She’d craved a life of adventure and had lived vicariously through her salon. Her fringe friends—a term Lydia had coined—brought gusto and spice to her dull existence. Many had traveled to far places and brought back tales of exploration. Several female friends pricked the walls of propriety by aspiring to professions not suitable for women. And now, because of her marriage, she had left her interesting friends and her comfortable life far behind. But life in Yorkshire could be an adventure, too.
An old saying crept into her head, giving her pause.
Be careful what you wish for. Your wish might come true.
Chapter 8
New sights and sounds filled the next two weeks. Hammers and mallets pounded, chisels scraped away dirt and mold, and workmen shouted as wagons delivered supplies. Exhaustion threated to overcome her as Gwen donned her oldest garments and supervised the work in the west wing.
On the warmest days, she and John toured the estate, a vast expanse of gently rolling hills with a stream that fed into the Ouse. They brought gifts to their tenants, listened to their needs, and surveyed ramshackle cottages left empty too long.
John planned aloud, and Gwen made notes in her head as they rode side by side, stopping to walk along the river. This was her home now, and she was awed by its primal beauty.
As the work in the west wing neared completion, it was time to order bed hangings and draperies and find permanent staff. Gwen had visited the village only once, so John offered to take her and Sadie into town on a day he had business there. He was now ready to address the east wing and needed additional laborers. Installing new glass in broken windows and reinforcing its sagging staircase were immediate priorities. The roof was the next concern. The rest of the interior would remain untended until she and John had determined its future use.
For a village of moderate size, Woodhaven-on-the-Ouse offered a surprising number of interesting shops. Buildings with bowed windows lined a narrow street, giving barely enough room for conveyances to pass. Gwen had thought the town charming on her first visit and looked forward to the trip.
John helped her alight in front of the haberdashery where she planned to buy a few fripperies to perk up some of her clothes. According to Mary, the proprietor had lived in the village his entire life and might know if anyone was searching for employment.
“The Fox and Hound is down the street. I shall return here to pick you up when I finish my business.”
Gwen inspected her surroundings and spied a bench in front of the nearby tea shop. “Sadie and I shall occupy that bench when we finish shopping.”
He squeezed her hand, climbed back up on the cart, and flicked the reins.
Gwen sighed. It would be wonderful to have a barouche or some other covered conveyance before bad weather set in. The old horse-drawn farm cart John found in the stable worked well for now but was not suitable for days when rain was as thick as a curtain.
“I shall add it to the list.”
Sadie peeked at her from under her bonnet. “Did you say something, milady?”
“Just talking to myself.”
Sadie smiled and turned away.
A bell jangled as they entered the shop. A short, balding man with eyeglasses thicker than her own greeted them.
“I am interested in ribbons, pins, and lace today.”
He scrutinized her appearance and must not have found her wanting, because he left and returned with a tray of items she’d requested. Making her selections, she counted out the proper number of coins, waited for the parcel to be wrapped, then handed it to Sadie.
“Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“Yes. I’m acquiring staff for Woodhaven Abbey, and I wondered if you might know of people looking for work. I would like to conduct the interviews as soon as possible. There is much work to be done.”
His eyes widened. “I knew the old steward’s cottage was occupied, but I had no idea the manor was even habitable.” He stuck a finger alongside his mouth. “I believe the vicar might be able to direct you. He knows all his parishioners, and I believe a few might be in need of employment. Have you visited the church? It is at the end of the lane on the right.”
“Thank you. I have. I shall be sure to approach the vicar after Sunday services.”
She nodded and went outside into the bright sunshine, glad she wore a bonnet to shade her face. Next door was a linen draper where she hoped to find cloth for new bedsheets and window coverings as well as the name of a seamstress who might make them to order.
They passed the bench where they’d wait for John later and entered the draper’s. It was dim inside, but oil lamps were strewn about to brighten the interior. She was immediately drawn to a table that held bolts of cloth.
“What do you think, Sadie? Gold curtains for the drawing room? I fancy light-blue ones for my bedchamber and the same fabric in a darker shade for John’s.”
“What about this red cloth, milady? It looks like the curtains in your mother’s house. The color might make you feel at home.”
Gwen shuddered. “Absolutely not. I may like bold paintings on my walls, but I abhor anything that reminds me of Egyptian decor when it comes to furnishings, and Mama chose this very fabric to match the color of her couch.”
“The couch with gold animal claws for feet?”
“The very one.”
Sadie smothered a giggle and turned to wait for the proprietor.
After purchasing various lengths of fabric and finding out who the best seamstresses were in the village, they ambled down the cobblestoned street, peering into windows. Sweet smells from a bakery blew on the breeze, but instead of walking all the way down the street, they entered a small tea shop and ordered refreshments.
“We’ll sit in the window where we can keep an eye on the street in case Mr. Montague returns early.” She indicated the chair opposite for Sadie, whose furtive glance took in the disapproving stares of two women at another table. Gwen nodded politely toward them as she sat down.
“Should I wait outside, milady?” Sadie inclined her head toward the other table.
“Absolutely not. Pay no attention to them. I shall have tea with whom I choose.”
“You are very broad-minded, milady. There was talk belowstairs at your father’s house you allowed women who were no better than they should be to attend your salons.”
“I daresay I’ve met interesting people from all, er, professions. But no fallen women, at least not that were known to me. Mama would have swooned, and Lydia would have succumbed on the spot.” The thought made her want to laugh, but she restrained herself.
Most ladies of quality did not have tea with their maids. Gwen could care less what anyone thought. She prided herself on being fair and inclusive and Sadie—born the same month, but two years earlier—had been her personal maid for nearly a decade. Only those with small minds and hearts would leave their maids outside while they partook of refreshments.
Gwen purposely dawdled over her tea and crème cakes, although she and Sadie eventually made their way outside. John still hadn’t appeared, but the bench was near. The day was bright, but the wind had picked up, and Gwen was happy she’d worn her warmest pelisse. When the door opened and the scornful woman and her companion came out, they turned the other direction and walked off, the older one glancing over her shoulder as they huffed down the street, their heads together in conversation.
“I wonder if those women are people I shall have to know?”
“They did not appear friendly, my lady. It isn’t my place to say, but you should not treat me like an old friend when we’re in company. It reflects badly on you.”
“Posh. You are an old friend. My best friend, except for Emily and Miranda, and now John. You have been my personal maid since before I left the schoolroom. When I am sad, you are the one
who soothes me. When I am ill, you are there to watch over me. If I want to take you shopping, I shall. If I want to treat you to tea and cakes, I shall. I will hear no more about this.”
“Very well.”
Gwen stood. “There he is.”
The cart stopped, and John jumped down. “Alas, my lucky day. Two lovely ladies waiting for me. May I help you both into my chariot?”
Sadie sputtered, and Gwen laughed. “I do believe we shall accept your offer, kind sir.”
The cart pulled away as they settled, and John slanted a glance at the small bundles. “I thought you were going shopping? Is that all you bought?”
“I ordered cloth for curtains and bedcoverings at the drapers. These parcels contain items to update my older gowns.”
“Handy with a needle are you?” He focused on the horses, but his grin was catching.
“Actually, Sadie is. When I try to sew, my fingers are a bloody mess even with my glasses on.”
“Can’t have that.”
“How did your meeting go? Will there be workmen for the east wing?”
“I had an excellent meeting with the gentleman who stopped by on the day we arrived. He will have men and supplies out tomorrow and two more women to help you with the house, should you require them.”
She glanced at his profile. “You have been busy, my lord. Now I can postpone my visit to the vicar. I was told he knows of parishioners in need of employment.”
“We’ll need permanent staff for the household once we move in. Don’t wait too long.”
“I shan’t.”
The lane was dry and reasonably wide as they left the village. A modern phaeton drawn by two horses approached in the distance. The conveyance moved at a rapid pace and was lost to view around a curve.
John slowed their horse and moved over to give the phaeton room to pass.
The vehicle disappeared behind a copse of trees, and when it reappeared, it was directly in their path. “What the devil does he think he’s doing?”
Sadie screamed, and Gwen clutched the side of the cart as John jerked on the reins, pulling the cart into a field to escape a collision. The phaeton thundered by, and John fought to control the cart as it veered sharply before coming to a complete stop.
Sweat beaded his forehead as he turned to Gwen. “Are you all right?”
For a moment she wasn’t sure she could answer. Her entire body shook to the beat of her racing pulse. She nodded. “Try to calm the horse.”
He jumped down to speak in soothing tones to the frightened, restless animal as it pawed the ground. Gwen reached back and patted Sadie’s shoulder. “Are you injured?”
“No, milady. But I’ll have a bruise or two from being thrown about in the bed of this cart.”
John checked the wheels and undercarriage and jumped back up onto the seat to ease the horse into the lane. “We were deuced lucky. If we’d met him a few yards farther, we’d have been thrown into a wall.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“No. But I’m going to find out, and there’s going to be hell to pay.”
She’d never heard such an angry tone from John. The mild-mannered tease was gone. Such reckless driving was inexcusable, and she was glad he hadn’t dismissed it as an unfortunate accident. While they had not seen the driver’s face, it appeared they were driven off the road on purpose.
They arrived home without speaking further, and she and Sadie immediately went into the cottage. Lionel met them at the entrance, and when they told him what happened, he advised them to seek Mary in the kitchen for a soothing tisane to calm their nerves. John had taken the horse and cart directly to the stable.
Gwen thought back to the accident. An inexperienced driver? That had to be the answer. The road was certainly wide enough for two vehicles traveling at a reasonable speed. And yet she could have sworn the driver had purposely tried to crowd them.
After seeing to Sadie, she sent her up to her room to lie down. Her own bruised knee, from the abrupt turn to the side, was something she could hide under her gown. She shrugged off any lingering anger, but when John returned, it was clear from his expression he had not. She hoped he could let this go. They had too much to do.
But then, you don’t know him very well yet, do you?
She turned toward the stairs and made her way to her bedchamber. She needed to write down the list of tasks for tomorrow. And if there was time, she owed Miranda a letter. When she finished, she would ponder what she’d learned about the man she married.
Chapter 9
A cloud of dust rose from the floor as ancient draperies fell. Gwen coughed and turned away, glad she’d packed an old gown destined for the rag bag. She and the women John had hired in the village had been preparing upstairs rooms for three days and were finally making headway. Downstairs rooms were almost complete.
“I told you I’d pull those down for you.” The stout woman rested her hands on her hips and shook her head. “’Tis no job for a lady.”
“Posh. I am capable of tugging on a few draperies, Mrs. Landry. Now we have all this wonderful light to see by.”
Not seeing into the corners of the private sitting room might have been better. Close to the ceiling, a series of webs hung with fat spiders in their centers.
She shuddered. “I’m going to leave you to your work. This room needs to be bare before you wash down the walls.” She shook dust from her bodice and skirt. “I’ll send Marian to you. She can finish scrubbing the bedchambers later.”
“Ye may as well leave her be, Mrs. Montague. That one’s scared of her own shadow. She’ll take one look at those long-legged critters up there and run screaming from the room. Ye should have seen the look on her face when we passed the abbey tower. Ye’d thought she’d seen the ghost, she was that scared.”
Gwen stopped pulling the pile of draperies across the floor toward the door. “What ghost?”
Mrs. Landry raised her eyebrows. “Ye haven’t heard about the ghost?”
“No, I haven’t. La, our very own ghost? I wonder if my husband knows.” She sat on an ancient footstool and rested her chin in her palms. “Please tell me the story, and don’t leave out any gruesome detail.”
Mrs. Landry seemed surprised by the request, but she stopped cleaning the windowpane and cleared her throat. “They say the ghost is a young woman who was in the care of the abbots. She got herself in the family way out of wedlock and was confined in the tower. When her baby was born, it was taken away. Overcome with grief, she refused to leave the tower and eventually died. Her ghost walks there, searching for the child.”
“Is she silent? Does she screech?”
“She sobs, and the baby cries.”
Gwen clapped her hands. “A ghost story. On our grounds. Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Landry. I shall look for her every time I pass the tower.” What a lark. Too bad her friends weren’t here. They’d absolutely adore the fact she had a ghost.
Mrs. Landry frowned. “I’d be careful, missus. She’s been known to attack people who seek her out. That’s why Marian is afraid. One of her friends scoffed at the story and snuck in there one night. She fled the tower raving, with blood spurting from her neck.”
Gwen tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Why would our ghost be violent? Surely the departed know their enemies are long dead. Perhaps Marian’s friend got too close to a sharp stone or board and hurt herself.”
More likely the story had been embellished.
“I’m only repeating what I heard.” The woman went back to work scrubbing the panes of glass.
Gwen jumped up. “I believe I hear the cart. It means our bed linens have arrived. If you stop and dispatch those spiders, Marian can help you clean in here. I’ll tell her to come down as soon as she finishes upstairs.”
She sighed.
“If you say so, milady. I could use the help.” She dropped her rag in the wooden bucket, grabbed the broom, and turned toward the nearest corner.
Gwen delivered her message to Marian, and then bolted down the stairs and out the front door. John alighted and staggered back in mock horror. “Is this my bride? Or is this a chimney sweep? You must have a bushel of dirt on you, including your face.”
She laughed. “Is this my husband? No, he must be one of the laborers. He has lost his waistcoat and cravat, and his boots are dusty. If he were my husband, his valet would swoon in disgust.”
“He already has twice this week. I swear I’m going to keep fresh clothes in the stable to change into before I enter the house, so Ranaleigh won’t resign on the spot.”
He moved toward her, his lock of hair over his eye, an amused expression on his lips. She reached up, brushed the hair back, and caught her breath. His eyes softened, and his gaze locked with hers. For a moment, she shut out the day, the smell of freshly cut wood and the sound of hammers. Standing before her was a man with his shirt open at the neck, whose pantaloons fit snugly over muscled thighs, a man who caused her knees to give way.
A man whose lips were inches from her own.
His callused fingers cupped her face, and he slowly leaned down. The lock of hair flopped back over his eye. Was he going to kiss her? Here, in the open for all to see? Footsteps warned them as a man came around the corner of the building. They both drew back, and John turned away as the man approached. Gwen willed her heartbeat to slow, but her gaze was still upon her husband.
“The roof repairs should be finished in three days’ time, sir. You won’t have to worry about rain this season, not in the east wing. The damage appeared much worse than it was.”
“Your men work fast.”
“Aye. They do. It’s good to have someone in the manor again, and they appreciate the extra coins.”
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