  Those weren’t the words he’d expected. He answered carefully. “Yes, I believe they are.”

  “And Miss Paxton is as lovely a woman as I have ever seen.”

  William swallowed, unable to respond. Why was it so blasted hot in the middle of autumn? Where was the cool rain from before? The rain that had slid down the edge of Miss Paxton’s straw bonnet and speckled the blue of her gown.

  Charity kept her gaze focused forward. “Did you have much time to get to know her?”

  He struggled to draw a deep breath, his vision beginning to blur. “I suppose I did. I was required to mend the cottage often, so naturally I grew to know her and her family.”

  Would Charity accept his skirted response?

  She stopped walking, turning to face him directly. Her dark eyes peered into his. For years, they had been friends, for years they’d spoken daily and gotten to know one another better than anyone. He knew she suspected something more was going on. Would she press it? Would she make him say the truth—that he had deep, undeniable feelings for Miss Paxton? Or did she wish to avoid hearing the words aloud as much as he did?

  A lifetime passed before she finally spoke again, her voice as soft as the brooklet they stood beside. “We were both aware of our agreement, were we not? If I returned from London without having given away my heart to another, we would make our final arrangements for our marriage.”

  William’s brow twitched. That was not all of their agreement, if he recalled. Didn’t he have a say in it, as well?

  “I have returned unengaged, and I still wish to marry.” She gave a pregnant pause. “Do you?”

  William stiffened. He’d expected the question for days now, and he’d torn himself to pieces like a scrap paper, trying to decide his answer. Of course, this was an easier question than, “Have you fallen in love with Miss Paxton?”

  So did he still wish to marry? Of course he did. But did he still wish to marry Charity? He…did not know. Surely he could not give up their relationship, the years of planning, the stability he always had with her, the healing it would do for both of their families—not to mention the very real duty he had to the Winslows. After what Grandfather had done to them, William had to make it right. Didn’t he?

  After all, Charity expected this marriage. As did his parents. They’d waited for it for as long as he had.

  But then, had his feelings not changed? Did his heart not face a different direction now? He glanced up the road, realizing only then how near they stood to the cottage—so near he could see the thatched roof peeking through the golden leaves of the trees.

  So near he could see Miss Paxton’s room.

  He pulled away, forcing his eyes on Charity. He could not forget his responsibility to his family, to the Winslows, or to Charity simply because his soul longed for something other than what logic and duty required.

  Miss Paxton may have brought peace and joy, excitement and laughter to his life. But Charity would bring a life of ease. She would never speak of her troubles or listen to his, just like now. She may not smile or laugh or carry chickens or run from Highland cows. But that was not all a marriage was, was it?

  Besides, how well could he really know Miss Paxton after only a few weeks? He’d known Charity his whole life.

  He drew a deep breath. “Yes, Charity. We will marry.”

  She blew out a slow breath, the faintest whisper of a smile on her lips. “Wonderful. We must get straight to planning then. I intend for the banns to be read this very week, if possible.”

  He nodded, unable to speak, his throat as dry as the brittle leaves crunched and broken beneath his boots.

  She stood on the tips of her toes, placing a kiss to his cheek. This time, his heart picked up, but only because he saw a hint of Miss Paxton pulling away from her window in the cottage.

  But he must have imagined it, for in the next instant, the vision was gone.

  It was better this way. He had made his decision. He would be happy with Charity. He knew that he would.

  But then, why could he not stop himself from gazing up at Miss Paxton’s window again, hoping, praying for a glimpse of the one woman who had managed to set his heart aflame?

  Amy swiped the tears away from her eyes, smoothed her gown, straightened her hair, and left her room.

  She was finished with the games, with the heartache, and the loneliness. And she was going to do something about it.

  With determined steps, she marched down the stairs, gentlemen’s voices growing louder as she approached the sitting room.

  Without hesitation, she entered the room, abruptly stopping in the center.

  “Amy?” Mama said, tipping her head to the side. “What is it?”

  Amy didn’t look at her mother. Or her father or brother.

  Instead, she looked directly at Mr. Roberts. “Sir, I wish to speak with you for a moment. In private.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A few days later, with Birchwick Hall’s ledger, a quill, and an extra bottle of ink in hand, William made his way back to the drawing room. Charity and their mothers were busy with preparations for the wedding, and though he had very little opinion about what food they ate, what he wore, or which guests were invited, the women insisted he be present.

  “William?”

  He paused, turning as his father left the library William had just passed. “Father. Good morning. What are you keeping busy with today?”

  “Merely reading for a moment.” He removed his spectacles and held them in the same hand which grasped his closed book. “And you?” He motioned to William’s own full hands. “Moving your station of work, I take it?”

  William sniffed. “It would appear so. The ladies require my presence for their wedding plans, but I thought I might as well do something productive whilst I wait for them to summon me.”

  Father’s smile didn’t reach his hazel eyes. “I’m proud of you, son, for marrying Miss Winslow. For performing your duty and mending the bridge broken betwe
en our families. It is a good thing you are doing, a choice with which your mother and I are very pleased.”

  William dropped his gaze. Duty. That was precisely what this wedding was. The more time that passed, the more he realized it, as the desire all but fled him to fix what his grandfather ruined.

  “Are you looking forward to the wedding?” Father asked next.

  “Doesn’t every groom?”

  William could never answer directly when asked about the wedding. It was always one slight falsehood after the next.

  “Are you so very happy, Mr. Eastwood?”

  “I have no reason not to be.”

  “You must be so pleased this is coming about so quickly.”

  “Yes, very quickly, indeed.”

  “Is Miss Winslow beside herself with joy?”

  “Yes, enough joy for the both of us, it would seem.”

  Even to his own parents he needed to twist his answer to avoid any further guilt. For as much as he wanted to be the same as before—to feel the same as before—his heart was not in his decision.

  But he had made his choice. And now he would live with it for the rest of his life.

  “William?”

  William blinked. “Sorry, yes?”

  Father gave him an odd look before repeating the words William had not heard. “I was merely expressing my appreciation for what you’ve done with the estates while we’ve been away. I know I was hesitant at first, especially allowing people to lease the cottage, but now I see how it will benefit us. You are a wise man. Far wiser than my own father.”

  William looked away. They never spoke of Grandfather. They didn’t need to start now. “I had hoped to make a great many more changes before you arrived. But, perhaps we can work on them together, now you are here.”

  William had never done much with Father, the two having very little in common. William usually spent his time with Mr. Rutledge instead. But it certainly wouldn’t hurt attempting to gain a better relationship now Grandfather was gone.

  Father peered down at his book and spectacles. “Oh, no. I haven’t the intellect for that, I’m afraid. I’ve a mind much more suited to reading.”

  He gave a departing nod then moved down the hallway.

  William watched after him, his nerves sparking with frustration. How often had Grandfather said those exact words, destroying Father’s confidence and making him feel as tall as a blade of grass. How could Grandfather’s influence still be constricting Father?

  But then, wasn’t marrying Charity constricting William?

  He shook his head, though the truth had already penetrated.

  Before, he would have married Charity because he wanted to. Now, he was following through with their marriage because of his duty.

  He was no better than his father.

  With a heart as shriveled as the curling petals of a dying rose, William entered the drawing room.

  Mother greeted him with a happy smile from across the room, while Charity and Mrs. Winslow nodded their salutations before returning their attention to the papers scattered before them.

  Mother motioned him forward. “Finally, you have returned. Come. Give us your opinion on which food will be best served at the gathering after the wedding.”

  William deposited his belongings on the table and stifled a sigh, taking a few steps toward them to put in some effort. “I always enjoy a strawberry tart.”

  “A strawberry tart?” Mrs. Winslow said. “Heavens, no. Imagine the stains that might occur. No, let us choose something a little safer.”

  “That is a valid point, Mama, but if William wishes for a strawberry tart at his own wedding, he should have the right to have it,” Charity defended.

  William backed away from the women. There was no place for him there. “No, no. It’s all right. You may choose to serve whatever you’d like.”

  Charity’s eyes followed him as he retreated across the room. Ever since her return, she’d taken to staring at William for long, unexplained moments, as if trying to decipher his very thoughts. Typically, William would leave her sight to avoid the discomfort her stares caused.

  This time, however, he hardly noticed, settling down on his chair behind the small desk. With a sigh, he opened his ledger, grateful for the distraction that came with running three estates. He’d have enough to distract him for the rest of his life, if he wished for it. But over time, he wouldn’t need the distraction. Over time, he’d forget Amy and be happy with Charity.

  And at some point, he and Charity would find more in common.

  He paused, his quill lingering in the open bottle of ink.

  “Charity,” he called across the room without another thought, “would you like to play Battledore and Shuttlecock with me?”

  She pulled back, and the mothers exchanged odd glances. “What, right this moment?”

  He shrugged. “It could be an enjoyable use of our time.”

  “You know I dislike the sport.”

  “I do, but perhaps if I pressed you to play, you’d be more inclined?”

  “No, that would make me more disinclined.”

  Mrs. Winslow laughed. “It would appear that our Mr. Eastwood has forgotten how stubborn my daughter is. She is strong in mind. That is just what a gentleman needs to keep him in line.”

  She smiled proudly at her daughter, who peered down at the papers once more, avoiding further eye contact. “Perhaps another time, my dear. There is much to be decided upon before we are to wed.”

  William chewed the inside of his cheek. Over the last few days, Charity had immersed herself in her—their—wedding plans, becoming rather manic about the whole ordeal.

  He couldn’t decide if that was because she actually enjoyed the planning, or because she was keeping busy to prevent her mind from dwelling on other things—like the fact her betrothed was in love with someone else.

  He cringed. She couldn’t suspect his feelings for Miss Paxton now. Not after he’d still agreed to wed. He was no doubt being overly anxious about the whole thing.

  “Mr. Eastwood. Mr. Hugh Paxton to see you, sir.”

  William started, looking to the door in surprise as the butler stood to the side to allow Hugh Paxton—Hugh Paxton, of all people—into the drawing room.

  What the devil was he doing here? Especially alone and with that smirk on his lips?

  After bows and curtsies, Hugh straightened. “Good morning.”

  William hesitated, wishing to ask outright what the man was doing there. But with the surprised looks on each of the women’s faces, he knew he needed to make the introductions first.

  As the women resumed their seats by the far window—though still close enough to hear the conversation—William placed a strained smile on his lips. “So, Mr. Paxton, to what do we owe the pleasure?”

  Hugh strode about the room like he was master of Birchwick, eying the pictures on the wall and the gilded mirror behind the marble hearth as he spoke. “I do apologize for my lack of notice. I was merely riding by and recalled that I have been entirely remiss in congratulating you and your lovely bride-to-be. I thought to remedy my oversight with a short visit. I understand the two of you are to be married very soon?”

  Charity responded before William had the chance. “We are, sir. And we are very much looking forward to it.”

  “Oh, indeed, we are,” Mother piped in, looking at the list she created with Charity and Mrs. Winslow. “My husband and I could not be happier with the decision our son has made to marry Miss Winslow. The pride we feel…” She trailed off with a happy shake of her head.

  Hugh’s gaze shifted to William, whose stomach tossed back and forth like the choppy waves of Coniston Water.

  Hugh paused near a shelf and ran his fingers along the spines of a few books. William watched him with a heavy gaze. Did Hugh’s family know he was there? Was Miss Paxton aware of his presence?

  “How is your family?” he asked with nonchalance. Charity’s eyes were on him in an instant, but he didn’t meet her star
e. He didn’t need to. He was merely asking after the state of his tenants.

  Hugh pulled a book from a shelf and flipped through the worn pages. “Oh, we are well, of course. Looking forward to our return to Bath. Even more so now that my sister has a wedding to plan.”

  Shock cut through William. His breathing shallowed, and his mind blurred. Surely he’d misheard Hugh’s words. Surely, he was mistaken.

  “Pardon?” he managed.

  Finally, Hugh looked up. The look in his eyes was far too innocent, as was the innocuous smile playing about his lips. “Oh, haven’t you heard? Amy is to be married. To Mr. Roberts.”

  William’s heart dropped, his chest concaving. All words fled him, his thoughts spinning so swiftly, he thought he might fall over.

  Miss Paxton was to marry Mr. Roberts? It wasn’t true. How could it be? After all she’d said of him, how could this be happening?

  “Well that is delightful, isn’t it?” came Charity’s voice from somewhere across the room.

  William leaned his knuckles against the desk to ground himself. Surely Miss Paxton had not made the decision herself to marry the man. Surely she’d been talked into it by no one else but Hugh.

  His fists curled.

  “When will they be wed?” Charity asked.

  Her voice sounded distant as fiery blood rushed through his ears. He was only vaguely aware of her watchful gaze on William.

  “The moment we return to Bath, the banns will be read,” Hugh explained. “I must say, I’m quite looking forward to having Mr. Roberts as part of our family. He is a good friend, after all. And always so kind and respectful to Amy.” He stared at William. “Most importantly, he’s honest.”

  William’s legs tensed. He drew in a deep breath, ready to accuse Hugh of his treachery, but Hugh replaced the book in the shelf with a sigh.

  “Well, I do apologize for such a swift visit, but I shan’t intrude any longer. Thank you for allowing me to share with you my good news and felicitations on your own. Good day to you all.”