An Inconvenient Engagement Read online

  Why had the Marquess of Daunton been in this cottage the evening past?

  “Eliza!” The call was faint, but she hurried back through the house and out the front door with her basket in hand. A short way down the road she was able to wave to Bessie who saw her and waved back. She wondered if she should tell someone about seeing the marquess but did not know who she should tell. Uncle would not act, Henrietta could do nothing, and Sir William…well, there was no way she could tell him anything.

  Bessie looked up as she entered through the back door. “Goodness, what have you got all over?”

  “Oh, just some grass heads on my skirt.”

  “Where have you been walking to get those?”

  She lifted her basket. “I was gathering madder and got a little close to the abandoned cottage where the weeds grow so high.”

  Bessie was clucking and brushing at her skirts. “Lord, child, you never seem to grow out of this adventuring.”

  She chuckled. “Walking by an old house is hardly ‘adventuring’ Bessie. Anyway, why did you call me?”

  “Your uncle needs you.” She pointed up the stairs. Concerned, Eliza climbed the stairs and called out to him.

  She found him in his room, in his dressing gown and holding a pair of breeches. “Oh Eliza, I have torn these. Can you repair them?”

  She took them and saw the large L-shaped tear over the thigh. “What did you do?”

  “I was sitting at the table in my study, and a nail must have come loose for it caught when I stood up.”

  “Uncle, I can repair them but you will need another pair. How many others do you have?”

  He did not respond right away, but Bessie was out in the hallway and answered, “Just the two.”

  Eliza sat down in the chair. “Uncle – why didn’t you tell me you were so limited as to clothing? How many shirts do you have?”

  “I have the two. One to wash, one to wear.”

  “Well, that is going to change. I am going in to Dimmits now to get some fabric to make you at least two more shirts and breeches.”

  “But the cost…”

  She bit her lip. That was a point. “Perhaps Aunt Gemma has some old pairs of Uncle Charles’ that I can make over for you. Then I can just buy the linen for the shirts.” She quickly whipstitched the tear so that he could get dressed, then went downstairs with a basket and headed off to the Wetherby farm.

  She was hot by the time she reached her aunt’s house. She found her inside distracted by flies and a litter of kittens that one of the farm cats had birthed in the pile of laundry. “Oh, Eliza, take this basket please!” Four kittens squirmed blindly within the pile of rags, and the multicolored tabby twirled at her feet, eyes on the basket and mewing in response to her babies’ cries. Eliza took the basket and her aunt said, “Take them to the barn – Jamie is out there, and he will know where to put them.”

  The barn was a large building down the slope from the house. She carried the basket of kittens carefully, but the mother cat was wont to step between her feet. She nearly tripped several times. She could hear Jamie whistling when she entered the barn which was empty but for some chickens clucking and scratching about.

  “Cousin! What have you there?”

  “Your mother asked me to bring this to you. She said you would know what to do.”

  He deftly took the basket and walked to a corner of the barn and settled them on a low shelf surrounded by hay. The mother cat immediately climbed in and checked her babies, licking them and grunting at them. Eliza watched them for a minute and then asked,

  “Where is Alice?”

  “That is the question. She has taken to disappearing at all times and we can’t get her to talk. Mum sent me to follow her one day and she caught me. I thought she would flay me alive!”

  “She just disappears?”

  “Aye and has picked up some airs like she is Lady Loughton herself! There’s no pleasin’ her.” Jamie went back to forking the hay and jabbed the hay pile with force.

  “That’s odd,” said Eliza.

  “Aye. But then…you know Alice. Moody.”

  She returned to the farmhouse and found her aunt chasing down the source of the flies. She listened to Eliza’s request and said, “There are a few old pairs of breeches in the trunk at the top of the stairs in the hallway. I saved them for Jamie, but he won’t hear of it. If you can use any of them, take them.”

  Eliza found the trunk and sorted through the jumble of clothes within to find two pairs of breeches in good enough condition to be cut down for Uncle. These she went to show her aunt who merely nodded and went back to sealing up the cracks around windows. “I have told Jamie not to throw scraps so close to the house unless the chickens are up here. Flies!” She nodded toward the clothes and said, “Glad you can use them. Give our best to your uncle. And, if you see Alice, please tell her I need her at home!”

  Promising to do so, Eliza left and began her walk home. She was grateful for the shade of the trees on the right side of the road. Hoofbeats sounded faintly, and she looked up to see a horse in the distance coming from Lytchley. She could not tell who it was, but panic rose in her at the thought of meeting Sir William again, and she ducked down the little hidden lane to her right. She stood still in the shadows until the horse had passed. Then started back toward the road when a nearby snapping branch made her pause. She looked up in time to see Alice coming from farther down the far end of the trail.

  “Alice!” Alice paused and looked up with eyes wide in surprise.

  “Eliza? What are you doing here? Did Mother send you?” Red spots suddenly showed on her cheeks and her hands tightened.

  “Yes…I mean no. I mean, I was just there, and she said if I saw you to tell you she needed you.”

  “So you decided to try and track me down…”

  “No! I thought I saw Sir William…”

  “Oh, meeting your high-and-mighty lord in the bushes?!”

  “What? No! Of course not! I didn’t want to see him.”

  “Why not after your lovely dances with him last night…”

  Eliza froze. “How did you know we danced?”

  But Alice had stomped off and broken into a run. Eliza thought she caught the sound of a broken sob. Confused, she decided not to follow her cousin and let her aunt deal with her needs for the time being. She stepped out of the lane and onto the road once more, brushing at her skirts. The Stanton Post went by, and one or two men on horseback, but she kept her gaze trained on the road just in front of her feet. Soon enough she was home.

  She stopped just long enough to leave the breeches before setting off for Dimmits. The shop was busy, and she was forced to wait some time before Dimmits Jr. could cut the necessary linen from the bolt. Addy Welles came in at some point, and she was about to duck behind a display of French lace when she was spied.

  “Miss Denham! How fortuitous! I have just come from Cutchin’s and that reminded me of the Ball for you know that they supplied the rolls for the last ball at the Assembly Rooms.” Eliza frowned in an effort to follow her thoughts, but she was continuing, “I heard you arrived in the Strathom carriage – what thoughtfulness on his part. I saw he and his brother riding through town after the downpour. I supposed he must have stopped and seen you working in the carriage house. Of course, there was no harm in it – one did wonder if the younger, but there I go too far.” She took a breath and pointed to the fabric about to be cut from the bolt. “Straighten that edge, Dimmit, or she will be cheated out of a good inch and a half of that piece.” She sniffed and continued, “One hopes there are no slubs in that bolt as in the last one. Bought some for Dr. Welles shirts and ended up making a nightshirt instead. Had to buy more from a different bolt for his shirts. You should be fine with that, though, dear. What? Is that all your shopping? Then, I will say goodbye for I must still see the farrier about his bill for shoeing our horse. I fear there is a discrepancy over the number of nails.” Then, she sallied forth with efficient steps.

  Dimmi
t, Jr. sighed long and loud. “There, Miss, will that be all?”

  Eliza nodded and paid for the linen. She was tired, and there was still much to be done. She quickened her step toward home.

  “Are you humming?” George demanded. The light was bright in the South-facing room William called his study. It was filled with shelves of favorite books, ledgers from his father’s days, and the huge, mounted elk head his father had insisted upon having.

  William looked up from his desk where he sat with the account books. “What?”

  “I could swear you were humming. One of the tunes from last night.”

  “What if I was?”

  “One of the dances you danced with Miss Denham. Oh, but then, you ONLY danced with Miss Denham.”

  “I...”

  “You. Are. Engaged.”

  “Of course, I am.”

  George sighed. “Then act like it.”

  “I am not actually sure how an engaged man acts, George.”

  “Well, I think you can agree he does not single out impoverished young ladies at a dance.”

  William laid down the quill. “George, please leave it. Miss Denham and I understand each other.”

  George stared. “An understanding?”

  “I did not say that – I said she understands me. That is all. Something I wish I could experience with my own brother.”

  “I understand you, William. I just don’t understand this behavior.”

  William looked up then, and George recognized a certain look his father had been wont to give at times. It stopped him, and William said in a very even voice, “I said, leave it, George.”

  “Yes Father,” George whispered.

  William returned to his accounts, staring blankly at the numbers on the page that no longer made sense. Instead, he was remembering their last dance, the lightness within him, and in the midst of his remembering a cough recalled his attention.

  “George, I said…”

  “Sir?” Rivers stood there looking askance at him.

  “My apologies, Rivers. What is it?”

  “I thought we were to go over the accounts.”

  “Oh…of course. Do come in.” He forced himself to attend and did his best to push all thoughts of Eliza from his mind.

  He was not successful.

  Rivers sat in his accustomed chair and they began: coal, hay, farrier, and so on. “And Sir, did you want the governess cart repaired?” Rivers asked.

  “What?”

  “The governess cart what Mr. Strathom drove into the ditch.”

  “Why would we repair it?”

  Rivers cleared his throat. “Well, Sir, seeing as how you are getting married…one day there might be a governess to take it out.”

  William stared at his steward, then suddenly went red. The thought of having children had simply not occurred to him except as some distant hypothetical. “Er, mm hm. Well, it would be a waste I suppose to leave it as it is. Is it badly damaged?

  “It will need a new wheel, but there’s a wheelwright in Stanton. And the brace is bent, but the smithy can repair that.”

  “What are your thoughts?”

  “Well, they are hard to come by, so might as well keep it around. We could always sell it if it isn’t wanted.”

  William tapped his hand to the desk. “That’s what we’ll do. Fix the thing and have it just in case.”

  “Aye, Sir. I’ll see to it.”

  “Oh, and I have written to my attorneys in London. I think we may have a post for young Henry, but they have yet to confirm it.”

  An uncharacteristic smile cracked the corners of Rivers mouth. “Thank ‘ee. The boy will be ‘appy to ‘ear it.”

  “Still not a certain thing, but we’re getting there.” Rivers nodded, and William stood. “Let me know if there are any further expenses with the cart. Things will be a little tight until the harvest is in.”

  “There is the new carriage to consider as well.”

  William stared. “Well…there is no rush for that, surely. We have a carriage.”

  “It is nigh on thirty years old. Surely the new Lady Strathom will expect something newer.”

  “Well yes, but the date isn’t set. No rush, as I said.”

  “Aye, Sir.” Rivers shook his head as he left. Never had he seen a man so unwilling to consider the consequences of a wedding.

  William sat looking out the window, realization of his engagement suddenly hitting him. For the first time since his proposal, he was aware that he would soon be married and that he had been neglecting that reality. He had yet to write in response to the single letter he had received from Miss Lockley and knew that they would need to set a date very soon. The lightness left him, leaving him feeling somewhat heavy and sad. He tried to get it back by remembering the feel of Eliza’s hand in his, but a misted image of Maria Lockley kept interceding. He gave it up and stood, went out into the hall and called for his hat and gloves. He out into the yard to call for his mare. And if they ended by riding past the place where the road bent beside the bank, then what of it?

  Chapter Nine

  Weeks had passed. Fall faded, and the Loughton’s ball had finally receded in the memories of most. Eliza had settled into a routine of daily work, spinning, and visits to her aunt and cousins. Henrietta and Penelope had taken her out in the gig one day, and the three girls had enjoyed a picnic on the grounds of Hadring Hall.

  The morning was nearly gone when the sound of wagon wheels crunched on the gravel outside. Eliza stood from her wheel and went to the door to see Jamie reining in the cart horse, and Aunt Wetherby and Alice climbing delicately down. Her aunt carried a large basket in addition to her workbasket.

  Alice flipped a hand in her direction while Aunt Wetherby enfolded her in an embrace. The baskets bumped Eliza on the back. They went in and sat in the parlor.

  “I brought you some preserves, and some buns.” Aunt Wetherby handed the larger basket over.

  Eliza carried it into the kitchen. “Cook, we have guests.”

  “Aye. Kettle is on,” was the dour reply.

  “There are buns and jam in here,” said Eliza, setting the basket on the table.

  “Aye, I heard,” said Cook. “I’ll bring in the tea when ready.”

  Little Cottage was not large, and it was impossible not to hear the angry exchange going on between her aunt and cousin as she turned the corner. The discussion ceased as she entered, with her cousin leaning sullenly away from her aunt and staring out the window.

  Aunt Gemma chatted as though no harsh words had been spoken until tea was brought in. Eliza served, then offered the buns around that her aunt had brought. She noted that Alice drank very little tea and ate none of the buns.

  Suddenly, Alice set her cup onto the saucer with a clatter and put it down. She rose, and said, “I am going to walk into Lytchley, maybe go to Dimmits.” She snatched up her shawl and left.

  Aunt Wetherby’s lips compressed to a line. “Ooo, that girl! She made me drop a stitch she did.” She was quiet for a moment as she focused on picking up the lost stitch and righting her knitting. There were several inches of rose-colored shawl on her needles.

  “Is she well? She seems rather pale.”

  “She has been off since the ball. It is hard for her. She has been very upset about it. I don’t know why – there was never any thought of her going. Quite outside the range of invitations. But there it is. It has struck her hard and she goes off on walks at all times. I tried sending Jamie after her one day, but she caught him and sent him right off with a very strong word!”

  “I was very surprised to receive an invitation myself.”

  “No dear, you have claims that Alice never will. It is just the fact of our life.”

  “It is not right.”

  “But it is how it is. And we cannot change it.”

  The visit progressed until Alice returned and affected to ignore Eliza. Shortly after, Jamie arrived back with the wagon, his business completed. He came in for tea and finis
hed the buns as Aunt Gemma packed her workbasket. Eliza walked them out to the wagon and watched them go, Aunt Gemma nattering away at Alice as they went.

  Eliza returned to the parlor, lost in thought and sat for a while in the silence. She tried to spin, but the tension in the flyer was off, and she did not feel like fixing it. She stood and tried to straighten the parlor but ended by tossing a pillow down that would not lay just right. A restless energy took hold of her. She thought a moment, then went and caught the old pony and led him into the carriage house where the old pony trap was. She had hitched him herself since she was younger, and he stood placidly as she buckled and cinched, then fastened the bridle. Gingerly, she climbed within and urged the pony on. Once out from under the roof, she steered him toward town.

  The trap had a rather lilting rhythm as the seat tilted unevenly with the turning of the wheels. Eliza found herself slipping to the left and having to push herself back to center every now and then. The village was busy, sheep quartered for market, Dimmits bustling, people going in and out of the butcher’s and baker’s. She waved and greeted everyone but did not stop.

  The cart slowly progressed along the main thoroughfare and came out to the other end. There was the small manor house that belonged to the Pratts. Penelope saw her from the front room and came out onto the driveway, laughing.

  “What do you do here?”

  Eliza spread her arms and grinned. “I felt like Henrietta, today! Do not I look like her in my dashing trap?”

  Penelope looked at the short, shaggy little Bunch as compared to Henrietta’s perfectly groomed, long-legged pony with the braided mane. She giggled as she patted the pony’s nose. “Oh, very like! Do you want to come in?”

  Eliza was taken aback for a moment. “Well, if it is not inconvenient. For a short visit, certainly.” She hopped down and tethered the pony who dropped his head and began snatching mouthfuls of grass from the banked edge of the driveway. She brushed off her dress and followed Penelope into the house. “Are you not visiting with Henrietta today?”