by Merry Farmer
Brynthwaite Summer
A Silver Foxes of Westminster Novella
Merry Farmer
BRYNTHWAITE SUMMER
Copyright ©2018 by Merry Farmer
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Brynthwaite, Cumbria – Summer, 1880
Agatha Crimpley loved everything about her home village of Brynthwaite. She loved the way the sky was so clear and blue in the summer, even on unusually hot days. She loved the way Lake Brynswater reflected the sky in a deeper blue with a myriad of sparkles across the water. She loved the steep hills and forests that surrounded the town, it’s old buildings and the spate of new houses that were being constructed. She loved the wise, older people who doled out advice and the ambitious younger people of her own generation who were determined to see the town grow. And above all, she loved her place in the center of the community.
“Are you going out, miss?” Joanna, the Crimpley’s maid, asked as Aggie skipped down the stairs of her family’s comfortable home and headed toward the door.
“Of course I’m going out,” Aggie replied with a jaunty smile, pausing in front of the mirror to fix her hat on her stylish, honey-gold hair. “It’s too beautiful a day to stay inside. And besides, the bookshop gets its new periodicals on Wednesdays.”
She grinned at herself in the mirror. Periodicals weren’t the only reason she liked to spend time at Brynthwaite’s bookshop. There was also Andrew Noble.
Joanna sent Aggie a sideways look that bordered on impertinent, coming from a servant. “It’s only that I thought your father expected you to work in his shop today, miss,” she said.
A zip of excitement passed through Aggie in spite of Joanna’s hint of sass. “It’s true,” she said. “Father has been asking me to work in the shop more and more of late.” She finished with her hat and turned to Joanna with a wide grin. “I think he has grand plans in store for me. He’s had me taking inventory and balancing the ledgers at the end of the day as well as stocking shelves and helping customers.”
Joanna made a disbelieving sound and shook her head as she crossed the hall to polish the banister. “You’d never catch me doing a job like that, miss. Always being in the public eye? All that responsibility?”
Aggie shrugged, still smiling. “I look forward to the challenge. And I don’t mind the public at all. In fact, I like them and they like me.”
“As you say, miss,” Joanna said.
“Enjoy the rest of your morning,” Aggie told her, turning to head out into the bright morning sunlight.
She chuckled to herself as she walked past her family’s small front garden and through the gate to the street. As baffling as Joanna found her attitude about work and prominence in society, Aggie was mystified by the determination that so many women seemed to have to stay locked up in a house, secluded in their own world. Even before she’d become friends with Elaine Bond—now the Countess of Waltham—she’d fostered ideas that most of the women of Brynthwaite would call radical. Perhaps it came from being an only child, one who was indulged the same way a son would have been. It simply didn’t make sense to Aggie that women should forever be locked away and relegated to the position of a ghost in the house of a man.
She adored working in her father’s store. Crimpley’s Market was the center of activity in town, apart from The Fox and the Lion pub. Almost everyone came through the shop’s doors at one point or another during the a week. On any given day of working for her father, Aggie could talk to everyone from the wives of the most prominent businessmen in their little corner of Cumbria to simple farmers’ wives to the administrators of Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage. She prided herself on her ability to get along with high and low, and if she were honest with herself, she felt more than a little self-satisfaction at being so well-liked by all.
“Aggie, I’m so glad we’re meeting like this,” Mrs. Garrett, one of the town’s biggest busybodies, stopped her as their paths crossed at the edge of town.
“Good morning, Mrs. Garrett,” Aggie greeted her with a smile. “How are you on this fine day?”
“Baffled,” Mrs. Garrett answered, a light of excitement in her eyes. “Did you hear about June Lakes and Ted Folley? Married! At least, in a manner of speaking.” She leaned closer to Aggie, as if eager to hear what she knew.
“It was quite a surprise,” Aggie admitted. She considered June a friend of sorts, but she wasn’t above gossiping about the sudden events of a few days ago. “They married in the middle of the night,” she said, lowering her voice. “Completely out of the blue.”
“Well, we’ve all known that Mr. Folley has had his eye on her for years, since they were children,” Mrs. Garrett said with a sage nod. “But what were they thinking, marrying first and having the banns read later? Is that even permitted?”
“I didn’t think it was,” June said, glancing farther down the street to where the pub was just barely visible. “But everyone seems to be treating the marriage as though it were conducted with all due propriety.”
“What should we do?” Mrs. Garrett asked, watching Aggie carefully, as though whatever she said would be the right thing. “Do we acknowledge the marriage or do we spurn it?”
It was sorely tempting to gloat over the faith and importance Mrs. Garrett, a woman twice Aggie’s age, put in her opinion. “Considering the long history between the two of them, and considering how miserable poor June’s life has been with her family, I think it’s only right for the town to support her marriage to Ted as much as possible.”
“You must be right,” Mrs. Garrett agreed with a nod. “That poor woman is certainly better off with Mr. Folley than with her wretched drunk of a father. I shall tell all my friends that you said so. Good day to you, my dear.”
Mrs. Garrett walked on. Aggie did as well, with an extra spring in her step. She shouldn’t enjoy it so much, but knowing her opinion counted was as delightful as birdsong on a sunny morning.
“Good morning, Miss Crimpley.” Rev. Albright, one of the housemasters of the orphanage, nodded to her as she passed in front of the big, ugly building. “Are you ready for the upcoming summer festival?” he asked with a smile.
“Of course,” Aggie replied, pausing to talk
to the man. “Are you entering your sticky toffee cake in the pudding competition this year?”
“Absolutely,” Rev. Albright said, laughing. “If I can manage to save one aside without two dozen hungry orphans descending on it.”
“I’m sure you’ll make enough for the competition and your dear, little charges,” Aggie said. She admired the way Rev. Albright and the staff of Brynthwaite Municipal Orphanage always made sure to feed their children enough. Too many institutions in Britain operated under the assumption that privation and starvation built character and taught children not to be greedy. As far as Aggie was concerned, that was barbaric, and as soon as she was older, she would speak out on behalf of children everywhere. In her heart of hearts, she was certain people would listen to her.
“Have you heard that Mayor Farnsworth is retiring,” Rev. Albright went on before Aggie had a chance to continue on her way.
“Is he?” She blinked, surprised by the idea. “He’s been mayor for as long as I can remember.”
“He’s old,” Rev. Albright shrugged. “And even though Brynthwaite has a habit of installing its mayors for decades, they all grow tired and need a rest in the end.”
“Does that mean we’ll have an election for mayor soon?” she asked.
“It must,” Rev. Albright said.
Aggie sighed, letting her shoulders drop dramatically. “Didn’t we have enough of elections in the spring?”
Rev. Albright laughed. “I’m sure this one will be far quieter and far less disruptive.”
“I certainly hope so.” She smiled, taking a step to be on her way once more. “Good day to you, Rev. Albright.”
Another election. Aggie shook her head as she walked on, crossing the street to the side where the bookshop stood. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Maybe if she was brave enough, she could speak out for whichever candidate she favored the way Elaine had spoken out in favor of the Liberal Party in the spring. It would be thrilling to be the center of attention that way, to have even more people listening to what she had to say.
The bell over the bookshop door jangled as she walked through. She set her thoughts of elections and speeches aside and her smile grew as she spotted Andrew behind the counter at the back of the store. The very sight of him sent flutters of fondness through her. There was no one like Andrew Noble in all of Brynthwaite, possibly in all of Cumbria. His dark skin marked him as different at first sight, but it was his vast intelligence, his endless capacity for compassion toward all people, and his diligent hard work that Aggie admired even more than his appearance. Though he was devastatingly handsome as well. His broad shoulders and strong arms filled out his crisp, white shirt and elegant grey suit jacket admirably. His eyes were as dark as the night sky and just as captivating, and his expressive mouth made her think about things that would give her mother apoplexy if she knew.
But it was the smile he sent her as soon as he spotted her that sent prickles of pleasure racing through Aggie’s body, straight to scandalous places. He straightened and nodded to her, even though he reserved most of his attention for young Jason Throckmorton, who leaned against the counter, deep in conversation with him.
“And I’m most certainly not too young to think about making a name for myself,” Jason was saying. “No matter what Rev. Albright says. How will I ever truly find success in the world if I don’t start working for it now?”
“You have a point,” Andrew said, glancing to Aggie as she came to rest at the other end of the counter from Jason, interested in what both men had to say. “I started working for a friend of my father’s after school and on Saturdays when I was fourteen.”
“And I’m nearly sixteen now,” Jason said with an emphatic nod. “I’ve done all sorts of work at the orphanage, but frankly, I don’t want to be a farmer or a fisherman or some sort of laborer when I’m older. Those seem to be the only jobs available for men like me here in Brynthwaite.”
Aggie hid her grin behind her gloved hand. It was charming to hear a boy of almost sixteen refer to himself as a man. Although Jason did have a more mature appearance than most other boys his age. And if the rumors she’d heard were true, he had a fully-grown man’s way with the ladies as well.
“I want more from my life than the limits of my birth,” Jason went on. “I want to achieve greatness, like you have.”
Andrew laughed, a faint splash of color darkening his cheeks. “I wouldn’t quite say I’ve achieved greatness,” he said modestly.
“All things considered,” Jason said, nodding at Andrew. “Who would have thought that a black man from Africa could run a bookshop in Cumbria and be so well-liked and respected at the same time?”
A burst of pride filled Aggie’s heart. Andrew was well-liked in Brynthwaite. And yet, Jason’s comment caused him to lose his smile. It was replaced by a wary look and a sigh. “Respect from one’s neighbors only goes so far,” he said.
Aggie waited for him to explain, but he shook his head, as though thinking twice about speaking. “But you are well-liked,” she said, hoping to reassure him. “Nobody in Brynthwaite cares a trice about where you were born.”
The look he gave her was equal parts thanks for what he must have heard as a compliment and doubt, as though she didn’t know what she was talking about. But before she could call him out for the censure in his expression, Jason went on.
“You’re an inspiration to me, Mr. Noble. And because of all you’ve accomplished, I know what I have to do.”
“What do you have to do?” Andrew asked.
Jason’s answer was delayed as the doorbell jangled and Mr. Marks, the postman, marched up to the counter to hand Andrew a weathered letter.
“Thanks,” Andrew told him with a smile and a nod before Mr. Marks continued on his postal round. Andrew studied the envelope. His brow rose.
“I have to go to London,” Jason said, just as Aggie was preparing to ask Andrew who the letter was from. “I’m never going to make a name for myself here.”
Aggie turned to him. “Why would you want to go all the way to London? Brynthwaite is lovely. It’s perfect.”
Jason huffed a humorless laugh and shook his head. “Not when you’ve grown up here as an orphan. I need to start over where no one knows my name. If I don’t, I’ll never be able to convince Lady Elizabeth that—” He snapped his mouth shut, a deep blush coming to his face.
Aggie smiled at him. She wondered if the young man was aware that everyone in town knew he’d pinned his hopes on Lady Elizabeth Dyson, the adolescent daughter of Lord Gerald Dyson, Earl of Thornhill.
“Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time,” Jason continued in a hurry, pushing away from the counter. “I should be getting back to my studies.”
“It’s always nice to talk to you, Jason,” Andrew said, waving goodbye to the young man as he rushed off.
The doorbell jangled, and Jason was gone. Both Andrew and Aggie turned their attention to the letter in Andrew’s hands.
“Who is it from?” Aggie was able to ask at last.
Andrew shrugged. “The return address is from Cape Town, South Africa.”
Aggie’s brow shot up, and she circled around the counter and leaned closer to Andrew to get a better look. “That’s such a long way. Do you know who it’s from?”
“I won’t know until I open it.”
He found a letter opener on a shelf under the counter and sliced through the envelope. Aggie’s pulse beat harder as he took the single sheet of paper out, not just because of what the letter could contain, but because he was sharing it with her so freely. The lack of formality between them felt as natural to her as breathing. They were friends. They’d been friends for a few years, but as far as she was concerned, there was more than just friendship simmering right under the surface of their closeness.
“It’s from a Col. Brandon Montgomery,” Andrew said, scanning through the letter. “He says that he served with my father in the army thirty years ago and that….”
Andrew’s voice f
ailed him, and from her vantage point of being able to read the letter over his shoulder, Aggie could see why. Col. Montgomery had served with Andrew’s adopted father at exactly the time Andrew had been found abandoned as a baby. According to the letter, Col. Montgomery believed he had information about Andrew’s origins that he might be interested in.
“This is extraordinary,” Aggie said, stepping away so that she could face Andrew fully. “He might know where you came from.”
Andrew finished reading the letter, his eyes wide. He remained speechless until he was done. He set the finished letter on the table and turned his head to meet Aggie’s eyes.
“I never dreamed anyone would find the slightest clue as to who my people were before Father found me.”
He didn’t say anything else. His expression clouded, as though he were thinking back to a time so long ago and far away it could be a fairy tale.
“How did your father find you?” Aggie asked to prompt him, resting a hand on his arm.
Andrew glanced to her hand with a warm smile, then sighed. “He was on a patrol in the wilderness near the British fort. He heard me crying and when he went to investigate, he found me lying, naked and alone, under a bush. Since there was no one else in sight, he took me back to the fort to his wife. My mother was one of the few officer’s wives allowed to be in the fort. They were childless, and Mother took to me immediately.”
Aggie’s brow creased into a gentle frown. “Did they never try to find who had left you under the bush or what tribe you came from?”
Andrew shook his head, his expression pinched with conflict. “No. Years later, when I was a boy and asked her, she became angry and said any woman who was savage enough to leave a defenseless newborn under a bush had no right to be a mother.” He paused, rubbing a hand over his face. “She and my father thought they were doing the right thing by adopting me and raising me as their own. And truly, no son was ever adored by his parents as much as I was.”
