I swallowed and gripped my skirts. The inside of Kellaway Manor seemed much larger and grander than I recalled it being. I wondered what else had changed. Excitement fluttered in my stomach. There was much to be discovered here, and I wanted to see it all.
My eyes returned to Mrs. Kellaway. She was staring with masked dismay at my vomit-tarnished gown. “Did you come with a maid, dear?”
Chagrin flushed my cheeks. “I did not.” I knew that for a young lady to travel without a maid was improper, but Aunt Ruth didn’t care that I was proper. She cared only that she didn’t have to sacrifice a servant upon sending us away.
To my surprise, I didn’t receive the censuring look I was expecting. Instead, Mrs. Kellaway’s inviting smile didn’t falter for a moment. “Oh, that is quite all right. I will send one of my maids to fetch a clean gown from your trunk.” Then she smiled again and disappeared around the corner.
Exhaling a sigh of relief, I set Charles down gently and took his hand to guide him under the golden archway that led to the drawing room. I lifted him onto a settee and sat down beside him. I removed my bonnet, set it on the cushion beside me, and ran my hand along the smooth cream fabric. Afternoon sunlight filtered in through the large windows, causing the crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room to shine brilliantly. A tea table sat just in front of us with a great variety of books resting atop its smooth surface. I picked one up and examined the cover briefly.
I had just begun flipping through the pages when Mrs. Kellaway came striding into the room accompanied by a maid with dark hair and kind brown eyes, her round cheeks giving her a youthful appearance. She seemed to be close to my age. With a cheerful smile, she handed me a clean blue gown.
“Here you are, miss,” she said, dropping a curtsy.
“Thank you.” I took the gown and held it in my lap. It felt strange to be waited upon, even for such a paltry task. The servants at Oak Cottage knew that I preferred to accomplish things on my own. Independent was how I had learned to be.
Mrs. Kellaway stepped closer and addressed Charles with genuine concern, taking his hand in hers. “How are you feeling?”
Charles shook his head in silent response, his face still pale.
“Oh dear.” She released his hand, moving her gaze to me. “My son is a wonderful physician. He completed medical school at Oxford and has been in practice for several months now.”
It struck me as odd that a young man bred in such grandeur would have opted for a medical profession rather than the military or clergy. But that he had an occupation at all meant that he was likely Mrs. Kellaway’s younger son. A memory pricked in my mind with distaste.
“You have met, I believe, when you visited years ago.” She laughed lightly. “His behavior has mended itself since then, I assure you. Little Charles is in quite capable hands. He will be here shortly to assist him. Would you like Lizzie to show you and Peter to your rooms?”
I glanced at the maid who was still smiling. She must be Lizzie. I returned her smile. “No, thank you. I will stay just until I see that Charles is feeling well again.”
“Yes, of course.” Her thin lips curled into a smile that made her eyes twinkle. “I really am awfully glad that you came to visit. The last time I saw you, you were so small! You have become such a beautiful young lady.” Her eyes flickered over my face with a hint of sadness, but her smile returned before I could wonder what it meant. “We shall chat later, but for now I have some things I must attend to.” She took the dress from my lap and handed it to Lizzie. “Take this to the second floor and prepare a room for Miss Downing.” Then she turned and with a swish of fabric from her gown, she was gone.
I stared at the door for several seconds before pulling my gaze back to Charles. He was looking much better already. He didn’t seem to need attention from a doctor. And the doctor was Mrs. Kellaway’s son. Oh, yes. How could I have forgotten about him? His mischievous smile and infuriating words and …
Just then the door to the drawing room opened again, and a young man, no longer a boy stepped into the room. I choked on a breath.
And his eyes …
A
Chapter 2
Ten Years Before
Iclung to Mama’s sleeve as we entered the vast entry hall. My boots clacked against its marble floors. The walls stretched higher than I had ever imagined walls could be, and my eyes followed them upward until they finally met matter again as they touched the lofty ceiling. Straight ahead was a magnificent spiral staircase, winding up and up, like a coiled snake ready to strike. To the right was a tall archway, spanning the entry to a drawing room with a beautiful chandelier. My nose took in the scents of the home—it smelled big, open, fresh, and full of secrets. I wondered what those secrets might be.
I caught a glimpse of Papa’s head over my shoulder, following my gaze where it roamed. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice suppressed, curious.
I turned my head up to him, smiling. “I love it.” In fact, Kellaway Manor was already much more than I had expected it to be. And I was excited to meet the friends that Mama and Papa had told me so much about.
Just then, a woman came swiftly down the staircase, a man trailing behind her. They both wore wide smiles and eyes full of memories and laughter. Papa stepped out from behind me to greet them, and Mama prodded me forward gently as she moved to greet them as well. Then she introduced me to Mr. and Mrs. Kellaway. They smiled a lot and Mr. Kellaway gave me a candy.
I decided I might like them.
“Where are your children?” I heard Mama ask.
“Oh, I hardly know.” Mrs. Kellaway glanced around with a light laugh. “I understand that Edmond is off playing with the neighbors a mile down the road, and Owen and Alice should be here somewhere…”
I clicked my boots against the floor, enjoying the echo it created. I was eager to explore the place. I wanted to see what was up those winding stairs, and what was beyond the golden archway.
“Hmm. How are they? Is Owen as mischievous as ever?”
A laugh. “Oh, perhaps even more so.”
I clicked my boots faster, bored with the languid conversation above me. I looked again to the archway, hoping to get a peek at the chandelier in the room beyond. But beneath the arch, stood a boy.
He looked to be a few years older than me, maybe twelve or thirteen. His hair was as golden as the archway and his eyes sparked with interest. “Are you speaking of me?” he asked, stepping forward with raised brows.
Mrs. Kellaway jumped a little, then laughed, waving him toward her. “Do you remember the Downings?”
He nodded, his gaze jumping to me. His nod froze. “I don’t remember her.”
I adjusted the pink ribbon in my hair and gave a little close-lipped smile. “I’m Annette.”
“This is my son, Owen,” Mrs. Kellaway said, putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
He smiled. I noticed a dimple in one cheek. “Good to meet you.” Then he turned, as if to walk away.
“Owen, where are you going?” his mother asked, her brow furrowed.
He paused, turning back around. “Outside.”
“Take Miss Annette with you. She will be far too bored in here with us.”
Owen’s gaze shifted to me, then back to his mother, a pleading look on his face that made me scowl.
“Take her with you,” she asserted.
He sighed, as if very annoyed, and looked at me again. “Well, come on, then.”
I scowled harder. I did not like him. Not one bit. But with a nudge from Mama, I followed him reluctantly around the left of the staircase where a hall led to a back door.
“I am only coming with you if you apologize,” I said as he stepped outside.
He turned, a surprised look on his face, half inside the door, half out. “I have no reason to apologize to a seven-year-old girl.”
I gasped and jerked my hands to my hips. “First of all, I am nine, and second of all, yes, you do.”
His lips pressed together. Th
ey twitched. “If you do not wish to come along, then you may stay here.” Then he turned and walked the rest of the way through the door. It swung shut behind him.
I scowled after his retreating figure. This boy was atrocious and I did not like him one bit. But I followed him out the door anyway, curiosity winning the war as it always did. The grounds were much too inviting to pass up. I had to run to catch up to him.
When he looked down at me, I was surprised to see him grinning. “I knew you would not be able to resist. But you must know, what I am about to do is no activity for a little girl.”
My eyes widened, but I quickly made them normal again, trying to conceal my excitement. “What are we going to do?”
“We?” He shook his head. “No. You are going to hide and watch.”
I scowled at him again, lifting my chin. “I did not come along just to watch.” My eye level came just below his shoulder, so I had to tip my head back to look straight in his eyes. They were very blue. Not ordinary blue, but the kind of blue that seemed to see everything from the outside straight to the inside.
He rolled those eyes. “You came along because my mother made me bring you along. So you do as I say.”
“You are not in charge of me. I am not just going to watch.”
He stopped walking, and looked down at me through narrowed eyes. I held his gaze with all the defiance and malice I could muster out of my small frame.
Owen’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. “Very well, if it will keep you quiet. But I don’t think you should have spoken so soon. You don’t even know what you just agreed to do.”
A little nervous flutter settled in my stomach, born from the raw foreboding in his voice. “What did I agree to do?”
He turned his gaze to the woods at the edge of the wide lawn. “Just follow me.”
When we reached the border between neat grass and gnarled trees, Owen stepped forward, and I followed tentatively. It was early spring, so the air was still crisp and chilling. The sun was close to setting, for the sky shone shades of pink and orange and every color in between.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I tried to keep up, running under dry, bare branches. “Owen! Where are we going?”
He didn’t look back, but I heard him answer, “To climb a tree.”
I almost stopped, my heart flipping in my chest. “But—but my mama will be angry if I climb a tree.”
He either ignored me, or did not hear, because he continued forward in silence. I scowled to myself, heart pounding. Trees were not for climbing. That’s what Mama said. That was what all mamas said. But I knew by the mischief in his smile that Owen was not the sort of boy who commonly obeyed his mama. Despite the qualms I felt, I continued cautiously forward behind him, mostly because I did not know the way back to the house, and partly because something adventurous inside me wanted to climb a tree. It wanted to do something daring. Something exciting and adventurous. Something that would make others like Owen see me as brave instead of as just a little girl.
At a narrow path breaking through the trees, Owen stopped beside a large, thick tree trunk, resting a hand against it and peering up through its branches.
“This is the one,” he said. Then he bent over to a small pile of sticks, moved them aside, and scooped up a dark burlap sack.
I hurried over, eager to look inside. “What is in there?”
“Acorns,” he replied in a whispered voice, widening the opening so I could peer inside. The sack was full nearly to the top with tiny acorns, bronze in the setting sunlight.
“What are we going to do with them?”
He smiled, mischief meeting his eyes with a twinkle. “You will see. But first we must hurry and climb the tree.”
I looked up slowly, inching my eyes along the trunk, to the branches and the newborn leaves. The tree seemed to touch the orange sky where dark birds cut through the air without a sound. I swallowed my nerves. Mama would never know if I climbed it. As long as I did not tear my gown, she would never know.
It was settled then. I grasped onto that adventurous, wild thing within me with anxious hands.
Owen climbed first, and I watched where he stepped and where his hands clasped the branches and knots in the bark. He climbed so effortlessly, it was as if he had done so dozens of times. He was at the top. It was my turn.
Starting slowly, I made my way upward, realizing why this was the tree he chose. There were so many places to step, to place my hands, that I was at the top without much of a struggle at all. My pride soared like the birds above us. They were so much closer now—I felt as though I could fly too. And maybe I could. I had climbed a tree, after all. How much more difficult could flying be?
Owen rummaged with the sack, opening it and positioning it directly above the path. He held a finger to his lips, warning me to be silent.
That was when I heard the footfalls and lazy humming approaching from down the path. My eyes widened as I predicted Owen’s plan. A woman who appeared to be the same age as Mama came into view below us. Before I could so much as gasp, Owen had capsized the sack, showering the woman in acorns.
The woman gasped enough for both of us, swatting at the air above her head as more acorns rained down on her like little hailstones. Owen was laughing as he pulled me back against the tree to a place where we couldn’t be seen past the new leaves and tangled wood.
“Owen Kellaway, if that is you, I am going to inform your mother of what you have done!” she shrieked from below.
He covered his mouth to keep from laughing.
After a final huffed breath, the woman stomped off, mumbling something about mischief under her breath. I did not know what to say as I watched Owen laughing. This boy was certainly the most atrocious boy I had ever met.
“She is my mother’s friend,” he managed through a laugh. “She wants her silly girl to marry my brother one day. But I don’t like her or her daughter.”
“But that is no way to treat a lady,” I snapped, folding my arms.
He shrugged and started down the tree without a word. I watched him with renewed fear in my stomach. Climbing down seemed much worse than climbing up. Once his feet touched the ground, he glanced up at me, a question written on his face.
“Are you coming?”
Tears stung my eyes as I looked down at him, at the ground that felt so much farther from me than the sky. I didn’t want him to see my fear though, so I nodded and turned to my stomach, searching with my feet for a place to step. I found a place, a branch that was much too thin. The moment I released my grip, the branch snapped under my foot.
Flying proved to be much more difficult than I anticipated. So I fell. The ground rushed up at me, two arms reached for me, and then everything went dark.
A
Chapter 3
Present Day
Ifelt my brow furrow into a scowl. After I had fallen from the tree I recovered quickly, but it was not among my fondest memories. Owen Kellaway did not exist among my fondest memories. After the tree incident, I avoided him for the remainder of our visit, keeping to my room with a book or my dolls, trying to forget about that odious boy.
But seeing him now, ten years later, I knew that I must have never forgotten his face, because I could identify all the things that had changed. His hair was slightly darker than the golden of my memory, but still lighter than brown. His smile was not mischievous, but kind as he looked from across the room at Charles. His jaw was much more solid, his brows and lashes dark, framing his piercing eyes.
His eyes had not changed. My heart leapt and I scolded it for doing so. Yes, he was very handsome. But that did not mean he was not still very infuriating.
He walked farther into the room and pulled a chair close to Charles. His gaze roamed Charles’s pale face, and he methodically felt for his pulse. I sat silently, wondering why he had not acknowledged me yet. Because he is atrocious, I reminded myself. My eyes narrowed as I watched him lift Charles’s head and bring a glass of liquid to his lips.
He turned his head abruptly. My heart faltered a bit as his eyes settled on my face. Did he recognize me? Had Mrs. Kellaway told him already who I was? It did not seem likely considering how quickly he had arrived.
He folded his arms across his broad chest, a small smile twisting his lips. “I can assure you that it is not poisoned.” His voice was deep and rich and carried a faint hint of amusement.
Was I amusing to him? Well, then. I gathered my wits and looked him straight in the eye. “I don’t recall asking you if it was poisoned. I only want to know what it is that you are about to feed him.”
He raised one eyebrow. “Considering that we just met a moment ago, I don’t understand what I have done to lose your trust so quickly.”
“I don’t understand why you refuse to tell me what is in that glass.” I felt my own eyebrow rise to match his.
A smile fought his cool expression. “I don’t understand why we are speaking when we have not been properly introduced.”
My cheeks tingled with heat. After my governess had been removed, my manners had been embarrassingly inept. “Well, since the bounds of discreet propriety have already been ignored, then I see no reason that you shouldn’t tell me what is in that glass. Is it a secret of sorts?”
He pressed his lips together in an effort not to smile. “Oh, yes. It is a secret. Even to myself.” He brought the glass to his face and squinted at it closely. “I am fairly certain that it isn’t lethal. Although, madness is a great possibility.”
My eyes widened.
With his mischievous grin he moved the glass to Charles. “Let us find out.”
Before I knew what I was doing, I had jumped from my seat beside Peter, reaching helplessly for the glass, trying to snatch it from Owen’s hand. A sharp, cutting pain reached my ribs at my sudden movement and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. It was an old injury that still caused me problems.
Mischief and Manors Page 3
