Mischief and Manors

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I took a deep breath and faced him. His eyes were looking into mine so deeply I felt as though he knew my answer before I said it. “Yes,” I whispered. “But it was a long time ago.”

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  My hands shook as I rubbed them over my skirts as a distraction. I had never told another person about this. I had been trying to forget for a very long time.

  I cleared my voice of the lump in my throat. “When we first went to live with our aunt, she was furious. She met with her solicitor ceaselessly, trying to find a loophole in my father’s will. She later saw that the benefit of taking us in was admiration from her acquaintances, but at the beginning, she wanted nothing but to be rid of us.” I didn’t dare look at Owen’s face as I continued to the worst part of the story.

  “During that time, she instructed her servants to deprive us of food for several days at a time, but I usually managed to sneak something for my brothers. As a result, I … well, I grew rather thin and she caught me smuggling food from the kitchen one day and threw me to the ground. Because I was so frail, my ribs easily broke, and she never called for a doctor.”

  I glanced up for a brief moment. Owen was shaking his head, his eyes flashing with anger. “If she were a man, I would call her out,” he mumbled.

  “Owen—”

  He drew closer, stopping my words. I looked down at the wooden floor, but he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, lifting my face to look at his. “She will not hurt you or your brothers again. I promise. I will not let that happen.”

  I felt the threat of tears stinging my eyes. I quickly blinked them away. Why was my heart behaving so wildly? Perhaps my ribs had been the last and final cage that could contain it, and whatever happened today had damaged my only remaining defense.

  “I will not let that happen,” he repeated in a softer voice. There was something in his piercing eyes that convinced me to believe him. If only for the moment.

  But when I left the sitting room, I still believed him. And when I ate dinner, I still believed him. And I went to bed that night, still believing him.

  A

  Chapter 13

  On my way to breakfast the next morning, a footman stopped me at the base of the staircase with a letter. I was astonished, and confused, for I hadn’t received a letter in years, other than the invitation from Mrs. Kellaway to visit here. I stopped where I was and hurried abruptly back to my room to open it. The only person I imagined it could be from was Aunt Ruth, so I shushed my confusion and tore open the letter.

  It was much longer than I had expected, and my suspicions were confirmed upon seeing the narrow, stiff writing covering the page.

  Niece,

  I know I made it quite clear that you were to stay at Kellaway Manor for the remainder of the summer, but I have fallen victim to quite the snub from all of my dearest friends. Can you believe this? They are under the impression that I sent you dreadful little orphans off just to be rid of you. They think me a great barbarian! It is absurd! I have since been receiving not half the calling invitations as before, and I have not dined at Plumgrove once!

  I rolled my eyes. Aunt Ruth had obsessed over the magnificent Plumgrove for years. She was often invited to dine there with her idol, Lady Rosanna St. James. I smiled at the distress she must be having over it.

  My reputable hospitality is being viewed as naught now that you little monsters are gone. It sickens me. Therefore, I would like you to return a full report of the progress of the boys. I remain firm on my wishes in their regard. I will not have you returning with those ill-behaved, poorly educated scoundrels only to recover my admired image in society. It is worth the wait to see them improved as they need to be. Understand, though, that you may return at any time now, as long as the boys are behaving as they ought. Her Ladyship, Lady Rosanna St. James, is most disdainful about the suspected truth of your absence, and without dining at Plumgrove, I fear I shall wither away to nothing.

  I hope that this excursion has allowed you some exposure to eligible gentlemen, for the greatest victory would be to have you married off and caring for those little devils on your own. My excuse for ridding myself of you would then be completely plausible and even more advantageous than the previous arrangement. Keep your nasty freckled face hidden beneath your bonnet and you could perhaps have a chance at a tolerable match.

  Mrs. Ruth Filbee

  I threw the letter down on the writing desk, disgusted. What I wanted to do was tear the letter to shreds. But I chose to control myself and took a seat instead. We had been here at Kellaway Manor for nearly two weeks now, and imagining returning to live with my aunt sickened me. It would happen eventually, but I hoped that eventually wouldn’t be for a very long time.

  But this change was temporary, and the letter reminded me of that fact. I imagined staying here forever, living in comfort, with people who wanted me here, who made me laugh and feel happy every day of my life.

  I tore my mind away from its pensive hopes. I couldn’t stay here forever, and that fact was irrevocable. But I would try my best to make “eventually” last as long as I could possibly manage.

  I was overcome with a feeling of unwarranted excitement as I picked up a quill and placed a sheet of parchment in front of me. Owen was not going to allow Aunt Ruth to pester us any longer, and neither was I.

  I chewed my lip, trying to decide the best way to begin. A sardonic smile curled my lips as I wrote.

  My dear aunt,

  It is a shame indeed that you have been unable to dine at Plumgrove, but perhaps it will be a thing of positive consequence. You may be able to button your emerald gown again! I assure you that would be a true wonder. Anyhow, you have requested that I inform you of the developments of Peter and Charles. Here is what we have accomplished: Nothing. Absolutely nothing at all. But of course, they have terrorized the Kellaway’s cook and sneaked a mouse into the dining room. Indeed, it appears that they are worse off than before. We will need as much time as possible to reach your expectations.

  Yours,

  Annette

  P.S. I have very exciting news! I have counted four new freckles across my nose. Isn’t that delightful? I adore them all, and have even named one after you.

  I bit back a laugh and set the quill down on the desk. That should do the trick. I sealed my letter, my movements stiff and hard, and picked up the one from Aunt Ruth. I held it in front of my face and stared at it, wishing I could burn a hole in it with the hot anger of my gaze. Tearing it to shreds was still a possibility, but a better idea came to my mind in a jolt of spite. I folded the letter and placed it on the desk. Then I sat back in my chair and imagined myself tearing Aunt Ruth to shreds instead. It was much more enjoyable.

  A

  After breakfast, I sat in the morning room with Mrs. Kellaway while my brothers read in the library with Grandfather. She was working on an intricate piece of embroidery while she spoke with me about upcoming plans.

  “You will absolutely love my daughter, Alice. I just received a letter from her this morning saying that she is bringing a friend along as well. Miss Charlotte Lyons. Both are very amiable, elegant young ladies.” As if remembering something very important, she looked up from her embroidery with a sharp jerk of her head. “Speaking of elegant ladies, I am expecting three of my dearest friends to come for tea this afternoon, and I would be delighted if you would join us. The baroness of Pembury, Charlotte’s mother, will be among the party.”

  I cleared my throat. “I would love to.” I hardly knew what I had just agreed to, for my thoughts were still stuck on Aunt Ruth’s letter, and my heart was pinching with sadness since I had been reminded that we would have to go back to her again.

  Mrs. Kellaway cast me a warm look and set to work contentedly on her embroidery again. I watched the needle she held between two poised fingers. I was so incredibly bored that my vision began to lose focus as I stared at the sharp needle. I counted her stitches, slowly, and the activity was so monotono
us that I was sure I would fall asleep with my eyes open. I was jostled back to my wits by the sound of muffled speech.

  “What?” I asked, blinking hard.

  “The ball is now only three days away.” Mrs. Kellaway beamed, looking at me as if she expected a certain reaction. “Are you not excited?”

  I swallowed. “I am, very much.” The words granted me a sunken feeling, but my lips curved upward in a forced smile anyway.

  One side of her smile quirked up, reminding me of an expression I had seen on Owen’s face so many times. “Please remind me, have you had a season in town?”

  I shook my head, suddenly feeling the shame of it. I had, as a young girl, desired a season one day. But as I grew older, and my responsibilities grew with me, I decided that the fantasies London had to offer were no longer paramount. Besides, there was no possible way that my aunt would have allowed it. Husband hunting was the aim of the come-out festivities, and I had long since decided my spinster fate.

  “Do you know how to dance?” she asked.

  I nodded. “I know well enough, I think.”

  “The minuet, quadrille, waltz?”

  I nodded again, although the steps were very faint in my mind.

  “Ah.” She smiled at me and set to work on her embroidery once more.

  I could not find the strength to stare at that needle for another second. “I should find my brothers,” I said, standing from my chair. “I wouldn’t want them to tire your father again.”

  A look of understanding flickered across her face. “Very well, dear.”

  I backed toward the door. “Thank you.” Then I gripped the handle and slid past the frame, enjoying the fresh smell of the hallway, and leaned against the wall.

  The morning room was stifling, and my worry about the ball was too much to bear confined in that little, quiet room. I was dreading the afternoon tea now for so many reasons: I would have to sit in that room again, be surrounded by elegant ladies, and worst of all, I would have to act like an elegant lady myself, which was not my finest ability.

  I spent the next few hours in the library with my brothers and Grandfather. I was pleased to hear that Peter and Charles had been practicing their reading and were actually enjoying it. Whenever I attempted to persuade them to read, there were always dozens of complaints to be expected. But, of course, at Aunt Ruth’s home there were a very limited number of books to choose from, and here at the Kellaway’s library there were hundreds of books of all different subjects. The passage of time soared quickly with my nose in an entertaining book, so I had to grimace with distaste when I looked at the clock. It read three, which was when Mrs. Kellaway liked to take her tea.

  I moved with slow steps to the morning room on the east side of the home. It was quiet—I could hear every click of my boots against the marble floor, until a shrill laugh cut into the air like the call of a bird.

  I stopped at the door of the morning room, took a deep breath, preparing myself, and entered with a wide smile.

  Grandmother sat on a chair in direct view of the door and returned my smile. Surprisingly, I was relieved to see her. My eyes then took in three unfamiliar women, each with an aloof glance to dart my way.

  My smile was pressed down to nothing by the weighted disdain on one woman’s face as she swept her gaze over me. She seemed to be appraising me with that one look, and I thought I saw a hint of a challenge in her eyes. My attempt at a confident entry was completely halted. I lifted my lips again for Mrs. Kellaway’s sake and curtsied politely.

  Mrs. Kellaway motioned to the seat beside her and introduced the women to me.

  The first two names were insignificant to me, but when she introduced the third woman—the one with the haughty, disdainful eye, she said, “Might I make known to you Lady Pembury. She is the mistress of Eshersed Park just north of the village. As I told you, her daughter, Miss Charlotte Lyons, is the young lady that is coming here to visit with Alice tomorrow.”

  I placed a glance on Lady Pembury, and even included a smile, but her eyes were still fixed on me with such scrutiny that I dashed my gaze away as quickly as I could.

  Then in a faint voice, she said, “My daughter is … ,” she clicked her fingernails together and grinned sedately, “most delighted to have the opportunity of visiting. After all, she has come before, and adored your home immensely. And at any rate, the members of your family are so agreeable and charming that I cannot see how that is not also a large reason for her anticipation to arrive.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” Mrs. Kellaway said. “She is very welcome to visit whenever she would like. She and Alice are nearly like sisters it seems.” Her smile flashed and she sipped her tea.

  I saw a hint of impatience in Lady Pembury’s eyes, and in the way she pinched her lips together and clicked her fingernails faster. “Your son,” she blurted, then recoiled at the brevity of her words. “I mean, are your other … children staying here as well?

  Mrs. Kellaway’s brows wrinkled a bit as she stared at Lady Pembury. “Owen is currently living here, and Edmond will be returning with my husband tomorrow as well. They have been on a hunting excursion for nearly a month now.” Her tone turned wistful. “I am greatly looking forward to their arrival.”

  Lady Pembury appeared to only have ears for the first portion of Mrs. Kellaway’s remarks, and her fingernails began clicking even faster until Mrs. Kellaway finished speaking. Then she smiled like she knew a secret, and the clicking stopped. “Charlotte has met your son, has she not?”

  Mrs. Kellaway squinted. “Yes, yes, she has met them both. Each time Alice has brought her to visit.”

  “Ah. That is right. And your sons were at the last season in London, yes?

  “Yes.”

  Lady Pembury’s smile was making a slow creep upward until she looked like a cat before a wounded bird. Stealthy, patient. But she wasn’t planning to pounce yet; I could tell by the way she sneaked around the subject with careful ease. I wasn’t sure what the subject was, exactly, but in the short few minutes since I had met this woman I guessed that she was very skilled at getting what she wanted.

  “The younger of the two, I understand, has quite the attachment to my daughter.” She threw a glance at me with a lifted eyebrow.

  The other ladies in the room whispered at this and I saw Grandmother’s eyes widen.

  Mrs. Kellaway choked on her tea, then set it down, her eyes lit up with sudden interest. “Owen? Does he, now? How can you be certain?”

  “Seeing them dance together in London was testimony enough.”

  My heart was twisting with so many emotions that I nearly dropped my teacup. An intense burning had filled me, consumed me, and brought me to the will of this clever, disdainful woman. I tried to appear nonchalant when I noticed the satisfied smile on her lipsticked lips, aimed at me.

  Did she suspect that I was here trying to secure Owen? The thought was absurd. But her catlike features held every sign of suspicion as she watched me over my teacup. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Mrs. Kellaway, as if the words were meant only for her ears, but I heard them perfectly. “With Charlotte coming to visit, I daresay we have an engagement on the horizon.”

  Mrs. Kellaway looked stunned, and for some reason, she shot me a concerned glance. My heart was thumping so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. My hand shook as I sipped my tea. Why was this conversation so painful to witness? Why did I feel unable to sit in this chair any longer without bursting to pieces? I tried to remain as normal as possible, but the feeling in my heart and in the pit of my stomach was not normal at all.

  It was a different feeling than earlier, sitting in this stifling room. It was much different, and from the deliberate glance Lady Pembury cast my way, and from the slow smile that contorted her lips, and from the glow of accomplishment and satisfaction in her deep green eyes, I realized with a start that I was the wounded bird, and she had just somehow caught me.

  While the conversation turned to fashion and lace and collars
with “inexpressibly fashionable Vandyke points,” I sat restlessly, sipping my tea endlessly, and trying to puzzle out why I was feeling the way I was.

  Owen was only a friend! Why should it matter that he had a previous attachment to someone I have never even met? It didn’t matter. So why did I feel like something within me was being torn slowly apart? Why did I feel so deceived and upset? My heart pounded as I realized how very wrong I had been to learn so much of Owen, to come so close to him. Whether I liked to admit it or not, my heart was in great danger. Owen would be far too easy to fall in love with, and I was already halfway there at least.

  I sipped my tea again, and again, but it did nothing to steady me. In fact, I was convinced that with each sip a new surge of piercing emotion dropped through me, like the tea was a poison making me weaker and weaker with each drink.

  So I set down the cup, and closed my ears from the talk of lace, and attempted to close my eyes from the sight of Lady Pembury and her wicked, stealthy claws, but most of all, I tried my best to close my heart from everything else.

  When the conversation finally died off, and the women pranced from the room, I stood as quickly as I could. My legs shook. Just before I left the room, I caught a glimpse of Grandmother, who looked nearly as disheveled as I felt inside. She shook her head just as I tore through the door.

  As fast as my trembling legs could carry me, I went up the staircase, and into my room, closing the door tightly behind me. I leaned my back against the wall, using it as the support I needed. It was cool and stabilizing against my back, but it wasn’t enough. I needed fresh air and sunshine and fierce breezes to untether this feeling from me.

  The bright warmth of the sun’s rays awaited me as if they knew I was coming. I began across the lawn in a brisk walk, but my legs carried me into a run before I could control them. The clouds were sparse today, dispersed across the wide sky in tiny wisps, like the sky was a clear blue canvas, and the clouds were sporadic brushstrokes of white paint, meant only to break up the expanse of nothingness that spread above the land as endlessly as the burning within me.