The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5)

by Deborah M. Hathaway

  She would not have minded walking with just him, but to do so without Mr. Roberts now would be impossible.

  “Thank you both for the offer, but I’ll just take a turn around the garden before the sun sets. I won’t be long.”

  “Are you certain you don’t wish to take your betrothed with you, Amy?” Hugh asked, quirking a brow.

  Hugh had been insufferable ever since Amy’s engagement. He’d expressed his sorrow for her being hurt by Mr. Eastwood, but he couldn’t hide his satisfaction over her attachment to his friend.

  Thank heavens she was no longer taking his advice.

  “Yes, Hugh. I am certain,” she said, and with a pointed look in his direction, she left the room and the cottage behind.

  She didn’t want to offend her…her betrothed, but heavens, she needed a break.

  The moment she stepped outside, the tension in her shoulders eased. It wouldn’t always be like this, feeling awkward and tense around Mr. Roberts, would it? Surely things would be far more comfortable when they returned to Bath. Surely.

  However, she was not naïve enough to expect a great joy to overcome her at her marriage, nor any love to blossom between her and her husband. How could she, when her heart was already spoken for?

  Her eyes fell on the gate—still broken, just like her spirits. Mr. Eastwood had forgotten to send someone to fix it, but knowing how busy he was with the Rutledges—and Miss Winslow—she had pushed aside the thought of asking him to fix it again.

  Now, part of her regretted not requesting it of him, for she could have seen him at least one more time.

  She closed her eyes, turning her back to the gate as she wandered around the side of the house. She paused beside the cottage where a view of Coniston Water opened up before her, and she drew in a deep, soothing breath. The lake sparkled in the evening light, shimmering colors of blinding white and yellow with shades of dark blue and black.

  The early October air was cool, invigorating her limbs as it blew her curls about her temples.

  She would miss the peaceful atmosphere of this place. She would miss the quaint cottage and the many walks she could take in solitude. And she would miss Mr. Eastwood.

  Her shoulders fell forward. There he was again, where he always was—lurking in every corner of her mind, in every piece of her heart.

  The thought struck her like a blast of cold wind. Mr. Eastwood would never leave her…even when she married Mr. Roberts. And how was that fair to him? How was that being an honest and faithful wife?

  Her heart twisted. A rhythmic pulse beat against her brow, and she raised a hand to settle it. She’d made a mistake. A grave error. This had to be the worst decision she had ever made. When would she learn?

  She could not, in good conscience, marry the man. Not when she couldn’t be faithful to him. Not when she couldn’t even bear the mere thought of being with him, mentally or physically.

  She would be miserable without Mr. Eastwood. She would be lonely without a companion to love for the rest of her life. But she would be both if she agreed to a loveless marriage.

  Footsteps approached, and her heart skipped a beat. She blew out a steady, silent sigh. Mr. Roberts. She would talk to him. She would be honest with him now.

  “Mr. Roberts. I…”

  Her words trailed away when she turned to see the gentleman approaching.

  But it was not Mr. Roberts.

  “Mr. Eastwood?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Amy’s heart flew about like a shuttlecock sailing through the air. How she wished she could go back to that day, playing the sport with him, the only care in the world being that if she played too well, the man might be too impressed.

  He stopped a few paces before her, his eyes flitting from here to there. “Miss Paxton,” he greeted with a short bow. He removed his hat and clasped it behind his back. “I trust you are well?”

  “I am, thank you. And yourself?”

  He gave a quick nod then fell silent. Amy studied him, waiting for an explanation as to why he found his way to the cottage alone that evening.

  “Were you just now leaving Mrs. Rutledge’s?” she asked.

  “No.”

  Amy paused, waiting for him to continue.

  “I came to…to bid farewell to your family.”

  Her family. Not her. “They are in the sitting room. You may go through if you wish.” She nodded her head in dismissal then walked away.

  “Will you not join me?”

  She paused, turning back to face him. After only just escaping Mr. Roberts, whom she would now be breaking things off with? “No, I’d rather walk.”

  His eyes pulled to the front of the house.

  “Do not feel as if you must stay out here on my account,” she said, turning to face the lake once more. “I’m quite content being alone.”

  Unless, of course, she was referring to the rest of her life. In that case, she apparently required a husband who had spread rumors about her and only wished to wed her to receive his fortune again.

  What a fool she’d been.

  She fully expected Mr. Eastwood to move indoors. After all, he was engaged and should not be seen outside alone with another female. So when his footsteps neared her, she reminded him of the fact.

  “Where is Miss Winslow?”

  He stopped at her side. “At her house.”

  She bit her lip. “Does she know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  She took a few steps forward, resting a hand on the edge of the cottage, desperate to create more space between them. “Then you had better leave.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  Amy fixed her eyes on the shimmering lake, the small waves kissing the edge of the land as it lapped the grassy shoreline. No, she never wanted him to leave. Which was exactly why he needed to.

  “I think it is best if you do. Your betrothed would not approve of you being here.” And for good reason.

  Mr. Eastwood was silent for a moment. “She is no longer my betrothed.”

  Shock rattled Amy’s heart. Slowly, she turned to face him, a solemn expression on his brow. “What?”

  He took a step toward her. Pulling his hat in front of him, he curled his fingers round the bridge of it. “Miss Winslow and I are no longer engaged.”

  Amy searched his eyes. “How? How did this happen?”

  “She broke off the engagement after I told her the truth.”

  “The truth about what exactly?” Hope tried to break forth from the cage she’d held it in ever since Miss Winslow had returned, but she wouldn’t allow it to come forth.

  His eyes bore into hers. “That I do not love her. That I…love someone else.”

  Her legs shook. She took a step back, pressing her hand against the stone of the cottage. Was he saying…Could she dare to hope that he…

  “Miss Paxton,” he whispered, taking a step toward her, “I do not profess to…I cannot…” He released an aggravated sigh as he struggled for words, tugging at his cravat. “I wanted to say that I wish you every happiness with your upcoming marriage to Mr. Roberts.”

  He ended with another sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

  Amy frowned. After ending his engagement with Miss Winslow and hinting at his love for Amy, that is what he wanted to tell her?

  She pressed her lips together, pride and frustration pushing the words from her mouth before she could stop them. “Thank you. I’m sure we will be very happy together.”

  Now why in heaven’s name did she have to say that? She wasn’t even going to marry the man! And they certainly would not have been happy together.

  Mr. Eastwood ceased his fidgeting, his expression falling. “I hope you will be. Goodbye, Miss Paxton.”

  He turned on his heel, walking away from the cottage with swift footing. Amy bit her tongue to keep herself from calling after him, no matter how her heart longed to connect with his. She’d put herself out there too many times. If Mr. Eastwood was unwilling to fight for her, t
hen…

  Then what was he doing stopping? Her breathing constricted, her heart leaping to her throat.

  In a single moment, Mr. Eastwood turned, his gaze fixed on her. “No. No, actually, that is not true.”

  She shook her head in confusion. “What do you—”

  “I do not wish for you and Mr. Roberts to be happy together.” He strode toward her, one deliberate step at a time. “I don’t wish you to be happy with any man. Unless that man is me.”

  Her breathing shuddered, but she would not allow any further misunderstanding. “What are you saying, Mr. Eastwood?”

  He stopped only a step away from her. “Tell me that I am selfish. Tell me that I am desperate or hopeless or a fool. But never—never—tell me that I am the man who gave you up for another.”

  Tears sprung to her eyes, and she bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering. Was this truly happening?

  His expression softened, his eyes caressing her face. “I will always hold a fondness for Miss Winslow as my friend.” He leaned forward, taking Amy’s gloved hand in his. “But you, my darling Amy. You are and always will be my first—my only—love.”

  A smile spread across her lips, her chest swelling so greatly, she feared it might burst. How she’d longed for this moment, to hear him say such words. And now it was here, she could hardly believe it was true.

  Mr. Eastwood reached forward, brushing aside a curl that had blown across her brow. “If you choose to honor your agreement with Mr. Roberts, I will respect your decision. But, please, have it be your decision. Not mine, nor Mr. Roberts’s. Certainly not your brother’s. Yours.”

  Amy’s heart soared higher than the birds coasting above Coniston Water. This, this was what she had wanted, for the choice to be hers. To not be influenced by Hugh, or by her fear and worry over being alone. She wanted to make her choice out of love, out of the deepest desires of her heart.

  Looking up at him, a tear escaped her eye. “You, William. My choice is you.”

  He released a sigh. His own glassy eyes focused on hers before shifting to her lips.

  Her heart flipped with desire, and she leaned toward him.

  But…she couldn’t. Not yet.

  “William, wait…”

  He pulled back at once, concern in his eyes. “I’m sorry. We don’t have to…”

  She shook her head. “No, I must first speak with Mr. Roberts. It would not be right to—”

  “Eastwood! What the devil do you think you are doing?”

  William dropped his hand from Miss Paxton’s—from Amy’s arm, turning to face Mr. Roberts as he approached.

  “That is my betrothed!” Mr. Roberts shouted, coming upon them as rage popped his eyes into wide circles.

  More footsteps pattered behind the man, and they were soon joined by the entire Paxton family. Hugh eyed the distance between William and Amy, his lips in a firm line. Mr. and Mrs. Paxton, however…William couldn’t be sure, but he was fairly certain the look they exchanged with each other was filled with wide, hopeful eyes.

  “Have you no explanation for your behavior?” Mr. Roberts shouted, his face red.

  William squared his shoulders. “None whatsoever.”

  Mr. Roberts’s face scrunched together. “Then I require you to meet me, sir.”

  William grimaced. He had to have known such a thing would occur after nearly kissing another man’s intended. But how could he agree to a duel when his grandfather’s dueling had been the very thing to have started this entire mess in the first place?

  Then again, how could he honorably decline?

  Mr. Paxton stepped forward. “Just a moment, surely there is another way this may be solved.”

  “Yes, Mr. Roberts, be reasonable,” Mrs. Paxton added.

  Hugh remained silent, his eyes hungrily taking in the ordeal. He looked very much like he could pop back with a piece of pie and watch the entire thing unfold before his eyes.

  “I’ll be reasonable when I receive justice!” Mr. Roberts belted out, his voice jarring against the calming sound of Coniston behind them.

  Amy stepped forward. “Mr. Roberts, do calm yourself. A duel is hardly necessary.”

  “Hardly necessary?” he shouted. “You were in the arms of another man! Do you still expect us to wed after this?”

  “No, of course I don’t.”

  William could have cheered with pride over her confident stance. Mr. Paxton’s lips twitched. Mrs. Paxton covered her mouth with her hand. Even Hugh blinked in stunned silence.

  Mr. Roberts, however, merely crumpled his face into a greater frown. “I can only imagine what all of Bath will say when they hear about your shameful behavior, Miss Paxton.”

  William’s fists clenched. Before he could defend the woman he loved, however, Amy’s lips thinned.

  She walked toward Mr. Roberts, pointing her finger at his chest. “How dare you threaten me! How dare you even consider such a thing after the rumors you’ve already spread! Mr. Eastwood and I have not even so much as kissed, as I wished to end our engagement first—out of respect for you. Well, sir, consider this the formal end of our relationship. I wish you luck in finding another woman who will agree to marry you for you to regain your fortune.”

  He blinked, sputtering. “I-I will not stand for this. I will hold you to our engagement, or—”

  “Or you will what?” Mr. Paxton demanded. He moved forward, standing to his full height.

  Mr. Roberts cowered at once, taking a step back. “Very well, the engagement is void. But I still demand justice from Mr. Eastwood.”

  Hugh cleared his throat, inching toward Mr. Roberts with a hand on his shoulder. “Roberts, perhaps you ought to rethink this. After all, you’re more rubbish at swords and pistols than you are at rowing a boat.”

  Mr. Roberts’s angry eyes swung to Hugh’s. A moment later, however, his shoulders fell.

  “And,” Hugh said, his voice lowering so William could only just make out his words, “your parents won’t allow you a single pence back if they discover you’ve been dueling.”

  A silent, tense moment passed as all eyes watched Mr. Roberts. Finally, he released an aggravated sigh. “I never should have entangled myself with such a family. You are all a waste of my time.”

  With a spiteful look at Amy, he turned on his heel and headed straight for the road.

  “You’ll get back to Bath far quicker if you ride your horse instead of walk, Mr. Roberts,” Mrs. Paxton called out, her eyes twinkling.

  Mr. Roberts hesitated then turned back around, awkwardly skirting past the Paxtons and William to retrieve his horse from the stables.

  In a matter of minutes, he galloped away from the cottage once and for all.

  “I daresay I’ve lost a friend in him,” Hugh said, propping his hands on his hips as he watched him disappear down the road.

  Mr. Paxton draped his arm across his son’s shoulders. “Well, you may have lost a friend, but you’ve gained my respect. At least, in part.”

  Hugh eyed him, smirking at his father’s words. The father and son, followed closely by Mrs. Paxton, wandered toward the house.

  But William hesitated. There was only one thing he wanted to do right now, and it certainly wasn’t joining the Paxtons inside.

  He glanced to Amy, who smiled shyly up at him. His eyes settled on her pink lips.

  “We’ll expect to see the both of you in thirty minutes.”

  They turned at the sound of Mr. Paxton’s voice, though he had already disappeared around the side of the cottage. In the next moment, the door closed behind the Paxtons, and William and Amy were finally left alone.

  He stared down at Amy, his Amy, and she ducked her head. “I’m not sure what to say now.”

  William grinned. “I do believe that would be a first for you.”

  She dropped her mouth in feigned offense. “Is this what treatment I am to expect from you when we are married?”

  He held out his hand to her which she took in an instant. “Not at all. What with t
he scolding I’ve seen you give Hugh and now Mr. Roberts, I wouldn’t dare.”

  She playfully swatted him on the chest.

  “In truth,” he said, “you are to expect only the best from me. And if ever I treat you in a manner undeserving of you, I’ve no doubt you will let me know.”

  She laughed—that same laughter that had made him fall for her in the first place, that same laughter that had wrapped him up in that delicate ribbon and tied him directly to her.

  “Although, I’ve not officially proposed, have I?”

  She sobered instantly, looking up at him with hesitance. “No, you haven’t.”

  He stared down at her glove, tugging at the finger of the fabric before looking at her. “May I?”

  She swallowed, nodding all the same. Swiftly, he removed his own gloves, carelessly tossing them to the ground.

  Then he moved to hers. One by one, he tugged the smooth fabric from her fingers, sliding the remaining silk down the length of her arm in a slow, deliberate movement. As he started with the next, his eyes found hers, unwavering as he worked.

  Her breath shuddered as she breathed in, sending his heart in a frenzy. He slid his hand up the length of her glove, caressing her as he moved back down, pulling the fabric along with it. Her smooth flesh was soon covered in chills, and a smile tugged at his lips.

  When he finished, he held both gloves in his hands, eying them before glancing to where his gloves lay in the dewy grass. He could not place the more delicate items on the ground to ruin them.

  Amy reached for the gloves herself, tossing them directly to the ground without a care.

  His heart skipped a beat with anticipation as she peered up at him.

  Finally, he reached forth, taking her hands, now bare, in his. He held them for a moment before sliding his hands up and down her arms.

  “I never knew what love was until I met you,” he said. “I never knew what it felt like to smile, to laugh, to feel so much, until you came into my life.” He stared into her eyes the color of Coniston Water in the morning. “I never wish to be without that again, I never wish to be without you again. So, my darling, my friend, my Amy, will you marry me?”