Mischief and Manors

by Ashtyn Newbold

  I stopped at the edge of the woods, caught my breath, and found a broad tree stump for a chair. Tiny rays of sunshine filtered through the trees above and around me, dotting my gown and the dirt and the bushes with pockets of light, fighting against the blankets of shadow being cast by the lumbering maples all around me. My gaze settled on the flickering rays of sunshine. I wished I could somehow grab hold of one and implant it inside of me so I could recover the warm, peaceful feeling I had enjoyed for such a short time.

  Crossing my legs with a sigh, I bent over and picked up a leaf that had fallen near my feet. I rested my face on my hand and twirled the stem between my fingers, thinking, trying to count the emotions that battled within me. I gave up immediately, throwing the leaf to the ground. I didn’t even know what to call what I was feeling, and it frustrated me, because it was somehow familiar.

  Amid my puzzling, a memory entered my mind from years before. It was Grace’s puppy. My upper lip curled in distaste as I recalled that day.

  A

  Seven Years Before

  “May I please have a puppy?” I asked Mama for what felt like the thousandth time.

  She looked up from her reading with a frown. “Annette. What did I tell you yesterday concerning this very thing?”

  I dropped my gaze to my lap. Drat. I had even found her favorite novel from the library and brought her a cup of steaming tea with cream. Surely a puppy was a small price to be paid for my kindness today. At least, that was what I thought before.

  “But Mama, I will take perfect care of it, and I will play with it and comb its fur and feed it—”

  “We have no use for a dog, and until you stop neglecting your studies, we will not even consider having one. Do you understand?” She looked at me with a small scowl, an expression that I rarely saw on her face.

  My hopes dropped. “A cat would be just fine too,” I mumbled.

  She shook her head. “Peter is far too small to have any animals in the house. I have told you this many times. Now, remember, and there will be no need for this conversation again.” She lifted her teacup to her lips.

  I scowled. Why had I let my hopes scale so high? It was always nothing but disappointment that followed. And if I hadn’t let myself hope for a puppy, then I wouldn’t have felt nearly as disappointed as I did now. I was certain of it.

  “I am going outside,” I said around the lump in my throat. Then I ran to the door and stepped out under the sun that was sure and consistent. Just like Mama and Papa’s refusals. I ran to the edge of our small patch of land and stared across the path that separated my house from Grace’s.

  Grace and I were polite enemies. In my mind, at least. She had perfect honey-golden curls. I had always wanted golden curls. My hair was plain and straight. She had dozens of pretty dresses that she used to pretend she was at a ball. And all the gentlemen danced with her at that pretend ball, because all the boys liked her. She only spoke to me when she knew her words would make me angry. That was certainly what she did, because I was never happy speaking with Grace Dawkins.

  And there she was, walking down the path, curls bouncing with her steps. I squinted to see what she held in her arms. It was small and black. I squinted harder. It moved.

  “Netty, Netty, Netty!” she yelled, waving her hand with a smile.

  I did not like to be called Netty.

  “Look what my papa brought home for me!” She was closer now, and with a few more excited steps she was two feet away.

  I looked down at her hand that was holding a little black puppy against her collarbone. My stomach twisted.

  “Isn’t she pretty? Oh, she is so very pretty. I have chosen to call her Coal. You see? Because she is black just like coal.”

  Coal was the most absurd name I had ever heard. My heart pounded as I watched the little puppy lick Grace’s hand and nestle its tiny head into her shoulder. She even had a little bow tied around her neck.

  “Would you like to hold her?” Grace asked, extending the puppy in my direction.

  My eyes filled with tears that I blinked away. “No, I do not want to hold her.”

  Grace looked shocked and covered Coal’s ears as if the dog understood my rejection. “Netty! Do you not think she is pretty? She is soft too, very soft. Feel her soft fur. Feel it. It is so very soft.”

  I folded my arms to keep my emotions in their proper place. “Her fur looks quite sharp to me, actually, so I do not wish to feel it.”

  Grace hugged her puppy to her chest and looked at me with outrage. “Her fur is not sharp!” She shook her head and turned to leave. “Coal is the greatest puppy in the world and you are just jealous that I have her.”

  I angrily wiped the tears from my lashes as I sat down on the grass. I watched Grace walk away, whispering and singing to her new, perfect little puppy as she went. I had wanted a pet far longer than Grace had! It was not fair. It was not fair at all.

  A

  Present Day

  Jealousy. The feeling that the hateful reverie evoked in me matched the emotion that had been tearing through me since I had learned of Owen’s anticipated engagement to that Miss Lyons.

  I was startled, and quickly dismissed the idea. I was not jealous! What possible reason could I have to be jealous of this girl whom I had never met in my entire life? Why would I be jealous of her marrying a completely atrocious man who teased too much, and whose eyes were much too blue, and who had far too infectious a laugh, and who gave me far too many reasons to smile?

  Yes. That is right. I stood and brushed the bits of leaf I had torn apart from my lap. That is entirely right. I was not jealous at all. Not one bit.

  So I walked back to the house, stuffing everything inside my heart as I always had, and using the vigor of my steps, I squeezed it in as deeply as I could. There. Everything was back to its proper place. Then I slid through the door, and headed back to the library.

  I thirsted for conversation that wouldn’t include the word lace, and if that could be found anywhere in this world, I was confident that it would be with my little brothers.

  A

  Chapter 14

  Annette! Look what Owen gave us!” Charles ran toward me with a grin that stretched impossibly wide as I entered the library. Peter dashed up beside him and held out his hand for me to see. They each held a small berry pie cradled in their bent fingers.

  “He bought them at the village.” Peter’s eyes fell on the pie again, and he tipped his head back to look at me with wide, astonished eyes. It was as if he had been waiting for this his entire life. Then he and Charles ran over to the far table to admire their pies some more.

  It was then that I noticed Owen lounging in one of the cushioned leather chairs by the fireplace. My heart quaked upon seeing him again, seeing his playful grin and dark, framed eyes. I wondered if he knew that I knew about his attachment.

  “Oh, yes,” he said. “And I heard from your brothers a little tale about a man with a large belly who doesn’t like to share his pies.” He stood and walked toward me, a smile full of question on his lips. “Is this true?” His eyes were on the brink of laughter. “And they also told me what their sister said to this man about his leaking, revolting eyes.”

  I scowled at him, suddenly feeling very defensive. “So?” I planted my hands on my hips and challenged him with a look.

  He looked taken aback, and his smile fell into a scolding frown. “What have I done now?”

  I shrugged, not knowing how else to respond.

  He stepped toward me cautiously, and in a quiet voice, asked, “Are you disappointed that I didn’t bring a pie for you?”

  My mouth dropped open and I shook my head in quick protest. “No, I—”

  Owen placed a bag in my hands to stop my words. “You are most graciously welcome.”

  I peeked inside, giving him a hesitant glance. There in the bottom of the paper bag sat a little pie identical to the ones that Peter and Charles had.

  I lifted my gaze slowly, back up to his face. “Thank
you. But that is not why I glared at you,” I added, making sure he didn’t still think that.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I think it is.”

  “It is not. I have had the pleasure of taking tea with your mother and three of her friends today, and I am just a bit … ,” I searched for the right word, but Owen filled the space himself.

  “Annoyed? Feeling on the brink of death?” He spoke with such plainness that I had to laugh.

  “Something like that.”

  He chuckled, giving me a little smile that fluttered my heart. “I want to hear more about this man with the leaking eyes.”

  I held up a hand and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to shake that odious man from my head. “I do not want to talk of or think of or see him ever again. That is all you need to know.”

  When I opened my eyes again, I found Owen wearing an amused expression. “Tell me exactly what he looks like. What color are these famed eyes? Just how large is his belly?”

  I slapped my hands over my ears. “No. No. No. Stop!” But I could still hear him, and my smile stretched wide before I could recall it. My laugh bubbled loud from me before I could contain it. I uncovered my ears and folded my arms, pressing down my laugh. “He is a repugnant man who sells pies near the village by my aunt’s house. He does nothing but insult us and so I insulted him right back for a change. That is all.”

  Owen’s smile slackened. “He insults you?”

  “Well,” I shrugged one shoulder, “he tells me that I’m inelegant and … other things, and scorns my brothers for how they look and behave. But he is so very arrogant, that is why he says the things he says. And he has an ill daughter, which I know has caused him much grief, so I believe that he drowns out his sorrow with spiteful words like some kind of … big, smelly, revolting bully.”

  Owen’s lips twitched. “‘Big, smelly, revolting bully’?”

  “Yes,” I asserted. “A big, smelly, revolting bully. That is exactly what he is.”

  Owen dropped his chin and laughed under his breath, looking down at his boots. “Will you promise me something?” He looked up again and I greeted his gaze with a suspicious look.

  “What?”

  “Promise me that, if you see him again, you will call him that very thing.”

  Had I heard him right? “A big, smelly, revolting bully?”

  “Yes.”

  I contemplated the idea for a moment, hiding my grin under compressed lips. “Very well. I will.”

  Then, imagining the look of shock on Mr. Coburn’s face if I called him that, I let loose a sound that was a mixture of a laugh and a snort. Owen’s eyes widened and he reared his head back in laughter. My laughter followed his without a trace of delay, but something within me stung when I realized that after today, it would be Miss Charlotte Lyons that Owen would laugh with, and talk with, and sit in this very room with. Not me.

  The sting cut my laughter down in an instant, building some sort of barrier between us. I needed to leave before he made me laugh again, I decided firmly. But my will was diminished when Owen reached his hand out and brushed a piece of my hair off my forehead. His fingertips grazed my ear and cheek, sending a tingle and a hot blush up my face.

  “I never properly thanked you for what you said to me, two days ago. On the third floor.” His voice was hushed, serious, and his eyes were full of so much warmth that I was sure I had melted. The melting and blushing continued when I recalled that night, how he had wrapped me up in his arms, and how his whispered breath had brushed my neck when he thanked me …

  “You did thank me,” I said quickly.

  He shook his head. “Not properly.” His lips quirked into a little smile that betrayed mischief. “Not properly at all.”

  I couldn’t help but gasp. I shot him a look of consternation that only made him laugh. It was only a quick laugh, though, before he became serious again. He was standing so close. I could smell the fresh soap and clean fabric and warm sunshine on him. I could see clearly the slow rise and fall of his chest, and the stubble on his jaw, and the lopsided curve of his mouth, and the dimple denting his cheek.

  “I cannot tell you what your words meant to me.” His voice was hushed again, still, unwavering. “But I mean to thank you—really thank you for what you said. And for the strength you gave me. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.”

  Had he moved closer? I couldn’t be sure. But what I was sure of was that he was not repaying me at this moment—standing so close to me, robbing me of my strength and weakening my resolve to leave, making me feel rooted where I stood.

  “Well,” I took a step back, away from him, and smiled, hiding my galloping heart, “I’m glad I was able to help. After all, you have done so much for my brothers and me while we’ve been here. You certainly don’t have to repay me.” I forced my smile to widen for my own sake, to somehow convince myself that this was normal, that I wasn’t unraveling—that my heart wasn’t threatening to burst. But Owen stepped toward me again, filling the space I had opened. He was looking down at me with a hint of a grin on his lips, but with such a mystery in his eyes that I couldn’t even begin to solve it.

  “Tell me how I can repay you. Please.” His voice sent a wave plummeting through me.

  I couldn’t. I could not think clearly with him standing this close. It was impossible. But his eyes were insistent, beckoning, and they wouldn’t let me escape. I stepped back again, a half step, and found myself against a bookcase. And apparently Owen still felt the need to torment me, because he filled the space again with a slow step. My heart picked up speed. I was trapped in every way possible. I was trapped against this bookcase, I was trapped in Owen’s gaze, and I was helplessly trapped by my legs, which I was sure couldn’t move no matter how much I willed them to.

  He tipped his head closer and his gaze dropped slowly from my eyes to my mouth.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  “Would a kiss suffice?” he asked in a low voice.

  Chills spread all over me and my heart skipped what felt like several beats. My face was consumed by heat. My eyes flickered to his lips, missing their usual smile. “What?” I stammered.

  He made a sound—a deep, quiet laugh. “I can guess by the color of your cheeks that you heard me perfectly the first time.”

  His lips were grinning now.

  I tore my gaze up to his eyes with a scowl that was meant to berate him. My face burned hotter and my heart skittered wildly. My throat was suddenly very dry, and I was left completely incapable of speech.

  Then I remembered that my brothers were sitting in the corner near the door, and I felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. I moved my gaze around Owen to my brothers across the room. To my relief, they were still completely engrossed with their pies.

  Owen turned his head ever so slightly backward, in my brothers’ direction, as if he had read my mind. Then he looked at me again and drew a slow breath that was mixed with a low chuckle. “Oh, yes. I forgot that we had an audience. Perhaps you ought to settle for your second choice of payment then. Or we can reserve the kiss for another time.”

  I swallowed hard and shot him the sharpest glare I could manage. I was certain that I had never felt this unsettled in my entire life.

  He laughed lightly. “I should expect to be called atrocious at any moment now.”

  It was impossible not to smile at that. And that smile may have been what stopped Owen from hearing how loudly my heart was beating. I couldn’t let him hear it and know how severely he affected my normally quiet heart.

  He took a deep breath and quickly became serious again. “Your second choice then. Tell me what you want.”

  My mind raced. The question was absurd. I didn’t need anything from him, and I didn’t want anything from him. I couldn’t gather a single thought into words, so I decided that I needed to look away from his penetrating eyes. It was the only available solution I could think of. So I sneaked my gaze off of his face and looked around his shoulder, searching frantically for an idea. My
eyes caught on the little table near the fire, and the sketchbook that rested on top of it.

  “Willowbourne,” I blurted, darting my gaze back to Owen. His eyes widened in surprise, then his brow contracted. Realizing how that sounded, I tried to recover and said, “I mean … you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. A grin pulled on his lips.

  My face burned again, and my thoughts were whirling around in my skull so fast that I could hardly grasp onto one. “I mean … ,” Taking advantage of the opportunity, I slid around him and walked to the table and picked up the sketchbook. My hands shook as I quickly flipped through the sketches and found the one of Willowbourne and its many windows and hexagonal pond. I held it up and pointed at the page. “You go back to Willowbourne. You can repay me by going back to visit Willowbourne.”

  I didn’t know what I was saying, but it seemed to take Owen completely by surprise. He stayed where he was and looked at me, a twinge of regret in his expression.

  “You told me that it was like home to you,” I said. “And you haven’t been there for years. I saw it, you know. I saw it on my way to the village.”

  His expression was suddenly all curiosity. “What did you think of it?”

  “It was beautiful. Breathtaking, even.”

  His face lit up at my words and he walked over to me. He took the book in his hands and stared at the sketch. His eyes flashed with sadness and regret and fear all at once. Was I asking too much of him? I promptly dismissed the worry. If he agreed, this payment would not be easy for him, but I was sure he would be glad afterward. And I couldn’t deny that there was something malicious inside of me that looked at this situation as an opportunity for revenge. Answering his questions for his payment was certainly not easy for me. So asking this of him would only level the game a bit.

  When he looked at me again, there was a spark of suspicion. “Why do you want me to do this?”

  I smiled a little. “Because I can see how much you love it. And if the past is what is keeping you away, then go. Because the past is powerless unless you grant it power. And it can do so much harm with that power. It can haunt and frighten and deceive. But the past is completely insignificant next to the present. And if you continue giving it power to haunt you, it always will.”