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

  Now that was compelling.

  With a sigh, and knowing full well that the disadvantages fully outweighed the positives, she rolled out of bed, donned her dressing gown, then tiptoed to the door.

  She opened it just a crack, alerting Hugh with a firm frown that she would not be tolerating any of his teasing this evening.

  He must have missed her warning as he grinned from ear to ear.

  “Good evening, sister. I hear you’ve made quite the unfortunate mistake with our Mr. Roberts.”

  Her lips pulled down. “Yes, my mistake was befriending one of your friends.”

  “Befriending? I heard you were doing much more than that.”

  Her ears warmed. “You are incorrigible, Hugh.”

  She made to close the door, but Hugh’s hand prevented it. “No, no, wait. I do apologize. I truly wish to speak with you. And I will do my very best not to tease you.”

  She peeked at him through the crack between the door and frame. The mischievous light in his eyes shone all the brighter with the candle in his hand. Hugh could not help himself when it came to teasing her, no matter what he said. Amy would be far safer to remain away from him until the whole incident was in the past.

  But she could not help her curiosity. “You promise to tell me what Mr. Roberts has said about the encounter?”

  Hugh nodded with a dramatic hand to his chest. “On pain of death, I swear to tell you everything.”

  With another wary glance, she pulled open the door and pushed past her brother to sit on the window seat situated down the corridor. “Very well, then. Tell me what he has to say about his shocking behavior.”

  “His shocking behavior? From what he told me, you are the one to be blamed.”

  He sat beside her, placing the candle between them. They had situated themselves in a similar fashion many times when they were children. Hugh would convince her to listen to his ghost stories, which inevitably ended with Amy rushing to Mama’s room to sleep the remainder of the night away.

  At least Amy knew now she could leave if Hugh’s conversation turned in the slightest way to spirits, teasing, or how many women loved him—all of which she could not abide.

  “And how am I to be blamed? He kissed me. Or did he forget to recount that fact?”

  “He kissed your hand, Amy. That is hardly a proposal.”

  So Mr. Roberts hadn’t neglected that part of the story either. She pursed her lips, the sting of betrayal burning her cheeks. “So he feels no remorse in his encouragement of me?”

  She knew Mr. Roberts to be a flirt—he had to be if he considered Hugh a friend—but in the near month she’d spent with him, he’d never crossed the line of impropriety, which was why the compliments and kiss to her hand that morning had meant such a great deal to her.

  “On the contrary,” Hugh said. “He certainly was not intending to encourage you toward matrimony. He was simply having a bit of fun. Like many gentlemen, he would not have been opposed to a kiss free of consequences or attachments.”

  Amy scoffed in disgust. Papa was right. Men were repugnant.

  “However,” Hugh continued, his voice lowering, “when he saw where your thoughts were directed, he wished to make quick work of it so as not to hurt you further. He is fond of you. But he is not ready to attach himself fully to another, that is all there is to it.”

  Well. At least Mr. Roberts had some honor, though it did nothing to lessen her humiliation. She picked at the hardened wax burgeoning at the bottom of the candle holder. “I suppose he has already told my folly to half of Bath?”

  “For someone who wished to marry the man, you certainly think very little of him. Mr. Roberts desires to keep what happened close to his chest. He said he has a—what was it—a conscience?” He said the word slowly, as if he’d never heard of it before, then winked devilishly at Amy.

  She gave him an unamused glare. “Yes, you wouldn’t know about anything of the kind, would you?”

  His smile continued, but Amy hardly noticed, watching a small drop of the melted, opaque wax sliding down the rigid candle stick. As much as Mr. Roberts declared his good intentions, Amy had very little faith that he, or Hugh for that matter, could keep her ridiculous behavior from eventually spreading through Bath like an insuppressible disease. And once word was set free—either from a man’s tongue loosened by drink or by a woman—the rumors would evolve, and Amy would be labeled a brazen tart. Then what would she do? What would her family do with her?

  And why had she not considered the painful consequences beforehand?

  Her shoulders sank in time with another droplet of wax. “It was so humiliating, Hugh. I’m sure I shall never live it down, nor face Society again. I ought to take my dowry and use it to fund the purchase of a cottage somewhere far away from here. Then I can live out the rest of my days in resigned spinsterhood.”

  As the words left her mouth, she knew at once that such a life was not for her. She was fairly certain she’d drive herself to madness with her own company.

  “Oh, heavens. Please tell me you are not serious,” Hugh said, interrupting her thoughts. “If you are this miserable at two and twenty, I shudder to think what I shall have to endure when you are older, living without a soul to care for you in some forsaken cottage.”

  “You forget, I said I shall live far away from you.”

  “Yes, but you know Mother and Father will haunt me if I don’t see that you are taken care of.”

  “Then I shall follow through with this plan for that reason alone.”

  Hugh chuckled, and she finally delivered a partially amused lift of her lips that lasted about as long as her relationship with Mr. Roberts.

  “Come now. It is not as terrible as you are making it out to be.”

  “You only say that because you have never been rejected once in your life.”

  He smirked. “That is because women cannot help themselves around me.”

  Instead of what she knew he was expecting from her—feigned gagging noises—Amy nodded. “Precisely. Which is what is entirely wrong with me. Men do not love me as women love you. Even if Mr. Roberts did not wish to be attached to anyone, if I was good enough for him, or if I did not have some distinctive flaws I must be blinded to, he would not have hesitated to marry me.”

  Silence followed. Where was Hugh’s responding quip? She pulled her dressing gown tighter around her shoulders and looked to her brother, surprised at the hesitancy in his expression.

  “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Amy frowned. “If you do not tell me what you are withholding, I shall go straight to Papa and tell him you’ve been sharing ghost stories with me again.”

  Hugh raised his hands in retreat. “All right, all right. There is no need to threaten me.”

  Amy arched her eyebrows menacingly. As much as Hugh liked to toot his careless horn, he couldn’t deny Papa’s intimidating nature. Though their father held a special place in his heart for his daughter, he never hesitated to express his disapproval of Hugh’s behavior, nor scold him because of it. And with Papa’s height stretching a full-head taller than Hugh’s, Hugh typically minded his manners around their father—or at least learned to hide his debauchery better.

  Candlelight reflected against the window and flickered across Hugh’s features as his teasing glimmer faded away.

  “There was another reason for Mr. Roberts’s departure from you. Something other than his lack of desire to marry.”

  Amy shot forward, pulling herself away from the window. “I knew it! I knew that could not have been the only reason!”

  “Hush! You’ll wake Father.” Hugh glanced down the hallway with a wary expression.

  “So what is it then? Am I unattractive? Unaccomplished?”

  “No, of course not. I—”

  “Did he think I wasn’t talented with the pianoforte when I played for him at the Alans’ dinner party?”

  “No, I don’t believe so—”

  “Then
he must have taken issue with my winning the race we had upon our horses. That has to be it. I knew I should have held back. I—”

  “Heavens, Amy,” Hugh interrupted. “It was no doubt your talking that sent him running.”

  Amy clamped her mouth shut, pulling back at the sting of his words. “Is that what he said?”

  His jesting smile faded. He shifted in his seat. Was he experiencing remorse? He typically only squirmed when he felt the most despised of feelings.

  “Forgive me,” he whipped out. “I did not mean to offend you. No, that is not what Mr. Roberts said. He was merely frightened away by your acknowledgement of your feelings, expressing them before he even had the chance to consider his. You know you can be rather…blunt.”

  Amy stared. So she was right, he had not appreciated her forthrightness after all. Neither had her distant cousin. If all men didn’t approve of such behavior—and Amy could not help but be forthright—she was done for.

  She covered her face with her hands. “I’ll never marry. This just proves it. If I cannot understand men, how can I have any hope of convincing one to marry me?”

  Hugh remained silent.

  She dropped her hands and stared at him. “I’m asking you a question, Hugh. How am I to marry a man for love if I cannot help but make poor decisions whenever I am around gentlemen?”

  He stared, his mouth hanging open like the salmon they enjoyed eating by the sea last summer. “I suppose you must cease making poor decisions?”

  She scoffed, turning to the light flickering in the window. “Would it could be so easy.”

  “It is unfortunate our parents are so good to us. Otherwise they might have made every decision for you like others are known to suffer.”

  He’d meant his words to be taken in jest, but Amy paused. Perhaps they would agree to deciding her every move? But, no. They’d always encouraged her to have her own mind. They would not deprive her of the freedom of choice, even if she begged. Nor would any of her friends.

  But her brother…

  Slowly, her eyes roved toward him. Hugh had never hesitated to tell her when she was being foolish, and that was what she needed most. Guidance. Someone to help her on her journey to wedded bliss. Someone who understood men because he was a man.

  Before she could think better of it, she blurted out her idea. “You must make my decisions for me.”

  Hugh sniffed a laugh. “I beg your pardon?”

  Chapter Two

  “You must make my decisions for me,” Amy repeated, bright hope flourishing past the darkness of dread inside her.

  His humor slowly faded to a look of incredulity. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. Completely. Don’t you see? It is the perfect solution. Being a gentleman yourself, you can help me to understand the social cues of other men. You must teach me what to do, what to say, how to behave. Then I will no longer make a fool of myself, and I shall not be a burden on you or our parents any longer. You know we are to visit the Lake District with them soon. This shall be the perfect opportunity to escape my past and begin anew elsewhere—with you as my guide.”

  He shook his head. “Are you listening to yourself, Amy? You’re asking me, Hugh, your brother—the person you’ve called a cad, libertine, flirt, and countless other names—to make your decisions for you.”

  She stared at him, unflinching. “Yes. There is no one else better for the task. And, if you help me find a husband I love, you won’t have to care for me when I’m older.”

  “But why on earth would you trust me to aid you in the proper manner? What is to stop me from making a game of the whole thing?”

  “Because I know, deep down in your heart, you want me to be happy.” She produced a smile she hoped mimicked Hugh’s most mischievous grin. “And because if you lead me astray, Papa will most certainly hear of it, and he will not be pleased.”

  Hugh narrowed his eyes, their dark depths not entirely void of pleasure. He was no doubt pleased to see his typically rule-adhering sister result to semi-blackmail. “You do make a compelling case.” He rubbed the day’s growth of facial hair spreading across his jaw. “You will do whatever I tell you to do if your actions concern a gentleman you desire to pursue?”

  “Absolutely. Within the bounds of propriety, of course.”

  “Of course.” His eyes twinkled. “And I assume this is going to stay between the two of us?”

  “The four of us. Mama and Papa must be included, as well. You know I dislike keeping things from them.”

  He nodded, contemplating her offer once more before slapping his hands against his thighs with a loud clap. “Very well, I shall do it.”

  “Excellent. We shall begin the moment I enter Society again.” She grinned, hopping down from the window seat and moving to her bedroom as she spoke over her shoulder. “That will be one month from now. In the Lake District.”

  He called after her. “You’re not leaving the house for an entire month?”

  Amy paused in her doorway. “No, I am not. I may trust you to make my decisions in finding a spouse, but when it comes to keeping your mouth shut about something embarrassing I’ve done, I doubt very much you are capable of doing such a thing.”

  He chuckled, and Amy stepped into her room with a grin.

  “Amy?”

  She leaned back out. “Yes?”

  “I am sorry for what has occurred. And I’m sorry if he hurt you.” He shifted anxiously in his seat again. Compassion. That was another feeling Hugh was always uncomfortable displaying.

  Amy knew how much it took out of her brother to say such things, and suddenly, the hurt she had felt from Mr. Roberts’s refusal, and the embarrassment from being rejected yet again, didn’t seem so very insurmountable after all.

  “Thank you, Hugh. And thank you for agreeing to help me.”

  “As if I had the choice.” He winked, standing from the window seat with a nod. “Goodnight, Amy.”

  He disappeared down the hallway, his candle’s light accentuating his departing shadow.

  Amy let out a heavy sigh, closing the door behind her. Removing her dressing gown, she climbed back into bed and curled underneath the warm covers.

  The humiliation she’d felt earlier threatened to crawl in beside her, but she pushed it aside. With Hugh dictating what she ought to do—and more importantly, what she ought not do—she wouldn’t be a burden for much longer. Such a benefit merely required drastic measures, and following Hugh’s advice was the most drastic action she could consider. Excepting, of course, essentially proposing to two gentlemen who did not love her.

  Heaven knew that hadn’t turned out well for her at all.

  Coniston, Cumbria, August 1816

  As the vicar began his oration, William dutifully bowed his head, staring at his boots dotted with raindrops. He stood within the drizzly churchyard, surrounded by grave markers ranging from carvings of cherubs to morbid skulls.

  Water poured down from the brim of his black hat as rain pelted the back of his head, trailing down to seep through his jacket and cravat. This was not worth the misery, standing in such weather. But the rain made sense this morning. Grandfather would have wanted them to be miserable.

  “‘Man that is born of a woman,’” Mr. Morton read from the Book of Common Prayer, “‘hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow and never continueth in one stay…’”

  William clenched his hands together behind his back, fighting the urge to look at his pocket watch. The service couldn’t go on for much longer. He simply needed patience. He’d waited twenty-seven years to be free. He could wait a few moments more.

  “‘In the midst of life we are in death. Of whom may we seek for succor but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased?’”

  Had the vicar ever delivered the lines to someone so aptly deserving of them as Grandfather with his many sins? Everyone in attendance had to be thinking the very same thing. A
rthur Eastwood’s poor reputation and controlling nature stretched the length of Coniston Water.

  William eyed the small gathering of men circled around the coffin. Mr. Stewart, Mr. Allen, Mr. Rutledge, Mr. Booth—not one had a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes. William was certain not a soul would be in attendance, either—including himself—were it not for their desire to support Father.

  William’s heart slumped low as he turned his attention to his father’s red-rimmed eyes shining with moisture that rivalled the saturated graveyard grounds upon which they stood.

  “I do not mourn for the man that was, Will,” Father had told him just the night before, “rather for the man that could have been.”

  Emotion wedged in William’s throat at the thought of his father’s pain, but this was not the first time tears had been shed due to Grandfather’s actions.

  “‘…Yet, O Lord God most holy, O Lord most mighty, O holy and most merciful Savior, deliver us not into the bitter pains of eternal death…’”

  But Grandfather could not hurt them any longer. He couldn’t keep Mother and Father in Coniston by sheer manipulation as he’d done over the past decade, nor could he keep them from improving the multiple properties they owned, or helping their tenants because Grandfather didn’t think the lower class deserved their help.

  And he could no longer keep William from marrying the woman he’d chosen long ago.

  “‘…Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our hearts. Shut not thy merciful ears to our prayers, but spare us, Lord most holy, O God most mighty, O holy and merciful Savior, though most worthy Judge eternal, suffer us not at our last hour for any pains of death to fall from thee.’”

  Finally, the vicar paused, and the coffin was lowered into the ground. William watched the freshly cut dark pine disappear into the earth, the flourished carvings and shining brass handles emblazoned in his memory—just as Grandfather’s face was, as gaunt in death as it was in life.

  “‘Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground…’”