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Chapter Two
December 17, 1818
Birch House
M
rs. Lynette Hodgins, a widow of five years, glanced about the genteel shabbiness of Birch House’s drawing room. The Oriental rugs, once rich with color were now faded from use and threadbare in spots. The cushions on the Louis XIV furniture had been lush steel blue crushed velvet when they were new when she’d been a young girl on the cusp of enjoying her Come Out. A few retained stains or signs of wear, but that was easily hidden by turning them around or avoiding them altogether. Some of the gilt paint had chipped from the legs of furniture, all sure signs that the coffers of the house were alarmingly empty.
Never had she thought she’d return to the Warwickshire countryside, and not especially as a widow at nine and twenty. Even more startling was the fact she had an exuberant seven-year-old son, who even now lounged beneath one of the tables as he played quietly with a handful of tin soldiers, the paint long ago faded from the uniforms and visages of the figures. In fact, they’d once belonged to the boy’s father, God rest his soul these past five years.
“John, won’t you come and have a cup of tea with your grandmother and me?” she asked, even though she knew he’d turn the offer down. Tea wasn’t his favorite beverage.
“I’d rather not, Mama, for I’m in the middle of a great battle.”
“Very well, but I’ll set aside a plate for you anyway.” As was her custom, Lynette put a few tiny seed cakes and biscuits on a saucer and then moved it to the edge of the table. The selections from the tea tray were rather grim, another silent testament to the state of affairs with her mother. Her son would be along eventually, and if she put enough milk and sugar in the tea, he’d drink that too. With a sigh, she turned her attention to her mother, Lady Ruddick, widow to Baron Ruddick, who’d passed on nearly eight years before.
Those years remained a blur, for she’d fled from a relationship, took up with a military officer, married him, became pregnant, went into mourning for her father, birthed her son, and then went into mourning again when her husband had been killed on a faraway battlefield. At times it felt she hadn’t had time to catch her breath.
“Why didn’t you tell me before your finances were so dire?” Lynette asked in a low voice. She didn’t mind her son overhearing the conversation, for she believed children ought to know both the good and bad sides of life to help them as they grew and matured.
Her mother shrugged. The lace edging her widow’s cap bobbed with her every movement and she drew a worn, woolen shawl more tightly about her shoulders. Indeed, there was a chill in the air, for the fire was meager at best. Coal was expensive and without paying for regular wood deliveries that left little options. “It was none of your concern and you have your own life.”
“I left Surrey to come here to Bedford for you. Shall we talk about how to raise the necessary coin to pay your bills? You can’t continue to live like this.” Her mother had never been one to plunge into a situation and fix the problems, nor had she aspired to be independent. All Lynette’s life, she’d relied on a man, and the baron had been her mother’s second husband. Given time and enough encouragement, her mother would likely marry again since the prospect to taking care of herself didn’t appeal.
“What can I do? Your father left me next to nothing, and that’s been gone through already. I believe there are barely fifty pounds left for me to live on, so I’ve been forced to let most of the staff at Birch House go.”
Ah, that must have been the reason no one had answered her knock or why she’d had to fetch the tea service. “Well, no matter, I’m certain you and I can think of something.” She took a sip of tea. “You can always sell Birch House. For as long as I can remember, you’ve complained about how out of the way it is and how much it costs to run. That should earn you a tidy sum to relocate elsewhere.”
“I don’t hear you offering to let me stay with you,” her mother groused.
Lynette sighed. “My cottage in Surrey is quite small. Only enough room for John and me.”
“Charles didn’t leave you well off?”
“Of course not. He was a solider, and his pension only stretches so far. Most times I make and sell pastries to help us get by.” Then she brightened. “Perhaps we can raise some coin for you by baking.”
“And how will I pay for the ingredients, pray tell? Dig them up from the back garden?” Her mother’s waspishness had grown and developed in the years since they’d been apart. It had been one of the reasons Lynette decided to relocate to Surrey and move into Charles’ small cottage there.
Lynette counted to ten in her head before she spoke. “I shall fund the venture, since I do have a knack for cakes and pies. They’ve been wildly popular in my village.”
Her mother grunted. “Imagine, a baron’s daughter, forced to labor like a shop girl to scrape by. Scandalous times, I tell you.”
“Times have been tough for many of us following the war, Mother. My situation isn’t unique, and besides, I don’t mind the work. I go to bed tired at night knowing a certain satisfaction that sitting idly by and doing embroidery or painting never brought me.”
“Those were such long-ago days when we prepared for your Come Out.” Her mother nibbled on a biscuit. “I assumed you’d land a titled gentleman.” Accusation hung heavy on her voice.
“Yes, well, circumstances change, as do the wishes of the heart.” She didn’t want to think about the past at the moment, especially since being back at Birch House put her so close to it. “Now, about the pastries?”
“Do you think that would work? Perhaps it will cover living expenses, but the taxes on the property haven’t been paid for more years than I can remember.”
Dear Lord, the situation was worse than expected. Outwardly, Lynette remained calm. It wouldn’t do to let John see his mother come undone without first trying to change the outcome of a problem. “It couldn’t hurt, and it will give me something to fill my time while I’m here.”
“Then you plan to return to Surrey?”
“Yes, after Twelfth Night. John and I have a life there.”
Her mother sniffed. “I see. Abandon a woman in her hour of need.”
