by Ella Edon
Perhaps the country life was not so dull as some might believe.
He noticed that Miss Robbins had turned away from them and was walking slowly through the millhouse, running her fingertips over the enormous grinding stones and peering down at the river running beneath the edge of the building. She gazed up at the loft, where several sacks of grain awaited milling and where other tools and supplies were stored.
"It is a very efficient design, indeed" said Miss Robbins, nodding as she looked around the mill. "Much better than having to grind a few handfuls of grain at a time in order to get a little flour. It isquite elegant in its own way. Your father was certainly a brilliant man to build such a device here."
James blinked, a little surprised by her remark. She did not seem to be merely flattering him; she appeared to mean it. It was as though he was seeing the mill, and even the entire farm, through her eyes – the eyes of someone who was neither of city nor of country, as she had said, but who had grown up with the day-to-day business of running a small-town inn and certainly knew the value of efficiency.
He watched her walking over the heavy wooden floor, examining the mechanical works and the storage bins for the grain . . . such a tall figure, nearly as tall as his own, but slim and strong at the same time . . . how nicely the deep blue dress fit her, draping so smoothly over her –
"Mr. Brookford."
He looked back towards the open door. Miss Henson stood there, again looking annoyed and rather insulted. "If you will please excuse me, I will return to the house on my own. The hour grows late and I must mend a ribbon on my gown for this evening, as well as write an extra note in my journal."
"You have a journal?" asked Miss Robbins.
"Of course I do!" responded Miss Henson, and then smiled as sweetly as she could manage at James. “Thank you for the lovely tour. I shall see you all when you return to the house.”
She curtsied, James bowed, and Miss Henson walked out, leaving the heavy door sitting wide open behind her.
Merope watched Sally go and could not help shaking her head at her friend – if indeed she could still be considered a friend. The way Sally had dressed so very inappropriately for this morning's tour, with her delicate hems hiked up nearly to her knees, it was clear that the stakes in this battle for Mr. Brookford's attentions had been raised. She knew very well the fight would only end when he chose one of them . . . or neither of them.
Mr. Brookford also watched Sally go out of the door and then disappear around the side of the stone millhouse. "Perhaps she grew cold," he ventured.
Merope almost giggled herself at that, still looking out of the door. "I do not see how it could be otherwise. I am afraid that both that dress, and the pair of slippers are ruined. A rather high cost for a pleasant tour of a farm and its mill."
"It appeared to be worth it to her." He paused, drawing a breath, and then went on. "I know that young ladies often do not like to share a gentleman's attention between them. I think perhaps that is the real reason why she left . . . but I am very glad to see that you, Miss Robbins, did not seem to mind the situation. After all, you will both be my guests for the rest of the week here at Albany House."
Very slowly, Merope turned to look at Mr. Brookford. She found it hard to believe that he had actually said – what he had said. "You have the impression that I did not mind this situation?"
It was clear from the look that crossed his face, he knew he was in trouble. "Well – that is to say – I – "
"Mr. Brookford." Merope felt her anger rising and worked very hard to control it. "Please allow me to inform you that I do not enjoy this sort of thing at all, but I am tolerating it for your sake and for the sake of your parents."
She pulled herself up very tall and straight, bracing her shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. "I tolerate it because I did choose to accept the kind invitation sent by you and your mother. That means that I am here as a guest, and as a guest I will not insult my hosts – including you – by objecting to a situation in which I might find myself while being your guest."
He remained perfectly still. His eyes never wavered, though they were large and filled with concern. "I see," he whispered.
"I do want you to understand that I am very much enjoying this chance to see your beautiful estate. Your family has been nothing but kind and welcoming to me. I alsofind your company to be quite acceptable."
Mr. Brookford smiled faintly at that.
"But please do not make the mistake of thinking that I 'do not mind' finding myself sparring with one of my friends for a gentleman's attention. I would never willingly put myself in the position of openly competing for any man as though he were a prize to be won."
"I understand perfectly. And – "
"I assure you, Mr. Brookford, that since I am here, I will do all I can to be a pleasant and respectable guest. I also assure you that I truly am pleased and honored to be invited to Albany House, and I do not take such an invitation for granted. But I am not here to win a man as a prize."
His expression softened a bit, and he cocked his head. "Why do you think you are here, Miss Robbins?
She broke off looking at him and took a few steps across the heavy wooden floor of the millhouse, clasping her hands in front of her. "I know that your mother wished to invite as many unmarried people as possible. She would certainly hope to get a good mix at the ball."
Merope stopped near the enormous grinding stones and turned around to face him. "You and I have already been introduced and begun a friendship. My family is respected as residents and innkeepers in Birdwell. I think that any young woman in those circumstances might be invited to a private country ball."
"That is all quite true," he said. "But you seem as though something that has offended you. You just said you are not surprised by your invitation, and so I am somewhat baffled– "
She smiled and folded her hands, still keeping her emotions firmly in check. "Your mother was very kind to invite me as a houseguest. And it was somewhat gratifying to solve the small mystery of why I was not informed of that, as Miss Henson was, when I received my invitation to the ball.
"Mr. Brookford, I believe that I was invited in part to fill out the numbers, to have enough ladies present to provide partners for the gentlemen who do attend. I also believe I am here in far larger part to be a companion for Miss Henson – to make certain she would be willing to come early, and stay late, as your houseguest."
Mr. Brookford just stared at her, blinking. "Miss Robbins," he said, very slowly. "Let me assure you of one thing: My mother and I intended from the very start that you should stay the week with us as a houseguest. Your invitation was not only for the ball."
"Well, yes. I do understand that, as I said. I was still asked to stay as a houseguest in order to serve as a companion to Sally Henson."
"No. No. You are wrong, Miss Robbins." He walked a few steps to close the distance between them. "She is an amusing girl, I will say, but she is nothing like you. I assure you that even though the cards with the invitations did not specifically say so, Miss Henson was asked to come here for three reasons."
"Three?" She frowned, truly feeling confused. "I don't understand."
He smiled. "The first reason was for her to attend the ball, as you mentioned. The second is because she was intended to serve as a companion and chaperone for you, while you stayed at Albany House for the week. Though Miss Henson is welcome here, of course, it was the other way around."
Merope closed her eyes and reminded herself to breathe. So – Sally had been wrong when she'd so smugly flaunted her invitation in front of Merope back in Birdwell. It would be a great temptation to do the same thing to her in retaliation, but perhaps – at least out of courtesy to Mr. Brookford and his parents – that could wait until she and Sally had returned home.
Though she could not help smiling to herself with quite some satisfaction right now. She knew it was petty, but she could hardly wait until Sally found out about this. The battle was on, and M
erope was in it too deep to back out now.
Chapter Twenty
"You see, Miss Robbins," James continued, "I did not know about the mix-up with the invitations to the ball, and the cards asking you and Miss Henson to be our houseguests. My mother takes care of all such things, of course. But I suppose it never occurred to me that you would not know – even though both you and Miss Henson were invited for the week – that you were the one I most wanted to see."
His words warmed her heart, and she could not help smiling at him. Then something else occurred to her. "We had a pact of honesty, you and I," she stated, raising her chin just a little. "Do you recall it?"
He smiled, too, though she could see a little uncertainty in his eyes. "Of course I do. And I hope that you will always recall it, too."
"Yes. So, with that in mind, I must say that another thought occurs to me."
"And that is – ?"
"And that is that perhaps I was invited to arrive early to meet your parents and see if I met with their approval. And if I did not, then there would be time to send me home again before the ball began."
His jaw dropped. "Can you be serious?" asked Mr. Brookford. "I cannot think that such an idea would ever occur to you. I know that you did not get the card about being a houseguest, but you did receive the invitation to the ball, did you not?"
"I did."
"Then of course, you were meant to come to the ball, and to be our guest for the week, and . . . the one I most wanted to spend time with."
He smiled at her again, reaching out to one of her hands. "After the time we spent together, Miss Robbins – especially after your brave efforts to ride that naughty little pony – I was impressed with your nerve and with your willingness to learn something new, something difficult. Not every woman would have tried such a thing."
"I – I suppose I do not give up easily," she said to him, though it was difficult to think of words when she felt only the warmth and strength of his hand holding her fingers. Merope looked up into his shining hazel eyes, and nearly forgot everything else as he started to pull her closer to him.
Suddenly, she withdrew her hand and walked a few steps away from him. "Mr. Brookford," she said, trying to regain control of the conversation. "You mentioned a third reason as to why Miss Henson was invited to Albany House this week."
"Ah. Yes." He cleared his throat and seemed to think for a moment. "She was invited to attend the ball, to be a companion for you, and my mother wished specifically for Miss Henson to be invited - because a man named Daniel Bird will also be attending the ball this evening."
Merope looked up at him again, but this time her eyes narrowed. "Daniel Bird?"
"Yes. I have not met him myself, but I understand that he is a farmer just outside of Birdwell – a hog farmer, as I recall. You see, my mother was told that he is known to be fond of Miss Henson, and so she was also invited in hopes of persuading Mr. Bird to attend. My mother wishes to have as many eligible gentlemen in attendance as possible."
Though she could not say so, Merope's first reaction was a measure of relief at knowing that Daniel had been invited. If he did come to the ball, he would surely keep Sally occupied.
"I have met Mr. Bird," Merope said. "He is indeed a simple country farmer, and he has long been known in Birdwell as a kind and honest man. He is thought to have some affection for Sally Henson, so I am sure she will enjoy seeing him at the ball tonight."
"Good, good. I am glad to know that," said Mr. Brookford. To her surprise, he reached out and took her hands – both of them this time. "I do indeed recall the pact of honesty that we made," he said. "I must also tell you - that you should not never have given a thought as whether you might be worthy of visiting Albany House as a guest. I only hope, Miss Robbins, that my home and family will be worthy of you."
Merope could only look up at him, feeling greatly warmed by his words. He did not sound as though he were simply throwing out a few pleasantries to distract her; it sounded as though he were very sincere. As though he was speaking to a woman, who he was quite serious about courting.
Just slightly, just briefly, her fingers tightened on his hands. This time, when he gently drew her close, she did not resist, but took a slow step towards him. In a moment, she was pressed up against his broad chest. He was so warm, so strong, yet so gentle. "Perhaps you might not want to live in the city after all,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. "Perhaps you might come to love Albany House as much as I believe it will love you . . . and never want to leave it."
As before, she was startled and drew back to look at him. "Not want to – not want to live in the city?" she asked, taking her hands from his own.
He placed both of his hands on her arms as if to steady her. "Oh – well, you – you see, Miss Robbins – it was just an idle thought. I am sorry. I know that you have your heart set on moving to London and enjoying the city life."
"That may be true, Mr. Brookford," she answered, again taking a step back from him so that his hands fell away to his sides. "But I thought you felt the same as I when it came to living in the country or in the city."
"Of course I feel the same," he said, beginning to sound rather irritated. "I have told you from the start that I have lived many years in London and that I earned by law degree from Cambridge University. I am qualified as a barrister. Why would I want to live in the country after all of that hard work?"
"I do not know, Mr. Brookford. It sounds suspiciously like you are a gentleman who shouldmarry for love, love of a country girl - who would never be a fit for the city, no matter what she says, but would be very happy to be the mistress of a place like Albany House."
He just stared at her, mystified. "Are you talking about yourself, Miss Robbins?"
She smiled tightly. "I am talking about Miss Henson, of course. She may enjoy visiting the city, but this place – this beautiful estate – is exactly the sort of home she would love to have. She has lived and worked on a farm her entire life but is still pretty enough to attend a private ball and wear a fine silk dress just as well as any lady of London.
"So, in spite of what you said about wanting a marriage sensibly made – a marriage based on mutual honesty and cool decision-making, rather than one based on the heat of emotion and impulse – it seems to me that perhaps you have allowed your heart to rule your head after all."
"And you believe my heart is ruling my head – because I invited Miss Henson here for the week." He spoke very slowly, apparently trying to figure out exactly what she was getting at.
"And so you now believe," Mr. Brookford went on, "that I invited her for the week because I secretly wish to remain at Albany House instead of moving to London and I think she would make a better wife for a gentleman who lives in the country than – than a woman who has said repeatedly that she wants to live in the city, and nowhere else?"
Merope drew a deep breath and nodded. "That is exactly right. I believe you have invited Sally for exactly those reasons. And with the pact of honesty we have between us, I would like nothing but honesty from you."
"I should not expect otherwise, Miss Robbins. Honesty is easily given in this case. You are correct but only in one aspect - "
"I accept your honesty, Mr. Brookford. I hope you will not keep such information from me again. I would simply tell you to move on and reserve your attentions to a woman more suited to you - and leave me in peace."
"Leave you – in peace?" He had a truly stunned expression on his face. "Miss Robbins, I mean that I have, in truth, given up the idea of making choices about my relationships only with my head, as we had agreed, and now hope to do so with both my head and my heart. Miss Henson has no ownership of these parts of me. And I do not want to leave you. I want to enjoy your company here at my family home this week, and especially enjoy the ball this evening. Is that acceptable to you?"
She closed her eyes and nodded. "It is. I can ask for nothing more."
"Yet – at the same time, I want you to understand that you are
not here as simply another guest. You are indeed the one I wanted most to see."
Merope began slowly pacing across the wooden floor again. "I am honored by that, and appreciative of it. I suppose it is just that – it seems to me that since you came back to the countryside and stayed, first at Worthington and now here at your home, your feelings about returning to London have changed."
He fell silent for a moment. "You may be right," he murmured. "Perhaps they have changed somewhat. Changed enough to at least give me pause and reconsider my future."
She turned and stared at him, feeling a little cold inside. She stood in silence and waited for him to go on.
Now it was his turn to pace the floor. "I will admit to you now that yes, after being at Worthington for a time and then, especially since returning to my home right here, that I have enjoyed being back in the country very much – far more than I expected to."
