Page 55 of The Gentlewoman Author

Chapter Twenty-Two

Mary’s quill scratched over the page, a sound that almost calmed her rattled insides. This unbearable charade with Daniel put her off balance, and she did not know how to proceed. Spending time with his parents tortured her, blackening the deceit, and scrambling her nerves. Aware of their misuse of Daniel, she was disposed to dislike them, but their affectionate natures set the abuse of their son at a counter position. She understood Daniel’s frustration with them, for they were irresponsible, even silly. Eccentric. She did not want her interest in them to increase and complicate the situation.

She took long, solitary walks and hid in her room writing. The story she wrote unfolded with a rapidity and clarity absent from her other work. Words appeared on the page as naturally as the blooming of a flower. It was the effect of enchanted Almery and the recent unsought-for adventure that ignited her imagination. While a little self-reproach accompanied the writing down of those escapades, it helped to sort out the situation.

Her eyes fell on the full bouquet of roses she’d found in her room after dinner. Daniel attached a note probably meant to thank her for agreeing to pretend they were engaged. Even so, she opened it and reread his simple missive to conjure the pleasant flip her heart made at his words.

Dear Mary,

I enjoyed your company in the rose garden. You are a bit like a rose, beautiful and sweet, but not without your defenses. I admire both your softness and your thorns.

Daniel

And it did not come without a pang. He did not fancy her the way a man does when he loves a woman. To him, she was an agreeable companion. And how could she expect anything different? She was a widow of middling years, seven years his senior. Though she did not think herself unattractive, she was not the kind of woman with whom men fell in love.

Even if he did love her, which was a notion that barely warranted thought, they could never marry. She would perish if unable to continue writing, and confessing her secret was out of the question. If he responded with Lord Allen’s flippancy, her heart would break. She was being dramatic, but she knew that without her pen, she was miserable. Despite having written a book that caused senseless girls like her own niece to behave foolishly, she was pleased her writing was being consumed by the masses. If the publisher wanted more, maybe she should give them her manuscripts. The thought held her attention, tempting her like a bowl of cream filberts. In Bath when suspicion had fallen upon her, she evaded and disavowed enough that she did not think anyone still believed her an author. She escaped that situation almost unscathed. If it weren’t for Miss Barry, no one would have guessed. If she stayed away from Bath—and she certainly planned to—and avoided writing characters who resembled herself, she might publish freely.

Could she continue writing in anonymity, bearing the anxiety that her identity might be discovered?

Muffled shouting erupted from below stairs. Mary’s room was situated on the same side of the house as the kitchen, and it seemed the sisters were at war once more. Mrs. Fletcher surely did not have the emotional strength to handle their aggression.

Mary folded Daniel’s note and tucked it under a rose leaf before leaving her room for the kitchen where, as expected, she found the three cooks in a squabble.

“Good morning. I thought I’d make myself a bit of toast and jam.” Mary breezed into the kitchen, noting the way the cooks stiffened, and their argument ceased.

“No,” they said as one.

“Don’t mind me. I do not wish to disrupt your work. I’ve a hankering for coffee as well.” Mary hummed as she made her way around various canisters and baskets, upsetting and displacing them as she went. The bread keeper was in plain sight, and while the coffee percolated, Mary made a show of cutting an uneven slice of bread. She moved to the hearth, changing around the various tools before removing a toasting fork, pulling up a stool, and sticking her bread into the open flame while the three women rushed to straighten the mess.

“What do the three of you bicker about?” Mary asked.

“Betsy is bossy, always telling me how to do my job, though she’s less experienced.”

“Only because you’re an imbecile when it comes to puddings.”

Mary wished she hadn’t asked. In half a second, the three women were in an uproar again. Mary put her stick deeper into the flames until it caught fire. She let it blaze a moment before waving it into the kitchen. “Help!” She waved the bread as close to the cooks as she dared.

The sisters turned toward her and leapt into action. One took the cloth from her shoulder and waved it at the flame while another grabbed a bucket of water.

Before anyone could put out the flame, the door opened. “What is going on?” Mrs. Fletcher stood at the door. Mary tossed the bread into the fire.

“It is nothing, really, Mrs. Fletcher. I apologize for disturbing you.” Mary’s face burned over the mischief she’d caused. Who was childish now?

“Are you in need of refreshment?” 0ne of the cooks asked.

“I have a headache from listening to all the shouting. What is the meaning of this mess?”

No one said anything. The cooks looked at the ground but threw surreptitious glances toward Mary, who replaced the toasting fork to its proper place.

“Mrs. Fletcher, let me bring you some coffee,” Mary said. “Rest in the parlor, and I’ll join you in a moment.”

As soon as she’d gone, Mary turned toward the sisters. “Are there biscuits?” After filling a tray with every good thing that could be found, she made her way into the parlor with a tray laden with a seed cake, a pot of coffee, and an apology.

She poured Mrs. Fletcher a cup and offered her cake. “I am sorry, Mrs. Fletcher. I was trying to teach your cooks a lesson, and it failed. It is not my place to try to correct them. You must pardon my interference.”

“Correct them? You mean keep them from fighting?”

“Yes. I can see they keep a clean work area, so when I hear them arguing, I make myself a nuisance by upsetting their organization. It worked the first time, but only for a day.”