Page 110 of Holding Onto Love

And she had been lying, for months, to them all.

*

The package was from Will and included letters from Effie, with orders for two pairs of boots, and one from Rose, who ordered one pair for herself as well as three pairs for others. Vanessa held the tracings in her hands, marveling at the goodness of her friends, and wondering if this enterprise could be the saving of the Comptons’ mill. Were they all just being kind? Or would the popularity of the boots grow?

If it did, how many orders could they fill? Could Bitter keep up or would they have to hire another artist? And even more bootmakers?

Vanessa forced thoughts of the boot mill from her head by reading the letters, which were full of news of London and gentle questions about her life. They both avoided mentioning the Earl of Iversley, and Vanessa found herself hungry for their impressions of him. How had he spent the last few months? Had he seemed to them as miserable as he’d made himself out to be?

She went to bed and then tossed all night, weighing her options and coming to no conclusion. She wanted to be Jasper’s wife. But she was afraid.

She spent the following morning pulling turnips and weeding her garden yet again; then she visited Charlotte. She traded tea for a half dozen eggs.

She read a portion of one of the adventure novels, but it didn’t hold her interest. She went out to the edge of the woods and gathered kindling. She hemmed the second of her new dresses from Binnings.

What she did not do was make up her mind. Thinking rationally, away from Jasper, did not help. For every reason to marry him, there was one against it. For every reason to stay in Cartmel, she thought of a reason to leave.

Finally, she hauled water from the well, heated it, washed her hair then bathed—the standing-up type of bathing that she loathed.

Scrubbing her neck, she realized her gold chain—Henry’s necklace—was gone.

Frantically, she searched the floor, the washtub, her bed, and her nightstand. Her habit was to take it off at night and don it again in the morning. She couldn’t remember doing so that morning or taking it off the previous night. The last time she could recall, definitely recall, seeing the necklace was when she had shown it to Crispin at supper the first night in Binnings. It could be anywhere.

That night, she went to bed melancholy. She shouldn’t have worn it. She should have kept it tucked away safe. The necklace had been her last tangible connection to Henry and she’d been careless with it. What was wrong with her?

Freddy’s ring was gone, too, of course. That hurt as well but in a different way.

The next day, she baked biscuits before walking back into town to deliver the new orders to Jon. He decided then and there to offer a position to the cavalryman. Jon’s pleasure, Lydia’s satisfaction, and Bitter’s delight took the edge off her agitation.

Later that afternoon, she sat in her parlor feeling a mixture of gratification and restlessness. She stared at the bare white walls. In the nine months that she had been in this cottage, she had never really spent any time in this room. She claimed to love it. Yet she never used it.

What she should do was invite Nan and Bitter to live with her. They could have her bedroom and she could move into her dressing room. Bitter could work from here and Nan would be closer to the Gowes. Vanessa could travel to shops in other towns to try to convince them to display Bitter’s boots and take orders for them. The possibilities excited her and gave her purpose. Even so, it bothered her that she was thinking like a Culpepper.

The room was beginning to darken as the sun started its descent. Vanessa felt confused and dejected. And lonely. What did she want? For herself? What did she want?

She wanted Jasper.

And if she wanted to be Jasper’s wife, how could fear stop her? Fear of what? Nasty gossip? She’d marched alongside General Wellington’s army!

Little by little, she grew aware of the sound of hoofbeats coming up the road. She went to her door. No doubt Charlotte was peering out her own window, bursting with curiosity.

The approaching horse was not much to look at, nothing like Mercury, but the rider was unmistakably a lord of distinction. His traveling clothes were simple enough: dull brown breeches and a dark green frock coat. But Jasper could have ridden a goat and dressed in rags, and he still would carry himself like an earl. She watched as he reached her cottage and dismounted. Her heart beat faster. She walked quickly to her gate to greet him.

“What are you doing here?”

He started, then directed his gaze away, his expression hurt.

“You said I might come in three days.”

She meant three full days. But he sounded so unsure of himself that she ached for him.

“We count to three differently.” She spoke gently but not gently enough.

“I’m too early?” His face fell and he swore under his breath.

Oh, Jasper. It was just as well. She’d made her decision. No, it wasn’t a decision. It was a choice. She once had said she could live her life afraid of censure or accept it as she had chosen it.

“Come inside, so we can talk.”