Love Inspired Historical February 2016 Box Set

by Karen Kirst

  “Call me John,” he replied easily. “Even if I am forced to be lord of the manor, I hate to be addressed as sir.”

  “I don’t know that I can do that.” Nan shrugged, looking stubbornly out the window. “I don’t think that’s quite proper.”

  “Nonsense. Call me John, and, of course, you already refer to my sister as Jane.”

  “I don’t think I can. Calling Jane by her given name, well, it’s easier because we are friends.” She cast a discomfited look his way. “I’m not trying to be rude.”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to tease her, or at least reference how close they had gotten when she slapped his cheek, but he thought better of it. If she was thawing out a trifle, it would be better not to provoke her now. “Well, if you find it difficult, you could just call me Reed.”

  Nan tilted her head to one side, as though giving the matter serious thought. “Very well, I think I could call you Reed.”

  “Excellent. Shall I call you Siddons?”

  Nan burst into laughter, a pretty smile lighting her face. “I daresay that sounds silly enough. But no sillier than Nan.”

  “What, don’t you like your name?” It was so good to hear laughter that he was ready to draw the moment out as long as he could. She had a lovely laugh. Pity she didn’t indulge it more often.

  “Nan?” She made a face. “No, I never have. I prefer my proper name, but I never had a say in the matter. Once Susannah called me Nan, I was Nan for life.”

  “Well, Susannah’s not here.” He leaned forward, as though they were sharing a great secret. “So you can be whomever you want.”

  “Oh, I am still myself.” She was getting into the spirit of the game as well. “I only wish to cast aside certain aspects of my life that were forced upon me, such as a most unattractive nickname.”

  “What is your given name?” Genuine curiosity got the better of him.

  “My name is Hannah.” She shrugged, drawing her shawl closer about her shoulders. “Susannah said it sounded too much like her name, you know, too many ‘annahs’ in the house. So she shortened it to Nan. So I’ve been, ever since.”

  “That took some cheek.” He sat back, eyeing Nan—no, Hannah—with genuine sympathy. “I was the eldest in my family, but I never saw fit to change Jane’s name.”

  “Susannah has always been rather high-handed,” Nan admitted, turning her eyes toward the floor of the carriage. “She is a very good sister, though,” she added hastily.

  “I am sure she is, but that doesn’t solve our problem right now. The problem is, who are you? Nan Siddons? Hannah Siddons? Siddons? The choice is yours.”

  “In the interest of speed and efficiency, you may call me Siddons. Just as I shall call you Reed.” She smiled. Then she added, “I am Hannah Siddons.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Hannah Siddons, formerly known as the practical and prosaic Nan, stared up at the ceiling as she drifted awake. The mattress beneath her was soft and deliciously fluffy and the fire in the grate crackled merrily, chasing off the early morning chill. This was as different an awakening as she could imagine.

  For as long as she could remember, waking up meant the squeaking protest of mattress ropes and a cold hearth that needed to be stirred to life. Nothing would ever be accomplished unless she and her sisters roused themselves and began their chores. Here at Grant Park, silent servants took care of the minutiae of existence, lighting fires in hearths or making beds. She no longer had to worry about a million little trifles. Instead, her whole life and purpose was to make Jane into a desirable candidate for matrimony.

  Hannah sat up, even though it was hard to give up the warmth of her quilt. The change in her circumstances was as dramatic as the change in her name, and she was having a difficult time getting used to being called by her given name. Focusing all of her efforts on one task was, in truth, a bit daunting. Yet focus she must, because failure could mean only one thing—spinsterhood.

  With that daunting thought, she jumped from the bed and grabbed her wrapper. Breakfast was surely being served somewhere, and she couldn’t simply lie about all morning. She must dress herself and then find Jane. They had arrived just yesterday, but it was time to start working.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Enter?”

  Jane opened the door wide enough to just let her peek through. “Oh good, you’re awake.” She bustled in with a breakfast tray. “I thought we could eat together. Normally I dine in bed, but it’s terribly lonely. Dreadful way to start the day.”

  “That sounds lovely.” From a practical perspective, it meant that she could begin working with Jane right away, before the day had even really begun. From a deeper, more private perspective, Jane’s presence also pushed aside any lingering loneliness she might begin feeling. Her sisters had gone off and married months ago, and one would think she’d be used to being alone by now.

  She wasn’t.

  Jane pulled two chairs over by a little marble table near the hearth. “There we go. This is nice and cozy, don’t you think?”

  “Perfect.” Hannah waved her over to her seat with a well-practiced flip of her hands, then she began pouring the tea. “In fact, we can get started better this way. I’d like to know how you see your role at Grant Park, and how you want to present yourself to others outside your inner social circle.”

  Jane accepted the teacup Hannah offered her, her brows drawn together in thought. “I never really thought of myself as playing any kind of role. I suppose, if I had to describe it, I would call myself a simple person. I don’t have many wants or needs. I help out as much as I can as mistress of the house, but I don’t feel that we are at a social level that requires much showiness. Does that make sense?”

  Hannah nodded. Yes, that made perfect sense. “In other words, when one isn’t a duchess, one doesn’t need to worry about her morning dress.”

  “Or her afternoon dress…or her riding habit…” Jane set the teacup aside, her spoon rattling against the saucer. “Oh, I am not trying to belittle what you do, in making clothing or hats. It’s just that I have always considered myself a country girl. When I marry, I shall marry a simple country farmer. I won’t have a need for frills and furbelows.”

  “True, but to meet your simple country farmer, you will need to attend the kinds of functions in which you are expected to dress well.” Hannah selected a scone from a wicker basket, lined with a linen napkin. She broke it into halves. “That is where I can help you.”

  “Actually, I have already met him.” Jane leaned forward, her dark eyes sparkling. “I’ve wanted to tell you for the past two days.”

  Hannah shook her head. Had she heard aright? “What do you mean? Are you already engaged?”

  “No. I am already in love, though.” Jane sighed and leaped gracefully from her chair. “I told you about the Holdcrofts as we were leaving Tansley.”

  “Yes.” She was still holding one half of a scone in each hand, a silly pose if there ever was one. She put one half down and rubbed her hand on her napkin.

  “Well, I got to know them well when I was at Tansley, and, oh, I fell in love with Timothy Holdcroft. Hannah, he is everything I could ever love in a man. Wait until I tell you how we met.” Jane spun around on one heel, her dark hair flying. “I was playing my violin out on the moor. You don’t know how lovely it can sound when the wind begins to rise out there. Anyway, I was playing, and there he was. I stopped as soon as I saw him, because I must have looked so strange out there, playing by myself, but he begged me to continue. After that, we talked, and I walked over to his farm, and I knew this was where I was meant to spend the rest of my life.”

  Had Jane really said all of this, or was Hannah still dreaming? “You met Timothy Holdcroft out on the moor, and now you want to marry him? If that is so, then why all this bother about gowns and preparing for a London Season?” More to the point, why was she even here at Grant Park? If Jane was already practically engaged, then her efforts were no longer required. Funny how tha
t thought caused her heart to sink.

  “John doesn’t approve.” Jane’s shoulders slumped as she threw herself back into her chair. “I tried to tell him about Timothy and about the Holdcroft family, but he is determined that I should have a London Season.”

  “What were his particular objections?” She had an idea, but hated to put a voice to it. For some reason, it pained her to think that Reed would deny his sister’s happiness over material wealth.

  “What you would imagine if one’s brother were an insufferable snob,” Jane said with a sigh. “He told me that it was quite likely that Timothy is after my fortune, and that if he had to rise to the occasion as master of Grant Park, then I had to endure at least one Season. John is determined to do things the correct way, the way he says my father would have done things, even though it could break my heart.”

  Jane’s eyes were now welling with tears, and Hannah would have a weeping, heartbroken, young damsel on her hands if she didn’t take action soon. While Jane was much more sensible than Becky, she shared many qualities with Becky. So in dealing with Jane, she must use the same brisk practicality that served her well when dealing with her elder sister.

  “I shall talk to Reed,” she declared. “Perhaps I can make him see reason. The Holdcrofts have never struck me as the kind of people who would turn fortune hunter. Perhaps they don’t have a great deal of money lying about, but they do own quite a bit of land in Tansley. Would marriage to Timothy make you happy, do you think?”

  “Oh, yes,” Jane breathed. She clasped her hands together. “He is quite the most wonderful, most amazing—”

  “I understand,” Hannah replied, cutting Jane off with a wave of her hand. Now was not the time to wax poetic. “Where would I find your brother this morning? I will talk to him when we are done with breakfast.”

  “He is trying to fit himself into the role of caretaker of Grant Park, so I imagine he will be in his study,” Jane replied with a shrug. “He’s ill-suited to this life, but I must say he is giving it a go.”

  “I will talk to him before we do anything else this morning.” Her heart sank a little at the prospect of talking her employer out of her job. She had been at Grant Park less than one day, but already it had wrought such changes in her life. Because of Grant Park, or more to the point, because of John Reed, she was no longer Nan Siddons. She was Hannah Siddons, and that transformation could never have happened while she was under the family’s thumb back in Tansley.

  She had rather anticipated more from her stay. She was looking forward to creating beautiful things and to working with Jane. But if Jane was already happy, then her job here was done. She must trust in God, knowing that His way was right.

  This was the first time in quite a while that she hoped God was wrong.

  *

  John sat in the room his father had occupied every morning for as long as he could remember. He was at his father’s desk, holding his father’s favorite quill pen. He was supposed to be writing out figures in the ledger book, as Paul had shown him to do. The pen wouldn’t write. He couldn’t make it write. This house oppressed him. Everywhere he looked, he saw traces of his mother. The guilt was nigh unbearable. The weight of expectation and tradition had slowed his movements down to the point that he was like a stick stuck in molasses. Why was he here? Why was he pretending that he could do this?

  In London, he would be waking up now with a blistering headache and a fierce need for coffee. He would have nothing planned for the day save anything to do with fun and amusement. When he grew tired, he would stretch out for a nap. When he was hungry, someone would feed him. Here, people expected him to provide. It was a terribly uncomfortable way to live.

  There was a knock on the door and before he could even compose himself or arrange himself so that he looked as if he was actually working rather than tussling with difficult memories of the past or bemoaning his responsibilities, Hannah Siddons burst into the room.

  He rose, casting aside the quill.

  “If my sole purpose in life is to prepare your sister for matrimony, why, pray tell, did you tell her she couldn’t marry?” She flung herself into a nearby chair, regarding him with an expression that was both fierce and somehow disappointed.

  “I beg your pardon?” He sank back into his seat. Arguing with Siddons was better than engaging in nightmarish memories or pretending to be lord of the manor.

  “Your sister has fallen in love with a young man, Mr. Timothy Holdcroft. She met him while she was in Tansley. When she told you of her feelings, you denied her your blessing and continued these ridiculous plans for a London Season. May I ask why?” She fixed him with a pointed glare.

  “You seem to be intent on talking yourself out of a job,” he rejoined. At least that answer gave him some time to find a more considered, measured response. “If Jane has a London Season, you have all the time in the world to create the kind of wardrobe that would have you become one of the most talked-about milliners or seamstresses in London. Why throw that away?”

  Siddons’s glare wavered and the color rose in her cheeks. “This isn’t about my career,” she said after a brief pause. “This is about Jane’s happiness.”

  “My sister is of a shy and retiring nature, and would concoct any kind of excuse to stay away from the social whirl of London.” He shrugged and sat back in his chair. How many times had Jane feigned illness to get out of even the most trifling of village affairs? She would much rather stay at home and play violin or read than dance at a ball. “I could see her making much more out of a friendship with the Holdcrofts if it meant foregoing a Season.”

  “She’s not faking an engagement,” Siddons snapped. “I truly believe she has fallen in love.”

  “I am still not convinced that she has truly lost her heart, but even if she has, she cannot marry a Holdcroft.” How could he say this without sounding like a terrible snob? He rolled the quill back and forth across the desk. “You must understand what I am saying, Siddons. My sister has a role to play, as do I. If it were up to me, I would still be in London and someone else would run Grant Park. If my sister had her way, she would never have to attend another social engagement again. We have no choice in the matter, though.”

  “Why do you find it so difficult to be the master of Grant Park?” Siddons leaped from her chair and began pacing. “To have such security and wealth at your command—you do realize, don’t you, that there are many people in this world who would happily change places with you?”

  “I would gladly switch places in a heartbeat. It’s no stroll in the park, I can assure you. There are aspects of this endeavor that are brutally painful. More to the point, it’s a role that I find stifling.”

  “Painful? Stifling?” She fixed him with an incredulous stare, her blue eyes widening. “What on earth do you mean?”

  “It’s just not…fun.” He faltered under her gaze. Fun was the only antidote to the pain, but saying the words out loud made his dilemma seem very weak indeed.

  “There speaks a man who never had to worry about where his next meal was coming from.” She rolled her eyes. “Life isn’t always fun, Reed. Surely you know that.”

  “I do. But I also understand the importance of enjoying life while we can. I’ve seen wonderful people die without ever having a moment’s pleasure.” The words poured forth in a torrent and he was powerless to check them. “You don’t understand, this isn’t merely about frivolity or about doing only what I care to do. For years now, I have made a point to sample life’s bounty while I could. Now that my father has died, it is up to me to manage this house and our family in the way he would have wished. My own feelings, my own wishes, no longer matter.”

  Siddons was staring at him, her head tilted to one side. This was the first time since their meeting that she was giving him her full attention. She was not formulating her response, nor was she distracted by her own cares and woes. Being listened to so fully was a heady experience. He was not used to anyone heeding a word he had to say, much les
s a woman.

  “I do understand what you mean,” she replied after a pause. “Duty must always come before pleasure.”

  “Yes.” Yet even as he agreed with her, his mind staged its own revolution. Why should he care about whom Jane married? Why should he devote all his time to Grant Park? This house had asked everything of his family, especially Mother, and all had been given to it in the name of obligation. The strange, heady panic that seized hold of him whenever he thought of Mother and of Father and of the weight of his numerous responsibilities swept over him, crushing any spark lit by Siddons’s interest in their conversation. He had no one to turn to for help while he was here. He grasped the quill so strongly that it snapped in his hands.

  Siddons gave a pained gasp and her eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  Just as well, for he had no reply at the moment. He was so good at social conversation, but if he had to continue now, all of the venom that filled his soul might spill forth. That might be a trifle bewildering, even to someone as staunch in character as Siddons.

  “I… I am sorry I intruded, Reed. Please forgive me. I just want the best for Jane. She’s a dear, a truly sweet-tempered girl, and I do wish her every happiness.” Siddons rose, backing up a couple of feet. “We’ll just continue our plans…as planned.”

  He gave a curt nod. It would still be best not to talk. Somehow, he trusted Siddons to never speak of the matter again. She was serious and perceptive, unlike anyone he had called friend while in London. The crowd he ran with chased pleasure, which was exciting enough, but he would never trust anyone as far as he could throw them.

  Siddons bobbed a brief curtsy and bustled out of the room. As the door closed behind her, he allowed himself one long sigh.

  Grant Park would either bring him to heel, or cost him his sanity.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Hannah was not one to back down from an argument, but the look in John Reed’s eyes and the sharp tone of his voice had been enough to end any attempt at intervention on her part. She gathered her skirts and mounted the steps, making her way back to Jane’s wing of the house. While she had expected to berate a lazy young buck who thought of no one but himself, or perhaps a snob who found the idea of country in-laws beneath him, she had confronted something else. John Reed was angry, full of a smoldering, white-hot wrath. Who knew that the carefree prankster she’d come to regard as a necessary pest would have a deeper, darker side?