by Lori Wick
“I didn’t think that you would.”
Weston’s brow suddenly furrowed.
“What did you and your father do for money?”
“Oh, various things. We might sell something, or I might do a small job that gave us a little bit. Sometimes someone from the church would help us.”
“It sounds like it could have been humbling.”
“Indeed,” Anne admitted. “I found that pride can be an ugly thing, and we have more pride than we like to think.”
“At the same time,” Weston reasoned, “we don’t own anything. We have what we have only because God bestows it upon us.”
“I could have used your voice of reason many years ago. It took me quite a long time to figure that out. It felt so awful to be without and to think of myself as a charity work, but as you said, everything is from God’s hand, which means we’re all works of charity—His charity.”
“That’s nicely put, Anne.”
Feeling shy of a sudden, Anne studied her fingernails. Weston followed her gaze. A moment later, he reached over and picked up her right hand. He studied two broken nails before relinquishing her hand and meeting her eyes.
“Let me guess. You cleaned while at Levens Crossing.”
“I did dust a bit,” Anne admitted, hearing that his tone was light.
“Hmm. I can see I’m going to have to keep an eye on you. I think the next time you visit, I’ll just send along a maid.”
“Then what will I do?”
“You’ll just visit with your father.”
“What if he wants to know about the maid?”
Weston’s brows rose and his mouth quirked. “Do you honestly think he’ll notice?”
A laugh escaped Anne before she could stop it. She put a hand to her mouth, an action that only widened Weston’s smile.
“I like your laugh, Anne Weston.”
“And I like how committed you are to seeing after my needs, even though I don’t always know what to do about it.”
“That was wonderfully honest.”
Anne nodded. “I’m working on that. It’s not easy.”
“No, but wouldn’t it be a shame if months from now we’re still strangers?”
“Yes, it would, so in light of that, I’ll ask you how your day has gone and if you accomplished your work in the study?”
“My day has gone well, thank you, and as for my work in the study, I’m looking into purchasing some land so I’m scouring my accounts to make sure I’ve kept everything in order.”
“Is the land nearby?”
“Yes. It’s a parcel over near Escomb Dale. It’s not openly on the market, but Mr Vintcent, the architect who designed the conservatory, heard of something and mentioned it. When I checked into it, I was quoted a rather irresistible price. I have until the end of the week to give my answer.”
“Who owns it right now?”
“It’s part of an estate owned by the Brodhead family. Evidently Brodhead hates the area and would love to be rid of it.”
“I’ve heard of him all my life but never met him.”
“He never lived here. He prefers Bath or London, so I’m told.”
It occurred to both husband and wife at that moment that they were talking like old friends. Their eyes met and both smiled.
What a lovely thing, Anne thought when the two eventually parted, Anne to clean up for lunch and Weston to check on the conservatory. I like him. He makes it very easy to like him.
Thornton Hall
Marianne woke slowly, her body feeling heavy and fatigued. She lay still and listened to the clock strike nine times, nearly shaking her head at how late it was. She had gone to bed almost ten hours ago and slept hard all night.
The sound of footsteps brought her eyes completely open, and she smiled to see Jennings headed her way.
“Good morning.”
His deep voice always caused her to smile.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Tired. And tired of being tired.”
The handsome man who sat on the bed stared down at his wife, his mouth just beginning to smile.
“If you had said yes to me the first or second time I’d proposed, you probably would have been pregnant sooner and already had the baby. You have no one to blame but yourself.”
Marianne laughed. The way he’d proposed, or rather the tenacity in the process, was a long-standing joke between them.
“Shall I ring for tea?” he asked after he’d leaned to kiss her.
“No, I think I’ll start with a cool bath. It’s been so warm, I feel a bit cooked.”
Jennings noticed that her face was flushed and her skin had been warm to his touch. And if the sun streaming through the windows was any indication, it was going to be another hot day.
An hour later Marianne, bathed, dressed, and finally ready for breakfast, was on her way downstairs when the first pain hit. Her back had been aching that morning for the first time, but she hadn’t expected this. She sat down on the stairs and gasped a little at the intensity of the contraction. Even when it eased she kept her place and was glad when Thomas wandered by.
“Marianne, are you all right?”
“I am, Thomas, but I’ve decided to go back upstairs. Will you walk with me?”
Thomas offered a hand when she came to her feet and did as she asked. They visited companionably in her bedroom as another pain didn’t come for more than 15 minutes.
Had Marianne not been concentrating on the contraction of her abdomen, she might have laughed. Seeing her condition, Thomas ran as though his jacket were on fire, shouting for Jennings and generally informing the entire household that the baby was on its way.
Tipton
Both Palmer and Lydia met the three Jennings children when they arrived by coach, the children’s sober faces telling the story.
“When did contractions begin?” Palmer asked Thomas.
“About an hour ago.” Thomas briefly told his story of finding her on the stairs and finished with, “Jennings felt it best that we cleared out.”
“They’ll keep us informed,” Palmer assured him before lifting a dejected Penny into his arms. Lydia came close to speak to her.
“Margaret Hurst is here playing with the girls. The four of you will have a wonderful time.”
“I didn’t want to leave,” she said, the first tears coming.
“I know you didn’t, but Jennings knows best, Penny, and God can hear your prayers from Tipton. Marianne needs you to be praying right now.”
“I could have held her hand. I could have gotten her a drink.”
“And she would have appreciated that, but Jennings wants to make sure you’re all right too. That’s why he sent you here to us.”
James had hung back a bit, his own 12-year-old heart uncertain about all that was happening.
“How will we know?”
“They’ll send word,” Palmer informed him. “And if things go on a bit, Lydia can pop over and check on the progress.”
The children smiled at Lydia—she felt like another mother to them—before going into the house. When they left, Palmer and Lydia stood hugging on the drive. Oliver’s birth was very fresh in their minds, and they both knew very well what a special time this was.
“I’m so excited for them, Palmer.”
“As am I. I hope it’s a girl.”
Lydia laughed.
“There was a time when you didn’t care, Palmer. What’s come over you lately?”
“I’m growing opinionated in my old age.”
Lydia enjoyed this. She was still laughing when they started back inside.
Chapter Thirteen
Brown Manor
“Have you seen Mrs Weston?” Mr Weston asked of Mansfield on Friday just before lunch.
“I believe she took a basket to the garden, sir.”
“All right. That’s where I’ll be.”
“Did you wish me to speak to Mrs Weston about the menu, sir?”
“I’ll do i
t. Are we ready for the weekend?”
“Cook can plan the menu as she always does on Fridays, but she would prefer Mrs Weston’s input.”
“Of course. I’ll see to it right now.”
It didn’t prove as easy as it sounded. The gardens at the manor were extensive. When Weston didn’t find Anne in the kitchen garden, he wandered to the back and found her some distance away, to the south of the new construction site, a lone figure cutting blossoms and placing them in a basket. She was in a dress he hadn’t noticed before, but it was one that had seen better days. For a moment he absently wondered when would be the best time to tell her they were going to shop while in London. For most women this would be good news, but Weston was loath to do anything that might make Anne feel indebted to him.
Anne heard his approach and looked up, holding her basket in front of her.
“I’ve been found,” she said before he could speak.
“Were you hiding?”
“In this old dress, yes, I was.”
Weston couldn’t claim not to have noticed, but there was no point in admitting as much.
“What have you found?” he asked instead, concentrating on the contents of the basket.
Anne’s sigh was heartfelt. “Some of the loveliest flowers I’ve ever seen. These gardens are spectacular.”
“You’re not too warm?”
“Not yet.”
“More gifts arrived just before I came looking for you.”
“Did you open them?”
“No, I wanted to wait for you.”
“But you didn’t open any yesterday. You let me do it all.”
“I thought women enjoyed opening gifts.”
“We do, but you got married also.”
Weston only smiled about this, and Anne gave him a pointed look.
“What’s that look for?” he asked, his voice and eyes full of teasing.
“One would think you might be having second thoughts,” she teased him, unnecessarily arranging flowers in the basket, her eyes down to keep from laughing. “One might suspect that gifts arriving reminds you that you’re now tied to a wife.”
“I shall go this instant and open every one.”
He said this so swiftly and comically that Anne laughed.
“Let me take the basket for you.”
“Thank you.”
When they started toward the house, Weston broached the subject of the menu.
“Thanks to Mansfield, Sally, and Cook, I’ve been eating like a king, but they’re used to my taste. Cook would much prefer to have your input, and if it suits you, she does the menu on Friday.”
“Oh, of course. I’d be happy to speak with her, although I certainly have no complaints about the food.”
They ventured back to the house in companionable silence, but as soon as they were inside, Weston invited Anne to open gifts.
“Would you mind terribly if I cleaned up a bit?”
“No. Do you want lunch before we do gifts?”
“Opening them before lunch would be nice.”
It struck her as she answered that he was excited about these presents. He didn’t need to be the one to open them, but he was pleased.
“I’ll be back in about 20 minutes,” Anne offered. “Will that do?”
“Yes. I’ll tell Mansfield we’ll lunch directly after.”
While the two were apart, Anne made good use of her time, washing up, changing her dress, and doing her hair. Her room was left in something of a clutter when she finished, but she didn’t wish to be late.
Weston wouldn’t have noticed. He had gone back to the book he was reading and was quite absorbed when Anne arrived. Anne took a chair and watched him for a moment. She didn’t think her footsteps had been that silent on the floor, but he didn’t seem to notice her presence.
Anne didn’t mind. It was nice to sit quietly and watch her husband’s bent head. He had dark, wavy hair that Anne found herself admiring. His handsome face wasn’t hard to look at either. It passed through her mind to wonder what he thought of her own looks, but he looked up before she could process the idea.
“Have you been there long?”
“Not overly.”
Weston’s eyes studied her, working to gauge if she was only being polite.
“It’s good that you’re finding out early,” he said without explanation.
“Finding out what?”
“When I’m reading something, I tend to become rather lost.”
Anne smiled. There was certainly little comparison, but she was so used to living with a man who was often completely lost that it gave her the most irresistible urge to laugh.
“What did I say?”
“Nothing,” Anne said, not able to wipe the smile from her face, and in turn, not being very convincing.
Weston’s gaze narrowed with teasing. His voice deepened as he said, “I’ll have to figure out a way to make you talk.”
Anne couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled out of her.
“That’s just the right note to start on,” Weston said as he went toward a long cylinder wrapped in plain brown paper, “I think this must be a rug. Shall I do the honors?”
“Please,” Anne replied, still wanting to laugh.
A few moments later the paper was torn back so Weston could roll out the rug at Anne’s feet. Her eyes widened with pleasure, and her mouth rounded a bit. It was beautiful—a work of art.
“Who sent this?” she asked quietly after finding her voice.
“The Palmer family, and I think it would go very well in your room.”
“Oh, no, Mr Weston, that’s not right!”
“On the contrary, it would be perfect. I’ll have Mansfield see to it today.”
Anne was ready to argue, but the rug was being rerolled, and as soon as the task was complete, Weston went for another gift. He placed it in Anne’s lap and took a seat to watch her.
Anne, still uncomfortable over the rug, opened the package slowly, hoping this was something they could share. Anne nearly sighed when she saw a crystal compote.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Anne breathed, lifting the bowl out to be viewed and spotting the card.
“What does it say?”
“Best wishes and our prayers, Jennings, Marianne, and family. The note at the bottom says Penny picked it out.”
“It’s very nice.”
Anne looked at her spouse, a sparkle in her eyes.
“I think it might go well in your room.”
Weston was still chuckling as he went for the third gift. It was from the Shepherds, and when Anne opened it she found more candlesticks. She glanced at them and then looked more carefully. At last she turned a beaming face to her husband.
“These were my mother’s.”
“The candlesticks?”
“Yes.”
“Some you had to sell?”
“Yes, Benwick gave me a fair price, but I never saw them in the shop because he doesn’t usually deal in secondhand wares.”
“That’s marvelous.”
“Isn’t it? I’m so pleased. I wonder if Mrs Shepherd had any idea.”
Weston didn’t answer. He was getting an idea of his own, but not one he was willing to speak of at the moment.
It was still on his mind when Mansfield sought them out and told them lunch was served.
Thornton Hall
Lydia waited several hours. Not surprised that there was no news, she also realized that Penny had come to check with her a little more often. In an effort to rescue the little girl, Lydia had told her she would go to Thornton Hall and check on Marianne’s progress. She had called for the carriage and now made her way quietly up the wide staircase at her brother’s home.
Things were still as she climbed. Not until she reached the upstairs landing did she hear the soft footsteps of Mrs Walker—Marianne’s mother—as she paced in the hall. As soon as Mrs Walker spotted Lydia, she came and hugged her.
It was while the women embraced that they heard a t
iny infant’s cry. For a moment their eyes met in shock before Mrs Walker broke down. Wordlessly Lydia held her and let the older woman cry, fully understanding the need.
When they heard a nurse bustle from the bedroom, Jennings at her heels, both women turned and waited.
Jennings beamed at them. “A girl. A perfect little girl.”
“And Mari?” her mother asked.
“Doing fine.”
Mrs Walker all but sagged with relief. Lydia saw her to a downstairs salon and ordered tea, but she didn’t linger. Much as she wanted to go upstairs and see Marianne and this new little person, right now she was needed at Tipton. She had to tell three children that they had a baby sister.
Brown Manor
Anne looked through her sewing basket a third time before sitting back with a sigh. She had a jacket that needed mending, but the dark blue thread she’d used last time was gone. She hated the very thought of asking Mr Weston for anything, but right now she felt she had no choice.
She was on her way downstairs to find him when a clock chimed in the hall. She stood and listened to the soft sounds it made and was given a chance to notice her reflection in the hall mirror.
How will I ever wear this dress to London?
Anne stood in discouragement for a moment but then realized she just might have time to do something about it. She continued toward her husband’s study, hoping he wasn’t too busy. He called for her to enter the moment she knocked.
“Are you terribly busy, Mr Weston?”
“No, please come in. Sit down.”
“Oh, I won’t stay long,” Anne said, almost immediately seeing she would not have the courage to say everything that was on her mind. “I just wanted to let you know I’ll be going into Collingbourne in the morning.”
“Oh, fine. Be sure and let Mansfield know of your needs.”
“I will, thank you.”
Anne was back out the door in record time, telling herself she was going to have to be more careful about disturbing him. He’d had papers all over his desk and obviously been ensconced with work.
For a moment Anne stood with her back to the closed portal, trying to figure out how she would explain her actions when she didn’t go to town the next day.
“Maybe I could spend the day in the gardens,” she whispered softly to herself. “Or possibly I’ll think of something else to sell.”
