AllFreeNovel
Share Us
When the rooms were cleaned and updated, she had to do the entire tour over again to give the head housekeeper her stamp of approval on the readiness of the rooms.
After a morning of such activity, Amelia would escape with her lap desk to the small sitting room she’d claimed for her own and continue writing her novel.
The staff knew she spent her afternoons in the sitting room, and it wouldn’t be difficult for Lowenbrock to track her down. In case that occurred, she made a point of bringing her correspondence with her. If he came upon her, it wouldn’t be a lie to say she was writing a letter. She was always in the middle of writing a letter to Mary, her closest friend, these days.
But after that one time when he came across her while she was writing in the library, he never sought her out. With Mr. Markham gone and Lowenbrock busy with estate matters, loneliness began to settle over her. Which was silly, of course, because she saw the marquess every morning and at dinner each evening. It was more company than she’d had since her uncle’s passing.
But there was something about sharing a household with someone with whom onecouldbe interacting but wasn’t that made her feel more alone than if he weren’t there at all.
Her writing progressed at a steady pace. It was nearing the end of June—two months after the marquess’s arrival—and she had passed the midpoint of her novel. It would need extensive edits, of course, but she was ecstatic about the progress she was making. She was so immersed in her characters’ lives that scenes and snippets of dialogue assailed her at odd moments throughout the day. She’d begun to carry a small notebook with her so she could capture those moments of inspiration.
She pulled it out during dinner one evening after Lowenbrock said something particularly witty, her only thought to capture the comment for the hero in her book.
“What are you writing?”
With a guilty start, she snapped the notebook closed. When she met Lowenbrock’s gaze, his eyes were alight with curiosity.
She contemplated lying but discarded the idea as soon as it entered her head. Lowenbrock would learn the truth soon enough… it might as well come from her. But she couldn’t tell him everything. He hadn’t realized she was the barmaid he’d met in that tavern in London despite the fact she’d long since stopped wearing her spectacles every day. She’d also considered that it might be time to stop wearing the lace cap that covered her hair.
With exaggerated care, she placed the closed notebook on the table next to her, lining up the small stub of a pencil next to it. She took a deep breath. “I have a confession to make.”
Lowenbrock leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. One brow rose in question, but he didn’t speak as he waited for her to continue.
After taking another deep breath, she blurted out the truth. “I’m writing a book. A work of fiction. It’s been consuming me of late, and I apologize for forgetting my manners.”
His expression remained blank for several moments and then the corners of his mouth rose in a smile. As happened far too often in this man’s presence, her heart leaped. “That’s wonderful, Miss Weston.”
His rapt attention, so different from his normal polite manner, left her flustered. “Yes, well, the publishers to whom I sent my first novel didn’t think so.”
“And this is your second novel?”
“Yes. I hate to admit it, but I’m afraid they were correct about my first book. I can see now where I went wrong with it, and I can feel in my bones that this one is much improved.”
“Hence why you’ve been hiding away. I’ve scarce seen you since Mr. Markham departed. I thought that perhaps I had offended you in some way.”
When she realized her mouth was hanging open, she closed it. “No, of course not. Between writing and preparing for the ball…” No, she wouldn’t be a coward, not when Lowenbrock was being honest with her. “You’ve been busy as well. I know that we’re scarce more than acquaintances, but I welcome your friendship.”
If his smile grew any wider, she would be in danger of swooning.
“Well, good, now that we have that settled, may I…?” She glanced down at her notebook, breaking the moment that had stretched between them. She was more than a little off-balance after being the subject of his intense attention.
“By all means.”
The weight of his stare settled over her for several long moments before he lifted his fork again and continued with the meal. She inhaled deeply, the air filling her lungs doing nothing to calm her sudden bout of nerves, and jotted down the witticism he’d shared. When she was done, she closed the book again and resumed her own meal.
“I’ll try not to do that again. But when inspiration strikes, I find I must record it lest it be forgotten in the next moment. It’s almost shocking how easily distracted I can be.”
“Am I a distraction, Miss Weston?”
His amusement did strange things to his face. His gray eyes were light with merriment, but there was an intensity in his gaze that left her feeling unbalanced again.
“Everything is a distraction.” She’d meant to be offhand but found the statement came off with an odd, breathy quality. She looked away and took another bite of her fish.
“Will I be allowed to read this book?”
Her thoughts scattered as she tried to think of an appropriate response. If Lowenbrock read her book, she’d no longer be able to hide the fact they’d met before his arrival at the estate. For the first time, she couldn’t help but consider she might have been wrong to take Mr. Markham’s advice about concealing their first meeting. The marquess was not an unreasonable man. Surely he would understand the reasons behind her actions that evening.
But two months had passed. Would he be angry she’d kept this secret from him? Or would he understand she’d been worried he would ask her to leave Brock Manor because her actions had risked her reputation and, by extension, his? Now that she’d come to know him, she didn’t believe he’d behave so callously.
