Summer House Party

by Regina Scott

Edward continued down the lane leading away from the dower house and out toward the vast parkland surrounding the main house. He’d spent enough years evaluating the Downy estate and studying efficient land use and proper planning, to make a detailed assessment of what he saw.

  A low-lying section of the east lawn appeared to be draining poorly. Based on the lay of the land beyond, it was likely a problem throughout the eastern portion of the estate. He could make out fields beyond the enclosed lawn. If the land wasn’t draining, the crop yield would be relatively poor.

  He followed the edge of the lawns, eyeing more outlying fields. He was at too great a distance to make a detailed evaluation, but he spotted a great many things that might be done differently, better. The estate manager didn’t appear to be one well versed in more recent agricultural advancements. That came from not being in desperate need of every penny the land could produce.

  Desperate need had forced Edward to learn all he could about managing land. He’d felt no particular connection to the Warrick estate during the house party and hadn’t paid much heed to the state of it. But this was his brother’s land now. He wanted the best for Tom.

  As he walked along the winding footpath leading to the back garden, he mentally made a list of the improvements he meant to suggest to his brother. The estate was clearly profitable, but making it efficient would decrease the chances of future generations finding themselves in Edward’s unenviable position.

  He turned the corner at the far edge of the garden and came upon Tom, ambling about the garden path. Their eyes met, and they both chuckled.

  “Couldn’t bear it any longer?” Edward guessed.

  “Thank the heavens the Warricks will be living year-round in London,” Tom said. He lowered his voice and gave Edward an emphasizing look. “We have it in writing.”

  Edward couldn’t help a grin. “Thus, you need only endure them until the wedding.”

  Tom pushed out a breath. “They are sorely trying my patience.” That was something Edward seldom heard from his affable younger brother.

  “I’ve been exploring your estate,” Edward said.

  “And what are your impressions?” They began a slow circuit of the garden.

  “Firstly, you need to think of a name for this place. It is, after all, no longer ‘the Warrick estate.’”

  Tom nodded. “Henrietta and I discussed that, but we haven’t thought of anything yet that we both love.”

  “You have time. It would, I am certain, be best to delay the rechristening until after the Warricks have moved to Town.”

  “Indeed.” Tom tucked his hands into the pockets of his outer coat. “What else?”

  Edward launched into a detailed explanation of what he’d observed, what he inferred based on those observations, and what he would recommend be done. “A great deal has changed in land management in recent years. If I were a betting man, I’d wager the current estate manager has been at his job a very long time and hasn’t kept abreast of developments.”

  “He’s ancient,” Tom said. “And, quite honestly, looks exhausted. I am surprised he hasn’t yet been pensioned off.”

  An idea formed in Edward’s mind, but one riddled with holes and empty spaces. “You need a new estate manager.” The statement was something of a question.

  “That I do.”

  “Would you—” Edward hadn’t thought this through entirely. The words emerged as broken and half-formed as the idea behind them. “I know a great deal about estate management.”

  Tom nodded. “Younger sons aren’t educated about these things. I feel like I have a lifetime’s worth of information to learn overnight.”

  “What if you had an older son nearby? One who knew these things and who cared what happened to you and your family and, therefore, could be counted on to make his best effort?”

  Tom stopped walking and turned to look directly at Edward. “What are you proposing?”

  It was a fortunate thing Edward had long ago learned to endure humbling moments and circumstances. Asking of a younger brother what he was about to ask would be daunting for most eldest sons in Society. “Would you consider hiring me on as your estate manager? Having a house and income of my own will take a small financial burden off the Downy coffers. Keeping your estate profitable will remove the risk of future Downys facing our current circumstances. And”—his heart thudded against his ribs—“securing employment might allow me to have a future with Agatha. A humble, lowly future, but a future. Assuming, of course, she is willing to accept it.”

  “I don’t imagine she will object to a small income—she has lived that reality, after all—but I’ve seen the estate manager’s cottage, Edward. It is little better than a hovel. Humble does not begin to describe it. Even if you were to make improvements, it would be tiny and cramped and a tremendous step down, even from the circumstances in which she had been living.”

  Could he, in good conscience, ask Agatha to give up one humiliation, Mrs. Warrick’s belittling treatment of her, for another?

  “What if—” He paused a moment, allowing his mind to sort through things a bit more. “What if the current estate manager remained in his home and I took up residence in the dower house? It is not large nor extravagant, but neither would it mortify its occupants.”

  A slow smile spread over Tom’s face. “The dower house is empty.”

  Excitement began bubbling inside. “And we needn’t broadcast to the world that I am in your employ. That would save our parents the disapproval of the ton and would prevent any of my future children from bearing that stigma as well.”

  “We are simply so fond of one another that the idea of living on the same estate was too ideal to pass up,” Tom suggested with a laugh.

  “That will satisfy the toplofty who would hold this arrangement against the family.” This would work. He felt certain it would.

  “The upkeep of the dower house is the responsibility of the estate,” Tom said. “Your income, therefore, would not need to stretch beyond your household needs. There would be enough left over to invest in the Downy estate. Given enough years, you could turn it around as well.”

  “You must intend to be very generous with my salary,” Edward said.

  Tom slapped a hand on his shoulder. “I told you when I first decided to win the Warricks’ prize that it would benefit us both. This is the only way I know to make that happen. And I mean to make it happen.”

  “Only one thing remains undecided, then,” Edward said.

  “What is that?”

  “Whether or not I can convince a certain beleaguered lady’s companion to take on the life of an estate manager’s wife.”

  Tom pushed him toward the house. “There is but one way to find out.”

  Chapter Eleven

  “I will require you to be demure in London,” Mrs. Warrick said, eyeing Agatha from her wingback chair where she conducted their daily evaluations, which is what she called listing the various ways in which Agatha had disappointed her that day.

  “Demure.” Agatha nodded. “And ‘demure’ is not a color, like lavender?”

  Mrs. Warrick’s expression hardened. “You needn’t feign stupidity, Agatha. I have solved the mystery of your profoundly slow-witted declarations.”

  Oh, dear.

  “You may act the fool all you wish,” Mrs. Warrick said, “but not when conversing with me, and absolutely never in the presence of company. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Warrick.” Agatha sighed inwardly. She had lost her one source of escape in this increasingly oppressive arrangement.

  “Now.” Mrs. Warrick resumed her air of magnanimousness. “We need to discuss a more somber wardrobe for you.”

  More somber? Agatha had already been limited to her most subdued colors and styles.

  The door to the sitting room flew open in that moment. Mrs. Warrick was too startled for any kind of verbal response.

  Edward stepped inside, an equal measure of excitement and determination in his stride. His gaz
e passed over Mrs. Warrick without the slightest pause and settled on Agatha.

  “Agatha Holmwood, I love you. I have loved you almost from the first moment I met you.”

  Warmth stole over her cheeks even as her smile grew ever broader. What had brought on Edward’s unexpected but welcome declaration?

  “I have little to offer you, but as of this afternoon, I have a small home, a barely adequate income, and the vaguest of hopes that my family estate will not be reduced to a crumbling pile of stones by the time I inherit it.” He didn’t look away, didn’t flinch at the admission of his humble circumstances. “Other than that, I have nothing to give you besides my admiration, my devotion, and my undying love.”

  “What a pathetic—” Mrs. Warrick got no further than that before Edward’s cold glare cut off her insulting evaluation.

  “Will you marry me, Agatha?” he asked. “I realize I’d be asking you to give up the company of this sweet-tongued, compassionate angel of a mistress,” he added on a mutter.

  “Well,” Mrs. Warrick huffed.

  Agatha ignored her and rose to her feet, barely able to contain the joy rushing through her. She wasn’t at all certain what he meant by having a home and an income, but if he had found his situation adequate to support them, then she would have faith that he meant it. She knew him well enough to trust he would explain in greater detail when they were alone.

  She crossed the room to where he stood. His eyes danced with hope and anticipation. Her answer, she realized upon seeing his joy already overflowing, was more of a technicality. But he had asked, and she meant to answer.

  “My sweet Edward,” she said, resting her hands on his chest, “I would marry you even if doing so meant living in a half-collapsed cabin on the edge of the world.”

  His lips twitched. “I am relatively confident it won’t come to that.”

  She rose up on her toes and pressed the tiniest, briefest of kisses to his lips. “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” he answered. He pulled her up next to him, and together they turned to face Mrs. Warrick. “Ma’am, I do believe Miss Holmwood’s services will no longer be required.”

  A few sputters followed that announcement. Edward led Agatha out of the room before Mrs. Warrick had a chance to find her voice.

  The embarrassment of the house party, the heartbreak of her father’s defection, and the misery of fearing she would be separated from Edward forever dissipated as they walked, his arm tucked affectionately around her, down the corridor.

  “There is something I must show you,” he said, leading her from the house and beyond the gardens. He kept her close even as his pace quickened.

  They followed a path that led beyond a thicket of trees. A lovely house in the contrasting colors of the well-known Tudor style sat tucked away among the trees. The scene was beautifully and wonderfully serene.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  He turned to face her, then took both her hands in his. “This, my dearest Agatha, is our ‘half-collapsed cabin on the edge of the world.’ This is the home I have to offer you. And this”—he raised their clasped hands to his chest—“is the heart I offer you. All of it.”

  “I accept,” she said without hesitation.

  “The house or the heart?” he asked, his tone light.

  “Both.” She threw her arms around his neck.

  He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her as he never had before. Gone was the timid uncertainty of their first kiss. This kiss was a celebration.

  Epilogue

  Life was grand at Fromesweir, the name Tom and Henrietta had settled upon for the estate, owing to the fact that the stream running through the grounds resulted from a weir located on the nearby River Frome.

  On a warm summer’s day a bit more than a year after the Warricks had officially gifted their estate to Tom, Edward, along with Tom and their sister, Caroline, and her husband, George, gathered together to celebrate the family’s unexpected good fortune over the past years. They set out a picnic on the now properly drained east lawn. Caroline’s young son crawled about, earning the instant adoration of his aunts and uncles. Henrietta held her infant son in her arms, a look of utter contentment on her face.

  Edward leaned against the trunk of a tree, watching his extended family. Worry and uncertainty had gripped them for too many years. Caroline had only narrowly avoided a loveless arranged marriage for the sake of the family finances. He and Tom had resigned themselves years earlier to never marrying, never having families of their own. Now, here they all were: happy, loved, with families and futures.

  He looked up at the sound of footsteps. Agatha. His Agatha. Lovely, beautiful, kindhearted Agatha.

  “Forgive my tardiness,” she said with theatrical regret. “I could not find my lavender shawl.”

  That had become a jest between them ever since Mrs. Warrick’s legendary lecture about the importance of lavender.

  Edward hopped to his feet to help her sit. The time for her confinement was quickly approaching, and getting up and down had proven increasingly difficult of late. He saw her comfortably settled, then took his place directly beside her.

  “How are you feeling?” Henrietta asked her.

  “Ready for this child to make his appearance,” was Agatha’s wearied response.

  “His?” Caroline replied. “You believe the baby will be a boy, then?”

  Agatha nodded. “But Edward is convinced the child is a girl.”

  “Not convinced so much as hopeful,” Edward answered. Upon first learning they were to be parents, his mind had filled with the image of a dark-haired little girl with her mother’s wit and easy smile.

  Agatha leaned into his embrace, her hands resting on her rounded middle, his arms tucked gently around her. Caroline and George played with their little one. Tom cooed over the infant in his wife’s arms.

  “Do you know, love,” Agatha said, “I believe I shall write a letter to my father telling him how very wrong he was.”

  “About what in particular?”

  “He insisted I did not emerge from that horrid house party victorious a year ago. He was wrong.”

  “He was, indeed.”

  They had found each other at the Battle Royal the Warricks had hosted. They had fallen in love. And, in the end, they had found their happiness.

  They had not been chosen as the heirs, but they had, in the end, claimed the greatest prize of all: love.

  Click on the covers to visit Sarah’s Amazon author page:

  Sarah M. Eden is the author of multiple historical romances, including the two-time Whitney Award Winner Longing for Home and Whitney Award finalists Seeking Persephone and Courting Miss Lancaster. Combining her obsession with history and affinity for tender love stories, Sarah loves crafting witty characters and heartfelt romances. She has twice served as the Master of Ceremonies for the LDStorymakers Writers Conference and acted as the Writer in Residence at the Northwest Writers Retreat. Sarah is represented by Pam van Hylckama Vlieg at D4EO Literary Agency.

  Visit Sarah on-line:

  Twitter: @SarahMEden

  Facebook: Author Sarah M. Eden

  Website: SarahMEden.com

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Summer House Party. We hope you loved the sweet romance novellas! Each collection in the Timeless Regency Collection contains three novellas.

  If you enjoyed this collection, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or Amazon or any other e-book store you purchase through. Reviews and word-of-mouth is what helps us continue this fun project. For updates and notifications of sales and giveaways, please sign up for our monthly newsletter here.

  Also, if you’re interested in becoming a regular reviewer of these collections and would like access to advance copies, please email Heather Moore: heather@hbmoore.com

  We also have a blog where we post announcements as well as a Facebook page.

  Thank you!

  The Timeless Romance Authors

&n
bsp; More Timeless Regency Collections:

  Don’t miss our Timeless Romance Anthologies:

  Six short romance novellas in each anthology

  For the latest updates on our anthologies, sign up for our newsletter or visit our blog:

  http://TimelessRomanceAnthologies.blogspot.com