Page 61 of Waiting for Love

“But why…”

“Houses settle, Mr. Carroll. If you look in the cellar, you can see where the foundation is cracked. That can be fixed with some gravel fill and brickwork.”

“That sounds serious. Are we in danger of the whole thing coming down on our heads?”

Willy laughed. “No, sir!” He slapped a hand against the wall. “This fine house has had almost a hundred years to do its settling. It’s not going anywhere anymore.”

Willy knew his business. There wasn’t much Benjamin could say. Or wanted to. He hadn’t come here for conversation. He wanted time alone. Time to soak in this place, this solid, safe home where he would live, work, and bring up Hannah. To remind himself that that was all he needed.

Yet he also wanted solitude to contemplate Olivia and resign himself to the fact that she would be leaving soon to begin her new life. She’d implied she would be miserable in London. He couldn’t let himself dwell on that.

“Do you want to see upstairs?” Willy asked. “I’ve reframed the window casings in the bedchambers. It looks right nice.”

Olivia had everything a debutante could wish for: beauty, lineage, a substantial dowry, and herself. Her delightful, witty, fun-loving self. She was everything any suitor could ever want. How could she possibly be miserable in London in the springtime with the gardens blooming, a social whirl, and a blizzard of eligible men lining up at her door?

“Hmm? Windows? No, I will wait. I have other things I need to do today, and I should let you get back to work,” he told Willy, pulling back his attention. “How long do you think before finishing can be done? I’m riding out to see Everet and I thought I’d hire him to paint.”

He wanted to head off any suggestion he might hire Willy’s nephew. Word was that Timmy dawdled and didn’t pay attention. Willy ended up redoing whatever the boy had done.

“Aye, Everet can use the work,” Willy said, scratching his hip. “Two weeks. Maybe three. Or he can start earlier down here while I work upstairs.”

“I’ll ask what he wants.” Benjamin took a final glance around. “It’s cold in here. You can have a fire if you like.”

“Well, thank you, Mr. Carroll. But I’m used to working in the cold. All het up, I might stretch out on the floor and nap the day away.”

Benjamin would have laughed but he didn’t think Willy was joking. The man worked hard.

“All right, then. Good day.”

“Good day to you, sir.”

Benjamin returned to Goose. The day was not going as planned, but perhaps that was just as well. Roaming the cottage, telling himself it was all for the best—and it was—would not have helped.

Chapter Twenty-One

Olivia spent the morning writing to an old friend who would also be in London for the Season. She’d been promising Mama she would do so. Their fathers had been close, so they had spent time in one another’s schoolrooms and music rooms and long weeks at each other’s family estates during house parties. Nevertheless, she hadn’t seen Isabel for more than two years and their letters had grown infrequent. They should have debuted in the same cohort, but…Papa had fallen ill.

Isabel had married last year so she was busy doing married things, and there wasn’t much for Olivia to write about when isolated in the country. Nothing that would interest Isabel. But Olivia would need friends in London, so she wrote to her old playfellow. About Arthur. About her new clothes. She asked after Isabel’s family. Then she sealed her letter with wax and a frown.

Done. Hopefully Isabel would respond.

“Tansy, please give this to Peters to see to.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“And may I have my bonnet and pelisse?”

While Tansy was in the dressing room looking for her things, a rap came on the door, so Olivia answered it herself, then stepped back.

“Alice!” She was dressed like a frump. Olivia wondered if she was saving her better dresses for London. “Good. You can come riding with me.”

“Oh.” Alice bit her lip. “I can’t. Georgiana wants me. But I—I needed to talk to you first.” She moved into the chamber. There was a cloud on her brow that looked ready to break.

Olivia sat down hard on the edge of her bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She spoke too quickly. Then she slid into Olivia’s desk chair, continuing to frown. “It’s ridiculous. But Georgiana”—she raised her eyes then dropped them—“she asked if you’ve said anything to me about Benjamin.”

A chill ran through Olivia’s core. “What do you mean? What would I say?”