How to Impress a Gentleman

by Allie Borne

  I want more, her rebellious core spoke up. I want a man who respects me and listens to me and spends time with me. I want a man who will sacrifice his own wealth for my greater good. Bed play is well and good, but without the deeper devotions, largely an empty act. Thus determined, Lindsay set out to establish herself as the lady of this household, whether or not she could count on a gentleman partner. I will find out where it is I have landed myself and, like the fish out of water, I will flop myself back into a familiar stream.

  And if Charles does not want me? If he abandons me here, in this God forsaken place? her wicked thoughts encroached.

  “Enough!” slashing her hand down as if to slice through the cloud of negativity encompassing her, Linnie turned her back on the solitary bed and strode from her small room.

  Chapter Nine- Sunset and Separation

  “Distance lends enchantment to the view”

  ~18th Century Proverb

  Intent on examining every inch of the property before making any action, Linnie peered up and down the narrow hallway. To the left of her room the hall ended in a broad and tall, ornately carved doorway. A narrow staircase opened to the right of that door.

  Glancing up the stair, Lindsay thought to herself, That must be the attic maids’ quarters that Charles is using for a study. I will avoid this room for now. Strolling to the closed door, Linnie twisted the ornate brass knob and slowly pushed. Creaky and stiff, the hinge resisted her light pressure. Leaning in with the added weight of her hip and shoulder, Lindsay was able to persuade the door to push past the dirt and debris and open. Blinking away the floating dust particles, Linnie stepped timidly into the room. With the windows boarded up, she realized, she had need of a candle.

  Quickly, she returned to her room. Grabbing a clean handkerchief and her candle, she cupped the tiny flame and retraced her steps. This time, her entrance lit the sizable room enough so that she could look around with minimal squinting. Being at a ninety degree angle from the other rooms, this chamber spanned the width of the house. About thirty feet long and fifteen feet deep, the room was mostly empty. Along the back wall, two grand windows stood boarded, with shards of shattered glass still unswept at their feet.

  In front of these two cracked beauties a pair of drop cloths stood sentinel. Looking to the right, she saw where three more drop cloths loomed, and to the left, another four. With her first inkling of enthusiasm since arriving on the premises, Lindsay strode forward. Using her free hand to cover her nose with the handkerchief, Linnie pulled off the cloth. In a flurry of dust, a delicate mahogany rocking horse galloped to life.

  “Oh!” Lindsay cooed, realizing she had discovered the nursery. To the right, the three clothes revealed two tiny beds and an ornately carved crib. To the left, one large desk and three small desks with chairs huddled together. Running her hand along the walls, Lindsay could see faded wall paper beneath layers of soot and grime. Set within the deep right wall, the culprit, a long unlit fireplace.

  Lindsay smiled. Perhaps this house had more to it than just broken windows and offensive servants. Perhaps the history of this home could speak to her, helping her to restore it to its former glory. Excited, she was turning to race up the stairs and share her revelation with Charles when something stopped her.

  ~ ~ ~

  He had been dishonest with her. He knew it. And now, he did not know how he would find the courage to go downstairs and explain himself. What would he say?

  “I insisted on your marrying me, knowing you could do better, because I needed the money.” She would be headed home before he finished speaking.

  “No! This is her home now. I, as her husband, will be supporting her for the rest of her life. I have every right to use her dowry to establish our household and turn a profit. Besides, it is her father’s money I have taken, not hers. It is money he owes in recompense for his foul behavior.” I will make myself worthy of her, he thought resolutely. Shaking his head free of the distraction that was Linnie, Charles bent back over his ledgers.

  ~ ~ ~

  Something was not right with the scene. Looking back over the beloved nursery, Lindsay sought to jog her consciousness. There! Beside the study old fireplace, finger prints disturbed the dust upon wall paper, just at the seam in the paper. Approaching with the soft embroidered cloth again protecting her sensitive lungs, Lindsay bent to run her fingers over the spot.

  Heart pounding, she looked expectantly over her shoulder. No one approached. Fitting the tips of her fingers beneath the edge of the paper, she discovered a gap in the underlying wainscoting. Following her instincts, Lindsay slid the thin wood to the side, revealing a small compartment within the wall. Again glancing over her shoulder, Lindsay knelt upon the filthy floor. Moving her candle closer to the opening, Linnie sat it upon the floor beside her and leaned her free hand into the opening.

  Shakily, she rested her hand upon a small wooden box. Grabbing the box, she withdrew it from the ominous space and quickly tucked it beneath one arm. Grabbing her candle, Lindsay scuttled from the room, stopping only long enough to shut the door behind her.

  Scrambling through her own door, Lindsay leaned against it, causing the metal latch to seal with a “click!” There she remained until her nervous panting slowed to normal breath. Giggling anxiously, Lindsay pulled her small wooden chair up to the bed. Spreading the handkerchief flat upon the quilt, Lindsay removed the dusty treasure box from beneath her arm and set it upon the white linen. There it sat, framed by the stitching of purple clovers, as Lindsay contemplated the object.

  Walnut, the yellowed wood appeared to be. Not much larger than a snuff box, but thicker and finely made. What a conundrum. How did such a stately looking item end up in the wall of a nursery? It could not have been a long ago child’s treasure box. The item was too solid to be an infant’s play thing. Not only that, thought Lindsay, but this box has been placed in that niche recently. Otherwise, I would not have discovered the fingerprints. And while the box is dusty, it shows no signs of deterioration from water or rodents.

  Full of anticipation, Lindsay carefully pushed open the lid of the box. Within lay various correspondences. Scooping up the stack of letters, Lindsay lifted one and unfolded it. Glancing at the greeting, she noted that the letter was addressed to the old Baronet Donovan, dated about seven years agone. It seemed that the correspondent, a certain headmaster of a boy’s school, was responding to the master’s inquiries about his heir. Opening the remaining letters, Lindsay could see that they were from various acquaintances to Charles. Apparently, the old Lord had been attempting to discern the character of his new heir. In some correspondence, the authors had reassured the Lord that they would not mention the inquiry to Charles. In others, it seemed that the Lord had posed as a potential business partner seeking information about Charles’ character without giving away the true reason for his interest.

  But, why not let Charles know of his impending inheritance? Why not make contact with Charles directly? And why had someone sought to hide these letters within the house recently? What possible motive might they have had in doing so? A glint of light caught Lindsay’s eye. At the bottom of the box lay a miniature frame and portrait. Carefully withdrawing the miniature, Lindsay peered at the face of a young man. Dressed in the style of at least thirty years agone, the youth posed with powdered hair and grim expression. The last heir? Something struck her about the boy’s face. Something about his demeanor, some look around the eyes that she couldn’t quite place.

  Replacing the letters in their box, Lindsay wrapped her handkerchief around the bundle and secreted it beneath her undergarments in the trunk. The miniature, however, seemed too special to keep in such an ordinary place as a cedar chest. Instead, Lindsay slipped it into the pocket of her gown. Should I tell Charles of my discovery? she wondered briefly. No, she thought, taking childish pleasure in her newly found secret. By keeping her discovery to herself, she felt as if she had regained some power. A power she had lost the moment she overheard Charles’ quiet
conversation with Aiden. So what if Charles had not told her of his need to marry for funds? She would not tell him of the old Baronet Donovan. She could have a secret of her own.

  She felt very young; knew that she had yet to fully become the adult young lady she was supposed to be, and somehow did not care. “I have done quite enough growing up this past year. I shall allow myself this juvenile whim.” Smiling, she patted her pocket containing the visage and set out upon her original errand.

  Now, Lindsay thought, let me at least look over the whole of the house before I speak with Charles. Perhaps I shall uncover more clues to this mystery. Walking straight into the hall, she turned the first doorknob on the left, almost directly across from her current bedroom’s doorway. Armed with candle held high, she bumped open the door. Another nicely sized room, about 20 feet by 15 feet, stood empty. Walking its breadth, Linnie discovered a rotten, worm eaten door, which had half collapsed. The doorknob came free in her hand at her first gentle tug.

  Wrinkling her nose, Linnie dropped the knob and hiked her brown habit to step over the wooden carcass. Inside, she saw what must be a changing room. An old, plain copper chamber pot stood in the corner with some rusty hooks and moth-eaten linen. She could not help feeling a little disappointed that she had not discovered another secret hiding place, as her eyes ran around the closet’s facade.

  Withdrawing from the room, Lindsay noticed scarlet-hued, velvet and satin striped wall paper peeling around the classic wrought iron fire place. As overwhelmed and pricked as she was, the house was definitely finding its way into her heart. She could tell, like herself, the home had once been very proud and well cared for. She had a feeling the house would not be the only one feeling neglected, now that she was here. A sense of foreboding sent a chill down her spine.

  Her journal! Whenever she had needed help sorting out her feelings, her journal always seemed to put things back into perspective. Dashing across the hall, Lindsay pulled out her carpet bag and dug around. Paper, pen, and inkwell in hand, Lindsay again sat at the bed and began to take notes.

  August 14, 1788

  Nursery-

  refinish furniture and floor, repaper walls, replace rug, linen, windows, drapes, and mattresses

  discovered old master’s portrait and inquiries about Charles, hidden by unknown person???

  Master Bedroom-

  Replace mattress, wash stand, hooks, bars, hangers, wall paper, windows,

  Leaving her notes where they lay, Lindsay pushed back her stool and walked past the main stairwell, to the two remaining doors at the other end of the hallway. A quick surveillance of each showed a hodgepodge of broken down, mismatched furniture. Two tiny guest bedrooms it seemed.

  Heading back down the stairs, Lindsay noted that the entire stairwell would likely need to be refurbished. Some competent, if uninspiring family portraits, dappled the stairwell to the main floor. Peering into each aged face, Lindsay was unable to discover any resemblance to Charles. A small landing halfway down displayed a door to the left and right. Lindsay’s mouth quirked. How odd was this floor’s design! Never before had she seen this type of architectural lay out. Her heart beat rapidly in anticipation of what she might find.

  Turning randomly, Linnie opened the door at her left. “Aaaaaaah!” she screeched, nearly soaking her bloomers as a wooly creature dashed past her feet and down the stairwell. The orange and tan fuzz ball had to have been a cat! she thought, laughing out loud. On a whim, Lindsay followed her furry tormentor down the stairs. The dust prints stopped halfway across the entry, due to the mopped lower level, but Lindsay could tell by their direction that the cat had headed to the right, front room. This room too had shabby, threadbare furniture, but had been kept in repair and polish. A cheery fire waved happily on its grate. Purring contentedly on the armchair facing the flames, Tabby sat, one eye cracked, tracking her approach.

  “We gave one another quite a fright,” Lindsay soothed gently, leaning over to offer her hand in truce. Tabby Girl sniffed cautiously, then rubbed her muzzle against Linnie’s pale knuckles in greeting. A deep feeling of contentment flooded Lindsay’s belly, as she scooped up her new friend and situated the cat on her lap. Leaning back in the arm chair, Lindsay enjoyed the simultaneous heat of the fire and the kitty, despite the sweat beading at her temples.

  Taking a moment to let the cozy calm of the room seep into her bones, Lindsay sighed and sat up determinedly. “Let us seek the room you were haunting, shall we?” Lindsay asked Tabby as she rolled up her sleeves and snuggled the cat into the cradle of her left arm. Climbing the stairs, she turned right into the open doorway to find a room wider than it was tall. The ceilings on this floor were only a bit above her husband’s head, as opposed to the lofted ceilings upstairs. Yet, there was nothing stifling about the space, quite the opposite, in fact. The room was twelve foot square, with built in book shelves lining the walls from floor to ceiling. A round oak table and two rickety chairs were the only furniture. Merely a handful of books sagged on the shelves. The room left her feeling cold and unembodied. Lindsay felt lost in its aching emptiness.

  A library without books is like a body without a soul, she thought morosely. Turning, Lindsay left the room, determined not to return until she had at least a crate of texts to fill the space.

  “I hope we can get windows in before the cold weather,” mused Lindsay, as she strolled across the stairway, to the opposite door. The other low-ceilinged room boasted a tiled floor and nothing else. “Billiards,” Lindsay thought. The pool table, along with his books and valuable furniture must have been sold. At the back of the billiards room, a door opened into a tiny dust-coated study. Only a diminutive, decrepit desk and straight-backed chair stood in the small space. Lindsay shut both the study and billiards’ doors before gliding down the steps.

  Circling behind the staircase, Lindsay discovered a pair of ten foot tall oak doors. Opening with a tug outwards, they revealed a wood-tiled music room. The intricate pattern of oak and ash swirled inward, beckoning Lindsay to twirl with it. The room was open, tall and breezy. Leaves fluttered up and about the cracks in the boarded up French doors at the far wall, joining the rays of light and dancing to the whistle of the wind. Peering through the slats, Lindsay could see pansies and roses peeking through the bramble of weeds and broken lawn ornaments. I will make order of the chaos here, she silently promised the petite blooms.

  Backing slowly from the room, and closing the two paneled doors behind her, Lindsay turned to the other side of the staircase. Linnie was relieved to discover a dining room with a functioning table. A side board would be needed but the chandelier sported two dozen candles, which sufficiently lit the room. Behind the master’s chair a marble framed fire place, with cracks at its base rose regally. Behind the lady’s chair, a large, arched window stood bare to the carriageway. Gazing at the lonely vista, Linnie noted that the sun set glowed purple and yellow tonight, suiting her mood perfectly.

  Floating dreamily to the entrance, Lindsay did something she had never before dared. She opened her own front door and sat directly on the steps of the porch. Slouching in a most unladylike position, Linnie placed her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. Gazing at the view before her, Lindsay considered the scene as if it were an outward manifestation of her own heart. “A pretty picture we make,” she sighed to the sun, “but bruised and aching, nonetheless.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Finally faced with a growling stomach and aching head, Charles wandered down to seek out his bride and a hot meal. Lindsay was no where to be found. Her room, left in haste, sported her journal, lain open on the bed. Charles was tempted to peek at its contents but his sense of ethics allowed him only to move the inkwell to a safer location on the night stand. A rising anxiety surrounding Lindsay’s whereabouts drove him from the chamber. Stopping in each room, Charles made his way down the stairs, into the entry hall.

  The light, subdued now, washed him in purple and gold shadows; giving the hall a surreal, almost dreamlike feel. C
harlie was drawn to the door, intent on witnessing the impending sunset. Through the cracked strip of glass lining the front door, Charles viewed the most beautiful and achingly melancholy sunset he had ever seen. He was awe struck. Since his return from the navy, he had not taken the time to watch the sun. Often, he was too caught up in day-to-day scheming and planning to ever notice life’s more intangible offerings.

  Adjusting his focus to take in the whole of the scene before him, Charles spotted Lindsay’s small frame propped on the porch. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. It was the very image he had summoned while being beaten at the mast.

  Her doe-colored wool and ebony cascade of curls melted lovingly into the unearthly scene before him. He wished he was a painter so that he could capture this image and cherish it in the years to come. He hardly dared breathe for fear of disrupting the Samuel Scott watercolor before him. Oh, God, how he loved her, his Diana, his comfort through this interminable night of suffering. He ached to hold her in his arms.

  “Clang! Cling! Clang!” Startled, Charles ducked from the doorway and veered into the sitting room, afraid that Lindsay might look up and catch him spying on her.

  “What am I doing, hiding like a recalcitrant child? This is ridiculous!” Charles chided himself. I am the master of this house, am I not? I took what I wanted last night, did I not? What has she done to me, to turn me into a weak milksop? Striding from the sitting room with renewed purpose, Charles ran smack into Lindsay.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, taken by surprise. “I-I just heard the dinner bell and was making my way to the dining room.”