The Road through Rushbury (Seasons of Change Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  Samuel watched Lady Gilmour’s eyes linger on him from where she stood at the window when they entered the drawing room.

  “Ah,” she said, gliding toward them with outstretched arms. “Miss Paige, Mr. Derrick.” She looked to Miss Paige with an approving smile. “I couldn’t help noticing your approach from the window, and I see you have employed a maid.” She looked highly pleased. “I am very glad that you have taken my advice.”

  Samuel looked to Miss Paige, curious. He thought he saw the quickest flash of annoyance cross over her face, but it was gone as quickly as it came.

  “Well, to say truth,” Miss Paige said, “this is Aunt Sara’s maid. I have yet to employ one of my own.”

  Lady Gilmour’s smile flickered. “I must confess that I was very shocked indeed to see you and Mr. Derrick riding together unaccompanied.”

  Miss Paige’s jaw tightened a bit, and her smile was a bit less genuine as she opened her mouth.

  But Lady Gilmour continued on, putting up a hand to stop Miss Paige’s reply. “Now I know that you think yourself past the age of needing such things, my dear, but I hope you will allow me to be a better judge of the matter. I did manage to attract Sir Clyde, after all.” She smiled until her eyes nearly disappeared. “One cannot be too careful when one’s reputation is in the balance.” She pursed her lips, looking at Miss Paige consideringly. “I hope you will not think me unkind, my dear, but if you were so free with your attentions in London as you have been here, I suspect it might have something to do with your remaining unmarried.”

  Samuel stiffened. The woman was unbearable.

  “Thank you, Lady Gilmour,” Miss Paige said, her color slightly heightened. “You are all consideration.”

  Lady Gilmour looked ready to continue the subject—no doubt to instruct Miss Paige on the methods she used to attract Sir Clyde—but Samuel decided it was time to step in, little though he relished it.

  “Lady Gilmour,” he said, “we were hoping to speak with you about the survey of the roads you saw us in the midst of completing.”

  She turned her head toward him, looking as though she had forgotten his presence entirely. “Oh?” she said discouragingly.

  “Yes,” said Miss Paige. “I was telling the vicar of the hopes you and Sir Clyde had expressed for Rushbury, and we thought it would be worthwhile to talk amongst us about the effect the state of the roads might have upon the future of Rushbury.”

  Samuel watched in appreciation as Miss Paige navigated the difficult conversation with awe-inspiring dexterity. So subtle and deft was she that Samuel found himself blinking in surprise as they rose to leave, having secured assurances from Lady Gilmour that she and Sir Clyde would put a hold on all of their plans and focus on bringing the roads into good repair—a task toward which they were willing to contribute a significant sum.

  As they walked away from Amblethorne Park along the long lane that led to the village road, the maid following discreetly behind them, Samuel turned to Miss Paige.

  “I stand quite in wonder,” he said.

  She looked at him with a perplexed brow.

  “You not only managed to convince Lady Gilmour that the idea to improve the roads was hers but for her to suggest the idea of paying for the repairs.” He shook his head in awe.

  She bit her lip. “When you say it like that, it sounds very…conniving.”

  “Masterful,” he replied. “I was terribly wrong to think that you would stand in need of me. I was utterly useless.”

  “Far from it,” she said as she tied her cape around her neck. Her fingers slipped, and Samuel reached for the draping side of the cape and handed it to her. “Thank you—I have fumbling fingers in this cold. But as I was saying, you were not at all useless. You saved me from another five minutes of lecturing on my scandalizing lack of a maid. I hoped she would be satisfied enough by my bringing Aunt Sara’s maid along that she wouldn’t comment on it at all.”

  So, she had brought the maid for Lady Gilmour’s benefit, not because she meant to keep Samuel at a distance? He glanced at her, but there was no trace of embarrassment on her face at the recollection of Lady Gilmour’s unflattering comments. Had she truly become inured to such remarks, or was she simply skilled at hiding how they affected her?

  “I was a fool to think that she would let the subject be,” Miss Paige continued. “Lady Gilmour is clearly the type of person who must call everyone’s attention to the ways in which they fall short of her own standards and then take credit for any positive change she sees.” She glanced at Samuel and raised her brows at him. “She will be insufferable whenever something positive occurs in Rushbury, you know.”

  He sighed. “I imagine so.” He paused. “Shall you hire a maid for yourself, then?”

  She looked at him significantly. “Lady Gilmour may have a great deal of power to affect change in Rushbury, but I shan’t let her control my life. I came to Rushbury to escape the stiflingly strict rules of propriety in London, not to transport them here with me.” She sent a teasing glance at him. “No doubt she is surprised, Mr. Derrick, that you have agreed to spend time in the company of someone as shockingly fast and” —she frowned— “what was it she said?”

  “Free with your attentions,” Samuel said helpfully.

  “Ah, yes,” she said. “That. I cannot be considered a good influence upon you or the innocent villagers here.”

  “I think you are precisely that,” he said, stopping as they came to the fork in the road that continued toward the village in one direction and Granchurch House in the other.

  She smiled and looked around them, taking in a breath that she let out slowly. “Well, whatever the quality of my influence, I am afraid you are stuck with me, for I am growing much too fond of Rushbury to leave it.”

  A mixture of pleasure and anxiety rushed through him.

  She meant to stay. It meant more time together; it meant coming to know her better; and it meant that Samuel would be forced to confront the rapidly growing admiration and affection he felt for Georgiana Paige.

  Chapter 12

  In the space of just two weeks, the Rushbury landscape had changed dramatically. Mid-April had arrived and with it, the very welcome sight of shoots on the tree branches and flowers ready to burst forth from their buds and add a dose of color to the shades of green, brown, and gray which permeated the village and its environs.

  Georgiana walked side by side with Aunt Sara, admiring the grounds of Granchurch House. They were not extensive—only a fraction of the size of Amblethorne Park—but there was a different kind of pleasure for her in becoming familiar with every nook and cranny within them. It made her feel like she belonged there, like it was becoming her home.

  “You know, Aunt Sara,” she said, her eyes fixed on the arch of vines that led to her favorite spot in the gardens, “I confess that when I arrived in Rushbury I wondered why in heaven’s name you had chosen to spend the past twenty years of your life here.”

  Aunt Sara smiled and sighed, scanning the grounds. “Yes, I imagine that most of the family feels much as you do. It is unfathomable to those who spend the majority of the year in London or Brighton that someone might happily remain in such a small and distant place as this. But I made the decision to come here knowing very well what I would be missing out on.”

  “And have you regretted it? Have you missed life in Town?”

  Aunt Sara turned to look at her. “I think it is human nature to doubt our decisions at times. And there have been a few occasions when I have wondered what my life might have been like if I had continued attending the Season.” She lowered her head and tipped it to the side. “But there came a point when I no longer enjoyed life in Town. The novelty wears off quite quickly, as I’m sure you know, and as the years passed, I found myself yearning for a different kind of life. The only reason to stay was the prospect of marriage, and there was no guarantee that I would marry even if I did follow the crowds wherever they went.”

  Georgiana listened thoughtfully
, watching the rhythmic motions of their skirts.

  “I decided that I didn’t want to wait for life to happen but rather to make it what I wanted. But I had spent so long trying to appease others that I hardly knew what I wanted. So I asked my cousin Matilda—she was just a year younger than I—to accompany me somewhere far away, where we could sort out our desires. Bless her kind and adventurous heart, but she came with me.” She glanced behind them at the house. “To this very place. We were only renting at the time, you know. But we came to love it so much—the quiet, slow pace, the fresh air—that, when the owner wished to sell, I determined that I would purchase it with the money that had been left to me by my mother.”

  Georgiana was silent for a moment. Her own story paralleled Aunt Sara’s noticeably, and she wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about that.

  “Do you wish you had married?”

  It might have been considered an offensive question, but Aunt Sara only smiled sadly. “At times, yes. And I knew quite well when I decided to stay in Rushbury that I would likely never marry if I spent my time here.” She glanced at Georgiana. “That is not to say that I have not been happy or content, for I am someone who enjoys solitude quite a bit. Indeed, if I ever had married, I think it would need to have been a man whose disposition matched mine very nearly, for I should not at all have liked being married to someone who was forever wishing to hold and attend parties.”

  Georgiana laughed softly. “In coming here, I fully anticipated that you would be wishing for my company the majority of the day.”

  She smiled. “My brother has always worried for me so—worried about the amount of time I spent on my own and been convinced that I was lonely. But Matilda and I left each other to our own devices the majority of the time, and that suited us very well. As long as there was conversation at dinner and a few minutes during the day where we could knit together, we were very happy.”

  Georgiana smiled at her aunt. She, too, enjoyed a certain amount of solitude, but not nearly as much as did Aunt Sara. In fact, she had been stunned by how little her aunt seemed to need—or even wish for—her company.

  Going from London, where she was forever in someone’s company, to Granchurch House, where she was rarely in anyone’s company, had been slightly jarring, and Georgiana found herself taking walks in the village for a bit more human interaction or, more often than not, seeking out the vicar’s advice on some question or another. She had spent an hour or so each day for the past week at the church, going over the parish records to better understand the history of the village and what had been done by past surveyors.

  Mr. Derrick had joined her from time to time between his duties, sometimes assisting her in understanding the records, sometimes merely sitting in companionable silence with her as he made his own recordings in the parish books or prepared for the weekday and Sunday services.

  Georgiana would often glance up at him, feeling at war with herself. She recognized the utter contentment her heart and mind found in those moments with Mr. Derrick, and it frightened her.

  For years now, she had been trying to convince herself that marriage and romantic love were simply not for her. Her journey to Rushbury had been a leap of faith in that direction. Much like her aunt, she couldn’t bear to continue living her life in anticipation of finding a love which became more and more improbable with each passing Season.

  It had been much less difficult to persuade herself that she didn’t wish to be married when marriage was merely an abstract concept and her husband merely a hypothetical, faceless gentleman.

  That she should arrive in Rushbury and find herself yearning not only for love but for love with a specific person—it was irony of the cruelest kind. She could not allow her peace to be cut up by Samuel Derrick.

  And yet, her heart seemed to function independently of her will, and she suspected that it was already far lost to this country vicar.

  With the help of Mrs. Reed, Georgiana slipped on the woolen coat—finally finished—that the Reed family had made for her. Never mind that the day was too warm to necessitate such an item of clothing, Georgiana was in raptures over it, particularly the braiding Mrs. Reed had added at the shoulders and along the openings.

  “It is better even than I could have hoped for,” she said, touching a finger to the buttons and tracing the braiding beside them. She extended a handful of bank notes to Mrs. Reed whose brows drew together.

  “Why, miss,” she said, glancing at the money. “This is far more than we had agreed upon.” She counted out half of the notes, handing them back to Georgiana.

  Georgiana merely shook her head with a smile, continuing to examine the coat. She hadn’t missed the desire in Mrs. Reed’s eyes as she had held the money.

  “I cannot accept this money, miss,” Mrs. Reed said, still holding out her hand.

  “And nor can I,” Georgiana said. She took the woman’s hand and pressed it closed around the bank notes. “When I agreed upon the sum before, I hardly knew the exceedingly fine quality of the garment I would be receiving. Please accept this small token of gratitude for a job well done.”

  Mrs. Reed blinked quickly and nodded. “You are far too generous, Miss Paige.”

  Carriage wheels rumbled down the road, and they both looked toward them.

  A large wagon stopped before the vacant house at the end of the village row, and Georgiana squinted to make out what lay in the bed of the wagon.

  Mrs. Reed’s hand flew to her mouth.

  “What is it?” Georgiana asked, dismayed by the look of horror on the woman’s face.

  “A spinning machine.”

  Georgiana’s eyes widened, and her heart plummeted. “What? No,” she said. “It cannot be.”

  Lady Gilmour had agreed that nothing should be done until at least a portion of the parish roads had been repaired.

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Reed,” she said, picking up her skirts and rushing down the lane. Her breath came quickly, and she felt her cheeks begin to warm with the heat the wool coat provided to her body.

  “Pardon me, sir,” she said to the driver of the wagon and the two young men whose hands were busy untying the ropes that had secured the machine. “What is this?”

  “A spinning machine, miss,” the driver said. He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket. “The first of two purchased by a”—he unwrinkled the paper— “Sir Clyde Gilmour,” he said, squinting at it. He stuffed it back into his pocket and hopped down onto the dirt road.

  “When?” asked Georgiana, following him over to the other two men.

  The man shrugged. “I only knows and does what I’m told, miss. I’ve ‘ad enough trouble getting this ‘ere in one piece on these roads without troubling my mind over the details.”

  There was no use trying to get more information out of the man. He clearly knew nothing.

  She turned back toward the Reeds’ home and saw Mr. Reed standing there, one hand on the door, peering down the street with the look of someone who had just seen a ghost.

  Georgiana’s heart dropped. Surely for someone who was already struggling to provide for his family, the sight was like unto a death sentence.

  His head disappeared into the house, and Georgiana shut her eyes. She needed to do something. But what?

  Samuel shifted his knees on the small piece of canvas that protected his pantaloons from the dirt of the glebe garden. He straightened himself and looked thoughtfully at the plot he was working on, rolling his shoulders to relieve the aching after being hunched over for half an hour.

  He sighed contentedly at the sight of the freshly tilled dirt and the last of the sprouts he had transferred from their place inside the parsonage. It was finally warm enough that they had a decent chance of survival. There was still work to be done—slugs were still to be found in abundance around the garden—but it would do for today.

  He raised himself from his knees and brushed off his dirty and worn gloves.

  “Mr. Derrick.” His maid Jenny appeared, apron sooty from cleani
ng the grates after a long winter. “Miss Georgiana Paige is here to see you.”

  “Oh,” he said, blinking and looking down at what state he was in. He hesitated a moment. “Please show her into”—he looked up and stopped mid-sentence. Jenny was gone, and Miss Paige stood in her place, hands clasped but fidgeting and an anxious expression on her face. She wore a long, wool coat—one he had never seen her wear before.

  “Mr. Derrick,” she said. “I am terribly sorry to disturb you, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

  His brows came together, and he walked through the narrow garden paths toward the gate, pulling off his gloves. “You are not disturbing me, Miss Paige. What is it? How can I be of assistance?”

  “I have just come from down the lane,” she said, glancing over her shoulder toward the village road. “I was out talking with Mrs. Reed when we noticed a wagon stop in front of the house at the end of the lane.” She looked Samuel in the eye. “Three men were unloading a machine to take inside.”

  Samuel frowned more deeply. “What kind of machine?”

  “A spinning machine,” she replied. “One of two being transported there, the man said. Purchased by Sir Clyde.”

  “What?” Samuel said, aghast. “Surely not. Lady Gilmour assured us—”

  “Yes, I know,” said Georgiana, shaking her head in disbelief.

  Samuel ran a hand through his hair. “Does John Reed know?”

  Georgiana nodded her head, the two small wrinkles in her brow deepening slightly.

  Samuel grimaced and set his gloves on the wooden glebe fence. “I must go speak with him. The weight of caring for his growing family weighs on him heavily—I fear what this will do to him.”

  Georgiana swallowed, rubbing her lips together. “I shall see what I can discover from Lady Gilmour.”

  Samuel reached for her hand, holding it within his gratefully, making her heart flutter and skip. “Thank you for coming to me.”