Page 57 of The Muse of Maiden Lane

Stella stared at her brother with a mixture of incredulity and indignation. She’d never once said anything to quell the sanctimonious Miss Trent’s unending stream of humble boasts and helpful advice. Stella doubted she could have silenced the woman if she’d tried. “Whatever is that meant to mean?”

“Miss Trent spoke more warmly, and more freely, than she had during our previous meetings,” Daniel said. “It was owing to your absence. She told me so herself.”

Did she, by heaven. The sly creature!

Stella understood at once that she’d made a grievous error in judgment. In all her scheming to thwart her brother’s matrimonial plans, she’d never considered that Miss Trent might use Stella’s absence to her advantage.

“I confess, the minds of women are a mystery to me,” Daniel went on. “One would think she would be at greater liberty with you present to assure her virtue. But I’m in no position to complain.” His mouth curved in a complacent smile. “Taking into account Miss Trent’s encouragement, and my own feelings on the state of matrimony, not to mention that of the villagers and my congregation, I felt the moment ripe to make Miss Trent an offer of marriage.”

Given the turn of the conversation, Stella had half expected the news. She still felt a chill in her veins to hear it confirmed.

“You proposed to her,” she said flatly. “I assume she said yes?”

Daniel’s chest puffed with pride. “She did me the very great honor of accepting me, yes.”

The hourglass of Stella’s fate turned over with a resounding thump.

So much for thwarting his matrimonial plans. It seemed that, for all her efforts, all she’d done was accelerate her brother’s speed to the altar.

She began to wish that, on returning from the stable, she’d gone straight to bed. She would require a good night’s sleep, and a good gallop on Locket, before she’d be in any frame of mind to sort out what she was going to do next. For she’d have to do something. That much was clear.

The door to the book room creaked open. Mrs. Waltham entered with a small tray bearing Stella’s tea and toast. “Here you are, miss.” She placed the tray on the low table between Stella and Daniel. “I’ve had Polly turn down your bed, and put a hot water bottle in. It will be nice and warm for you when you retire.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Waltham,” Stella said. “You’re too good.”

“Will you be requiring anything else, miss?” Mrs. Waltham looked to Daniel. “Sir?”

“That will be all, Mrs. Waltham,” Daniel said.

The housekeeper withdrew, closing the door behind her.

“We will have many things to address in the coming months,” Daniel said as Stella poured her tea. “There’s the calling of the banns, and the question of what’s to be done about our living arrangements.”

“Miss Trent aspires to somewhere grander than the vicarage?”

“Don’t be flippant. We will live here, naturally. Miss Trent assures me that a small village is exactly to her taste. She does, however, desire to gain some familiarity with Fostonbury—and with the running of the household—before the ceremony. She suggested a visit.”

“Did she.” Stella took a sip of tea. It was plain, sturdy English tea. Nothing to compare with the Darjeeling she and Teddy had shared in Hampshire.

She wondered if he’d reached Devon already. If he was there now, firmly ensconced in Captain Thornhill’s cliffside estate, sitting at the window and sketching the sea, all thoughts of painting Stella forgotten.

The prospect left a sour taste in her mouth.

Daniel helped himself to Stella’s toast. He bit into it with a dry crunch, scattering a spray of crumbs over his banyan. “Rather than her and her mother lodging somewhere in the village, I thought it prudent to invite them to join us as honored guests at the vicarage.”

Stella’s teacup froze halfway to her mouth. Surely, she’d misheard. “Miss Trent and her mother are to stay here?”

Daniel withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and used it to dust the crumbs from his chest. “There’s nothing objectionable in it. They might be guests of yours for all anyone knows. Friends you’ve invited to stay the month.”

“A month!” Stella was aghast.

“I expect her and her mother to arrive in a fortnight, with plans to stay through Valentine’s Day at the very least.”

“That’s more than a month, Daniel.”

“The length of her visit isn’t at issue. If we can contrive it, I expect Miss Trent and I will marry during her stay, and then she will remain here permanently.”

Stella’s already plummeting spirits sunk still further. The situation was rapidly spinning out of her control. She sensed there was precious little she could do to stop it. “She can’t marry you while staying in the same house,” she pointed out in a last feeble attempt at preventing this debacle. “Think of the talk it would generate.”