AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Not at all, Lady Thurlby,” Mr. Fortescue said. He reseated himself, although Rebecca thought she heard him sigh under his breath as he did so. “I have learned that traversing my property from the village to reach your own estate saves a great deal of time. I imagine my predecessor allowed just that.”
“Yes, he did,” Rebecca interjected. She couldn’t help herself. Mama had made it sound as if her broken ankle were entirely her own fault.
Mr. Fortescue looked at her—goodness, but his eyes were incredibly blue—before continuing. “And so, it is even more unfortunate that my ignorance of such matters, as the new owner, contributed to Miss Rebecca’s broken ankle . . . and apparently, it would seem, to a lost Season in London.”
“My first Season,” she murmured, making him wince. She hadn’t actually intended for him to hear her—or maybe she had.
He rose to his feet again. “I hope you will forgive me, Lady Thurlby, Miss Rebecca, but I have another engagement this afternoon and am afraid I cannot stay longer and will have to forego your offer of tea. Perhaps I may be of service, however. It is my understanding that Great-Uncle John required the use of crutches. Mr. MacKay—perhaps you know him?—has assured me that they are in excellent condition. I should like to offer them to Miss Rebecca while she recovers from her injury.”
“Oh, that is very good of you, Mr. Fortescue,” Mama said right as Annie showed up with the tea service. “But look, here is tea. Are you sure you can’t stay a few minutes longer and refresh yourself before taking your leave?” Mama hadn’t successfully reared eight children—five of them males—without developing certain skills of subtle force through persuasion. It appeared she’d succeeded again.
Mr. Fortescue sighed and sat back down. “I suppose I can enjoy a few minutes more with such lovely companions and neighbors. As long as you’re sure it will not tire Miss Rebecca.”
Mama reached for the teapot. “Rebecca will be quite fine, I assure you.”
Rebecca wasnotfine, but she managed a smile, albeit an unenthusiastic one, as Mama handed a cup of tea to Mr. Fortescue.
* * *
After what had seemed eons but had in reality been roughly three-quarters of an hour, Ben excused himself from Lady Thurlby and Miss Rebecca and, once out of sight of the manor house, stalked swiftly home, fighting back the dark mood settling around him. He was beginning to think he was a curse to the fairer sex.
Miss Rebecca Jennings had been anticipating her first Season in London until his arrival and interference had caused her to break her ankle. Not quite as extreme as dying in childbirth but distressing to all involved, nonetheless. Perhaps Lincolnshire hadn’t provided him with enough isolation.
By the time he arrived back at his house, he was hot and dusty and feeling resentful. It had beenMiss Rebecca Jenningswho had trespassed onhisproperty, yethewas the one feeling saddled with the guilt of it all. He supposed it would only be proper to deliver the crutches himself, as well, although it was the last thing he wished to do.
He stopped briefly at the front entry and pulled out his pocket watch—it was not quite two thirty, which was fortunate, as he would prefer to wash up before interviewing any potential servants, even if it meant having to stick his head under the pump by the stable. He still had some dignity left, after all.
But before he even had time to return his pocket watch to its ascribed pocket, the door opened and a man who appeared to be in his late forties and wearing a modest but dignified suit bowed. “Welcome home, my—sir,” the man said. “Please allow me to present myself: Abraham Snow, former butler to Mr. John Arnold, at your service.” He moved out of the way, allowing Ben to enter the house.
The first thing Ben noticed when he stepped into the entry was that the holland covers had been removed from all the furnishings since he’d left earlier. The air held the scent of beeswax, and a vase of fresh flowers sat upon the low table in the front parlor.
“May I take your hat?” Mr. Snow asked.
“My—oh, yes.” Ben removed his hat and handed it to Mr. Snow.
“You’re just in time!” a woman’s voice exclaimed, and a sturdy, cheerful woman strode into the entry from the back of the house. “Tea is ready. I’m sure you’re in want of some refreshment after such physical exertions as MacKay said you were making. Walking rather than riding your horse!”
“I presume this is Mrs. Snow,” Ben said to Mr. Snow.
Mr. Snow beamed. “That would be correct, sir. Allow me to present my wife, Sarah Snow—although she goes by Sally amongst those who know us well. Too many Old Testament comments spoken in jest, if you catch my drift. Don’t want to appear sacrilegious, you know. Can’t help it if another Abraham took to falling in love with another Sarah, now can I?”
“Not at all,” Ben said. “How do you do, Mrs. Snow?”
She dipped into a small curtsy. “Very well, thank you, sir. Very well, indeed.”
“And speaking of things religious, the two of you have been rather busy since I left early today, especially for a Sunday.”
“Ox in the mire, as they are wont to say,” Mrs. Snow said, her eyes twinkling. “Can’t have the master of the house living amongst holland covers, can we? Now, where would you like to take your tea?”
So much for washing up before meeting his potential servants—they’d already commandeered the place. “You tell me, Mrs. Snow,” he said. “You are more familiar with my new home than I am myself.”
Her ruddy cheeks deepened in color. “Might I suggest the music room? It has the loveliest light this time of the afternoon. Mr. Snow can show you where it is while I fetch the tea, if you’d like.”
“I would like to freshen up a bit beforehand,” Ben said. Despite her fresh pot of tea, it was time he asserted himself as owner and employer.
“Very good, sir,” Mr. Snow said. “Peter has already drawn fresh water for the washstand in your dressing room. May I be of any assistance? I see you’ve traveled without a valet.”
“Peter?” Ben asked.
