The Cottage by Coniston (Seasons of Change Book 5) Read online

  The Cottage by Coniston

  Deborah M. Hathaway

  Copyright © 2020

  The Cottage by Coniston by Deborah M. Hathaway

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed by any part or by any means without written consent of the author.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by Draft Horse Publishing

  ©Copyright 2020 by Deborah M. Hathaway

  © 2019 Cover Art by Ashtyn Newbold

  © Cover Photo by Martha Keyes

  First Printed Edition, August 2020

  This book is a work of fiction. All character names and personalities are entirely fictional, created solely in the imagination of the author. Any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-7334820-4-2

  Contents

  Books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgements

  The Seasons of Change Series*

  Books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  About the Author

  Books by Deborah M. Hathaway

  Stand Alone Novels

  A Secret Fire

  When Two Rivers Meet

  To Warm a Wintered Heart

  A Cornish Romance Series

  On the Shores of Tregalwen, a Novella

  Behind the Light of Golowduyn, Book One

  For the Lady of Lowena, Book Two

  Near the Ruins of Penharrow, Book Three

  Belles of Christmas Multi-Series

  Nine Ladies Dancing, Book Four

  On the Second Day of Christmas, Book Four

  Seasons of Change Multi-Author Series

  The Cottage by Coniston, Book Five

  For my husband—

  The first book I dedicated to you wasn’t very good.

  I thought I’d make it up to you by dedicating

  a better one to you.

  Well, hopefully it’s better.

  You’ll have to let me know.

  Chapter One

  Bath, August 1816

  This could not be happening. Not again. There was no possible way that Miss Amy Paxton could be rejected for the second time in under a year.

  But she knew the signs. His flitting gaze, shuffling boots, reddened cheeks. And the utter dread sinking onto the gentleman’s features as he opened his mouth yet again to express in the gentlest way that he, regrettably, did not return her feelings. Not in the slightest.

  Unfortunately, Mr. Dominic Roberts was displaying all of the signs. “I truly am sorry, Miss Paxton.”

  Amy barely registered his apologetic tone, embarrassment cascading down on her like the pouring fountain they stood beside in her family’s garden. Water spilled to the pool below, falling past stone swans, their necks slender and dramatically curved as they stood side by side. The tips of their wings merged at the bottom as if holding hands.

  She stared at them listlessly. Even statuary birds were more fortunate in love than she was. Perhaps if she gawked at them and held her tongue long enough, Mr. Roberts would leave without another word, then Amy could pretend this whole disaster hadn’t even occurred.

  “Miss Paxton? Did you hear me?”

  Blast.

  Her cheeks stung with bitter humiliation. Why had she ever invited him to Roseley House? Well, she knew why. But that plan had ricocheted to hit her squarely in the heart.

  She drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t remain quiet forever. Nor could she behave like she had the last time this happened with a gentleman—losing all dignity and running through his town, all while sobbing uncontrollably.

  She grimaced. That was not her best moment. Nor was this. Her best choice now would be to maintain her self-respect by feigning confident indifference.

  Strapping a smile to her lips, she faced the man directly. “Oh, there is no need to apologize, sir. I assure you. I simply ask that you forget I ever mentioned a word.”

  He blew out a disbelieving breath. “That may be difficult to do, as I’m certain you can understand. After all, one does not often hear a lady declare such things to a gentleman. Especially when unsolicited.”

  She blinked. Receiving compliments from and spending time with a gentleman was not good enough reason for her to express her feelings for him? She knew more than anyone how forward she could be at times, but what was the reasoning behind mincing words in regard to one’s feelings? Especially when Mr. Roberts had clearly felt enough for her to kiss her. Of course it had only been on her hand…

  “You really are a lovely woman, Miss Paxton,” Mr. Roberts said.

  Lovely? Ah, yes. There was nothing so flattering as being described by the same word one uses to illustrate the weather. Or food. This man was squeezing lemon juice into her already gaping wound. Perhaps she’d been wrong to assume he was a gentleman, after all.

  His voice softened, no doubt to lessen the cruelty of his coming words. “But I believe our relationship is better suited for friendship.”

  Friendship. There it was. The ultimate blow.

  She pumped her head up and down in what she wanted to be a nod, though she feared she looked more like a helpless duckling treading water against a river’s flow. That wasn’t too far from how she felt.

  “Oh, that will be fine, of course. I am more than happy to remain friends.” If friends meant she’d never have to see him again. “Yes, friends would be…lovely. That’s what I would prefer more than anything.”

  He gave her an odd look. “If you are so content with being friends, why ever were you hinting at marriage?”

  “Hinting at marriage?” She released a stinted laugh. “Sir, I was not hinting at marriage. I was simply complimenting your qualities as a gentleman.”

  “But you said you desired to spend the rest of your—”

  “Very good, sir!” Her shout muffled his words. Thank heavens. She couldn’t bear to hear them repeated. “I think I must return indoors now. Mama will be missing me. Thank you for calling today.”

  She took a step back, bumping against the edge of the fountain and teetering back and forth before managing to steady her footing. That would be just the thing to seal the coffin over her proverbial social death—falling into a water feature.

  Mr. Roberts reached out to help her. “Are you well?”

  “Of course!” Why was she still shouting? She waved him away, rounding the fountain. “All is well. I am well. Everything is wonderfully and perfectly well. Good day, Mr. Roberts.”

  After delivering the fastest curtsy of her life, Amy turned on the heel of her half-boot and fled toward her home. The clang of the iron gate signaled the departure of Mr. Roberts behind her, but she did not stop her quickened strides until she entered the safety of Roseley House and approached the sitting room. She paused in the doorway, her par
ents seated exactly where she’d left them before she’d taken her misguided walk in the gardens with Mr. Roberts.

  “Good morning, my dear. I was…” Mama’s voice faltered, her brow pursed as she took in the sight of her daughter. “Amy? Whatever is the matter?”

  Papa lowered his book with the same look of concern.

  “It happened again,” Amy mumbled.

  “What happened again?” Mama’s brow wrinkled with worry. “You mean…”

  Amy nodded. “Yes. Again.”

  “To what are you referring?” Papa asked.

  Mama’s indistinguishable whisper rippled across the room.

  “What was that?” he questioned.

  Amy closed her eyes with a stifled sigh as Mama’s whisper sounded louder. “She’s been rejected again.”

  “Again?” Papa’s blunt question cut through the heavy silence.

  Amy groaned, holding her hands to her face to hide the red flames of embarrassment that had yet to diminish from her time in the garden.

  “Mr. Paxton!” Mother reprimanded. “Can you not see how heartbroken our daughter is?”

  Heartbroken? Amy wasn’t sure that was the right word. Sad, yes. Embarrassed, absolutely. But she wasn’t heartbroken. Heavens, she wasn’t even crying. But then, why wasn’t she?

  Mama stood with arms outstretched toward Amy. “Come. Sit, my dear.”

  Amy dropped her hands and followed Mama’s entreaty.

  “Again,” Papa muttered to himself, fingers rubbing against his eyes as if he attempted to ward off a headache.

  Amy would have a headache, too, if she had such a daughter. One who was incapable of obtaining the love of a gentleman. Her parents had always encouraged her to marry for love, but Papa was no doubt dreading the prospect of having to provide for a nonsensical daughter for the rest of his life.

  Amy sat on the settee nearest the soft, crackling fire, and Mama pulled up a chair to sit before her. “Now, tell us what has happened, my dear.”

  Amy shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest idea, Mama. Really, I don’t. I told myself to be more careful. I was more careful. Because of the last disaster.”

  She gave them a heavy glance. Mama and Papa nodded simultaneously, though they remained silent, much to Amy’s relief. A year ago, Amy had thought a distant cousin had loved her. Foolishly, she’d attempted to share her own feelings by offering a kiss first, only to be set gently aside with another “I wish to remain friends” declaration.

  Fortunately, she’d moved forward and dared to find love again. Unfortunately, she’d chosen Mr. Roberts with whom to do so.

  “You both know the time I’ve spent with Mr. Roberts,” she continued. “Horse rides, balls at the Assembly Rooms, picnics, walks. I’ve been very patient through the whole process. Then today, I waited until he…” She eyed Papa. “He kissed me.”

  Papa’s inquisitive gaze instantly hardened. “He did what?”

  “Do not be angry with him, Papa. I permitted him to do so. Besides, it was only—”

  “The nerve of that man,” Papa interrupted, his jaw tight and lips in a taut line. “I ought to—”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Paxton, please allow Amy to finish her story.” Mama’s exasperated eyes met her husband’s. “Then you may go on and on about all the things you wish to do to Mr. Roberts but never shall because you are a respectable gentleman.”

  Papa scowled, but he kept his mouth closed.

  “Now, go on, dear Amy.”

  “It was only a kiss to my hand, I assure you, Papa.”

  Papa’s shoulders lowered, though his frown remained. “Well, that is better than I assumed.”

  “Go on, Amy,” Mama encouraged again with another fleeting look of impatience at Papa.

  Amy nodded. “After Mr. Roberts’s affection and his compliments on my nature and appearance, I thought for certain that was a clear indication that he held some regard for me. As such, I told him that I would not mind spending the rest of my life with him. But once the words left my lips, his entire demeanor changed, and he claimed a desire to remain friends and only friends.” She finished with a confused huff.

  Her parents exchanged looks.

  “Perhaps he was simply not ready to hear your declaration,” Mama suggested.

  Amy tucked in her chin in disbelief. “How could he not be? He kissed my hand, for heaven’s sake!” She leaned toward Mama, lowering her voice with a furtive glance at Papa. “And I assure you, Mother, his compliments about my appearance were very favorable, enough to make any woman blush tenfold.”

  Papa’s eyes hardened further, and Mama looked away, flustered. “Many a man might flatter a woman without any intention of marrying her. But either way, a lady does not typically declare herself to a gentleman.”

  Amy pursed her lips. Yes, she was aware of the fact, and she was adamantly opposed to it.

  She threw up her hands in surrender. “I will never understand men, nor why I must wait for one to declare his intentions when I am more than ready to proclaim my own.” Her brow deepened. “And why would he say such things, spend such a great deal of time with me, and share his affection if he had no intention of marrying me?”

  “Well,” Mother began, “perhaps—”

  “Because all men are repugnant,” Father interjected. Their eyes fell on him, but he shrugged. “It’s true. You must simply find the one least repugnant of them all.”

  “Oh, honestly, Mr. Paxton,” Mama said, pursing her lips with displeasure. “Why would you say such a thing? We women wish to believe the man we choose to marry is honorable and amiable.” She gave him a pointed look.

  Papa leaned forward, closing his book and placing it on the table beside him. “I only say such a thing because our Amy must know the truth about men if she is ever to succeed in her many attempts to marry. Perhaps if she’d known such a fact before, she would not have been rejected.”

  Amy had inherited her bluntness from Papa, though she knew his words were not meant to harm her.

  “Never mind your father,” Mama said. “You know there are good men out in the world. You must work harder at finding the better ones amidst all the repugnant ones, as your father so aptly puts it.” She softened her voice. “Perhaps next time, you might choose to disregard the attention from one of Hugh’s friends. Mr. Roberts does stand out better than most of them, but you know your brother does not keep with the best company.”

  “Nor is Hugh the best company,” Amy mumbled.

  A cough sounded from Papa that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh, but he pulled up his book and focused harder on the pages.

  Mama ignored him, giving the warning look to Amy instead. “Regardless of Hugh’s choices, and no matter how we disapprove of his less than favorable behavior, he is still your brother. And you know he will wish to speak with you tonight about all that has occurred.”

  Dread trickled into Amy’s stomach. She was not in the right frame of mind to manage her brother’s teasing. “I cannot bear seeing him yet. Might I have dinner sent to my room this evening? Papa?”

  Mama sighed, glancing to Papa, who gave a subtle nod with a twitch of his mouth.

  Amy’s lips curved in a smile. Papa had always had a soft spot for her.

  “Very well,” Mama relented. “Perhaps being kept from your brother’s teasing for an evening will give you the fortitude to see to it in the morning.”

  Amy nodded, pressing a kiss to Mama’s cheek then moving to embrace her father, who stood as she departed.

  “Take heart, little cricket,” he said with a wink, using his endearment from when she was younger. “You’ll find love yet.”

  Amy’s heart warmed for but a moment as she strolled toward her room. As much as Papa loved his “little cricket,” the truth was evident. He wished her to marry as much as Mama did. For what parents would want to financially support their daughter forever? At nearly twenty-three and with two rejections already listed under her life experiences, the likelihood of her becoming less o
f a burden on her parents was becoming more and more unlikely—which was why she’d attempted to take control of the reins tied between her and Mr. Roberts.

  She entered her room, standing mutely in the center of it. As much as she wished to be a recluse for the rest of her life—or at least until news of her folly made its way in, around, and out of Bath—she couldn’t do such a thing to her parents.

  But then, how was she to ever fall in love while rumors of her and Mr. Roberts abounded? For surely the man would not hesitate to share his experience about the woman who was so desperate for love that she created a relationship out of compliments and hand-kisses.

  Her discouraging thoughts pressed heavily on her mind far into the night. She lay awake, staring up at the dark blue bed hangings until a knock sounded at her door.

  She recognized the quick raps instantly.

  “Leave me be, Hugh.”

  Her elder brother’s muffled chuckle slipped through the thick door. “Come now, Amy. Do allow your brother to speak with you.”

  “No. I don’t wish to hear anything you have to say.” She looked to the door when he didn’t respond. Had she convinced him to leave? No, that would be far too easy. Hugh would never relinquish a moment to tease her.

  “Not even if I express my condolences? Or perhaps tell you how penitent Mr. Roberts was for rejecting you?”