The Rake’s Hesitant Bride: Historical Regency Romance (Ladybirds of Birdwell Book 2)

by Ella Edon

  Sally came wandering back over, placing a few more stems of purple clover in the basket and watching the other two women very closely.

  "I do believe it is possible, Mother," Merope said, after thinking for a long moment. "It just may be possible. He seems to have everything else that I would want in a husband: A good income, his own property, a fine career, and a handsome face and form. The compatibility remains to be seen, of course, but I should consider it an excellent start."

  "Maybe you should not always be so certain, Merope," said Sally, fiercely tearing out a wonderfully perfumed cluster of creamy-white meadowsweet flowers and throwing them in her basket. "Maybe you are not the only woman in the world. Maybe Mr. Brookford will soon become aware of that!"

  "I am quite aware of that myself," said Merope, as calmly as ever. "And it concerns me not at all." With that, she tossed a last bit of yellow-wort into the basket and put away her cutters in her apron pocket.

  Sally just looked at her, speechless, and quickly walked away, pretending to search for more flowers on the side of the lane even though Merope knew there would be no more blossoms cut today.

  Mrs. Robbins sighed. "Well, girls, this is one battle you will have to work out between yourselves. No man can help you here. I can only say, Merope, that if you have set your cap for this one, all the betting will be on you. But even you should not be too certain of the outcome. No one, no matter how confident, can be certain of anything when it comes to love – and men."

  Chapter Seven

  The following Monday, at about mid-morning, James Brookford went striding down the wooden walkway along the main street of Birdwell and stopped in front of the two tall wooden doors of the Robbins Inn. He knocked carefully, but loudly on one of them, and a few moments later, was rewarded by Miss Robbins herself opening the door.

  "Good morning, Miss Robbins," he said with a bow, and she curtsied to him in return. "You do look lovely."

  And she did, dressed in a grey muslin gown with yellow ribbons on it, a lightweight yellow shawl over her shoulders. "You look like the grey English sky with the sunlight peeking through."

  Even better, James thought, was the fact that she was just as enchanting to him today, as she had been the first time he had seen her. He was well accustomed to the phenomenon of a woman seeming to be a great and alluring beauty at the first meeting, but then proving to be just another plain and uninteresting female when next he met her.

  But he was quickly realizing that Miss Merope Robbins did not fit into that category. It was not just her tall, fair appearance, as attractive as it was. He had seen plenty of other women, who perhaps, were even more beautiful than this one – but they did not have her cool grace, her steady manner, her unshakeable confidence that she could face nearly anything and still be unruffled.

  James wondered what it would take to ruffle Miss Robbins. He realized that he would like very much to find out.

  By way of answer to his compliment, she just laughed, a pretty sound that he was beginning to enjoy. "Have you spent much time in Birdwell recently, Mr. Brookford?" she asked.

  "Recently? I have not. I have only passed through since returning to Albany some weeks ago. I would be very pleased to have you show it to me."

  "I was hoping you might say that," Miss Robbins said, with another laugh, so together, they started down the walkway towards the north, in the direction of Worthington, which sat up on the hills about a mile away.

  "We are becoming quite the center of commerce here in Birdwell," she said. "This particular shop, right here, is a favorite place of many in town. Though I find it rather hard to navigate. I do not think Mr. Nestor ever takes inventory!"

  James looked through the windows of Nestor's Books and Stationery as they walked past the rather large store, trying to peer inside even though the windows were half-blocked by stacks of books. "I see what you mean," he said with a laugh. "Bound books stacked up everywhere on the tables and mountains of chapbooks on the floor. I'll bet some of that has been there for years! But I will admit that I would enjoy taking some time to browse in there again. It seems to be quite the same as it was when I saw it as a much younger gentleman."

  "Indeed," murmured Miss Robbins. "Next, here, is a place I have been a few times myself: Mr. Linnet's leather shop, which he runs with his son."

  "His son, you say? How time does pass, when that young lad is now old enough to go into business with his father. Ah, I do love the leather shop with its smell of new saddles and bridles and harness."

  "And new half-boots and walking shoes," said Miss Robbins, barely giving the window a glance. "The rest of it just smells like horses to me."

  They went on past the leather shop. "Of course, here at the end is the Hawkins Livery Barn. I do not think this has changed at all since you and I both were small children."

  "I think you are right. But that is not always bad. It could simply mean that they continue to do things right and keep their customers – and their horses – happy."

  "I suppose it does."

  The crossed the wide cobblestone street. "Martin's Feed, of course," said Miss Robbins, barely giving it a glance before stepping up onto the boardwalk on the western side. "But this is quite a fine place. Swift & Thrasher's Haberdashery may be small by London standards, but it has two fine tailors and the best in coats and hats."

  "I'll remember that," said James, glancing down at his own coat and hoping it was adequate for Miss Robbins.

  "And here is another place that I quite like," she said. "The Dove & Daisy, with its tea and candy selection in the front and apothecary in the back. Mr. Branch and his wife run it together."

  "I see." Then he paused, thinking, as they continued to walk slowly. "I wonder whether being together so much of the time has any ill effects on their marriage. Do you think that – perhaps – they might grow tired of seeing each other all day and all night? Or does working together make them feel closer?"

  Miss Robbins shrugged rather helplessly, as though she had never given such a thing the slightest thought before now. "I should think that as long as the shop provides well, no woman would find any ill effects from it. Besides – Mrs. Branch works in the front of the place while Mr. Branch keeps to himself in the back. I am quite confident that they are able to ignore each other all day long, though they are scarcely twenty feet apart!"

  James laughed along with her, though he was a little disconcerted. "Your honesty truly is quite refreshing. Though – would you not like to work alongside your husband, given the chance?"

  She raised one eyebrow and gave him a small glance. "I do not intend to work as a shop-girl, Mr. Brookford. I plan to manage my own home, and the sort of man I hope to marry will be out earning us a very good living each day. So, it is not a question I need ever worrying about answering."

  Miss Robbins walked a few paces ahead while James considered what he had heard. Well, I did want the truth! he thought to himself, and then caught up to her once more.

  "Oh, I do remember this place well," said James, looking up at the next establishment. It was right in the center of the western side, directly across from the Robbins Inn and almost as large. "Singer & Sons Grocer. My mother was fond of looking around in here whenever we came to town, and when I was small of course, I followed along.

  "On the shelves were all sorts of things, different every time. Bottles of honey – coffee beans – tea – strips of dried meat in glass jars – dried fruit and spices – needles and buttons and thread – hairbrushes – wooden combs – brooms – even a few toys and pretty things. It seemed a wonderland to me."

  Miss Robbins simply walked on past. "We always send one of our servants over whenever we need something for the inn. I prefer the market, where I can get fresh food."

  "Oh, yes, yes indeed. The market. Is it still held on Tuesday and Friday, in the field at the south end? Right beside the Feathering River?"

  "It is. I plan to be there tomorrow and see what I can find. I do love a good bargain."


  "Tomorrow! That is very fine. I will – "

  "Here is another mainstay of the town," Miss Robbins went on, as they passed by the grocer's shop. "Possibly the one where I myself have spent the most time – outside of the inn, of course."

  "Fabrics, Feathers & Fineries," said James, reading the sign. "I don't recall that one."

  "It's only been a few years, but they've done quite well for themselves. Quite good at making gowns and bonnets and shawls. A nice addition to the town."

  "Of course."

  "This last is Miss Magpie's Bakery. Very nice pastries and cakes. We sometimes engage her and her mother to make things for the inn, if our cooks are too busy."

  "Indeed."

  Once again, they crossed the street and returned to the east side. "Such a pretty little church," James remarked, looking at the well-kept white building with the steeple. It sat apart from the row of shops and was surrounded by a white fence, creating a pretty yard with wildflowers scattered throughout.

  "I suppose it is," said Miss Robbins. "Weddings are held there quite often, of course."

  "Of course." He stepped back up onto the boardwalk and offered his arm to her, which she made something of a show of accepting.

  "The Rook & Rooster Pub," said Miss Robbins. "Some hope that its location nearest the church will help those who spend too many hours there, but so far, I do not believe it has done so much."

  James could only nod. "And this next place – what is it? The store looks empty."

  "It is. A few years ago, it was a kept by a couple offering meat pies and other prepared foods. But I am afraid that between the inn and the Rook & Rooster, there was not enough business to go around and they moved on. This little place has sat empty ever since."

  Walking close to the window, James cupped his hand around his eye and peered inside. "Quite dusty, but it seems otherwise in good repair."

  He drew back and looked at Miss Robbins. "It just might make a perfectly good office for a solicitor. I am sure that even a small town would have use for one. There are always contracts to be negotiated and explained – property to be rented or sold – even lawsuits and debts to be untangled. It just might – "

  "Why, Mr. Brookford," she said, blinking her grey eyes and looking quite puzzled. "I thought you were set on returning to London and living the life of a barrister in the city? Surely, you would not want to give that up for this quiet little town where nothing ever happens?"

  "Hmm. Well – I – you see – "

  "I do love the idea of the city and have begged my mother to allow me to go to London for a season. I am so looking forward to it." Miss Robbins brushed past him and continued walking, approaching the last shopfront, before coming back to the inn.

  He hurried after her. It seemed to James that she wore some sort of faint perfume, though he could not say what it might be. The perfume was as warm and sweet and natural as wildflowers, and James stepped very close to Miss Robbins as she continued describing the town to him.

  "And this is the little home of our weekly newspaper and postal service. It's quite busy and quite a convenience, being right next to our inn. Both services are managed by Mr. Swansea and his wife and their sizeable brood, who all somehow work together to get all of it done each day. And – "

  She stopped in front of the doors to the inn. "Here we are again. Of course, the entire town is surrounded by cottages and small farms on all sides except the north, where Worthington sits."

  "Yes, I know." He faced her, smiling. "I do thank you for a lovely tour. May I sit with you in the parlor for a short time before I must leave? A cup of tea does sound quite nice."

  "Why, yes, it does, now that you mention it. Although I usually prefer coffee myself, with thick cream."

  "That sounds quite nice, too. I should be quite pleased to have whatever you are having, Miss Robbins."

  Her eyes flicked over him as she looked him up and down, and then gave him a small smile. "Please, do come in. I can get the coffee myself, along with whatever Laurie and Hilda are baking this morning."

  He nodded and held the door open, and then followed her inside to the large dining room of the Robbins Inn.

  There were only a few folks at the tables at this time of the morning and Miss Robbins waved him over to a table nearest the front window. "I'll be back in a moment. Please, make yourself comfortable."

  "Of course." He watched her go, and sighed. Even though he should have enjoyed his nostalgic tour of his childhood town, all he could think of was what a paradox the young woman seemed to be.

  Yes, she was indeed quite open and honest in seemingly everything, from whether she preferred coffee or tea or – a disconcerting thought – whether she preferred the excitement of the city to the quiet of the country.

  James understood that Miss Robbins would enjoy the city, and would wish to have at least one season in London, on the other hand, she was quite proud of the well-kept inn, the fine job her mother did of managing it, and seemed rather content to be working there herself. She was quite comfortable with being around the countryside nobility such as Earl Worthington and Lady Worthington, where some of the country folk were not, and always got nervous, no matter how much the nobles might try to put them at their ease.

  The strange thing was – though Miss Robbins claimed to like both the city and the country for different reasons, she had appeared to be thoroughly bored by the little town. He supposed he'd expected her to be proud of it and show off its progress to him as they had walked through it today, but all she wanted to talk about was going to the city as the wife of a barrister.

  It was all rather confusing.

  But if she truly did want to go to London and take a townhouse, that should not disturb him – should it? Had he not been telling all who would listen that his best chance to find the sort of woman he wanted – and the life he wanted – lay in London?

  What else had all his years of study been for, if not to become a barrister in the high courts? For, though James need not pursue a career, he wanted to practice law, at least for a short while. A country solicitor rarely even entered a courtroom. Such an individual would spend his career only in reading over contracts and writing letters and preparing clients for their own court cases.

  Surely his feelings about such a life had not changed, simply because he had come home for a few weeks?

  Chapter Eight

  Very soon, Merope returned to the dining room carrying a tray with a small linen-covered basket on it. With her was one of the servants, carrying a larger tray with a coffee service. "Thank you, Laurie. I think we have all we need," Merope said, placing her tray on the table, and then sitting down across from Mr. Brookford.

  "What a wonderful aroma," he said, unable to resist reaching for the basket and lifting up the linen napkin that covered it. "What are these?"

  "My mother makes those. Her specialty, and quite simple. Fresh hot rolls with butter, grated sugar, and a little cinnamon powder. They've been a favorite of mine since I was a very small girl."

  He tried one, and they tasted even better than they smelled. "Truly the best I have ever had!" He exclaimed and reached for a second one.

  Merope gave him that small, slow smile that he was beginning to recognize. "Now, now, Mr. Brookford," she scolded. "You will remember our agreement."

  "Of course, I remember it," he said, touching his napkin to his mouth to catch a few sweet crumbs of cinnamon-flavored sugar. "We agreed that we prize honesty and sense far above emotion and love."

  "Indeed, we do. So – can you assure me that these are, truly, the best sweet rolls you have ever had?" Her words were serious, but her grey eyes were bright with amusement. "I am sure there were many more delicacies to be had in London, each one finer than the last. What I brought you is just plain country fare."

  "Miss Robbins," he said, very carefully, "I assure you, that I would never be anything, but brutally honest with you, as promised. So, you can be certain that this is, beyond a doubt, the finest fare I have
ever had – in London or Birdwell or anywhere else."

  Again, the slow smile. She really was very pretty, with her fair skin and delicate blonde hair and tall, slender figure. Perhaps, it was just that he was so very struck by her cool demeanor, by the way she hardly seemed to react to anything, that impressed him so. But there must be something that would get a rise out of her, and suddenly, he wanted very much to find out what that was.

  "That is very gratifying," she said, sitting back a little and sipping her coffee with cream. "I am very happy with your honesty so far, sir."

  He grinned. "I am glad to know that. But what of your own, Miss Robbins?"