A warm bed, a soft pillow and the knowledge that she was, for the first time in a long time, completely safe, allowed Jessie the pleasure of a wonderfully restful night’s sleep.
Although she awoke to the early chirps of birds outside her window, she stretched and indulged herself by snuggling the quilt up under her chin and watching the patterns change on the ceiling as the sun rose on a new day.
She was going to have ahome of her own.
Albeit at the pleasure of the Crawford Hall owner, it would still be hers for now, at least. A private place where she could shut out the world if she wanted, and relish her privacy and solitude. It didn’t have to be shared with fears and worries about where the next meal would be coming from or if she would be sent packing because of her birth.
Did the Crawfords breed true? Would Piers Crawford be a man given to fairness and willingness to try something shockingly new?
She prayed for the latter, her thoughts dodging from one place to another, jumping back in time to when she had been a governess, befriended by an estate manager who had enjoyed a variety of discussions with her about his work and what it involved. Others would have been astonished she could understand any of it, but he had quickly recognised her ability to comprehend such things.
She, in her turn, comprehended that his interests lay solely in his estate books, and the local curate. He made no overt gestures or attentions toward her at all, even though he was attractive and unwed. It wasn’t long before she added up the inconsistencies and understood his preferences.
Jessie never judged people. She’d suffered enough from being judged herself. Until someone displayed their true nature, she accepted them as they presented themselves.
Mr Piers Crawford had presented himself as surprised, suspicious and disapproving, all of which he had a right to be. Therefore, she would withhold any final judgement until she spent more time with him and understood the truth of the man.
He had the most penetrating hazel eyes, neither green nor brown but a pleasing blend of both with flecks of gold.
A thought that popped out of nowhere and sent a warm trickle of awareness coursing down her spine. She quickly pushed it aside and rose, just as a tap on the door announced the arrival of Thompkins and a most welcome morning cup of tea.
And so began the day for Miss Jessie Nightingale, the new Estate Manager of Crawford Hall.
She hurried through the breakfast on the tray Thompkins had thoughtfully brought upstairs, while the maid rummaged in the cupboards again and produced a serviceable gown of rich brown bombazine. It looked both practical and warm, and Jessie was quite happy to allow herself to be pinned and tucked until Thompkins declared the fit to be perfect.
“I will have to purchase some clothing of my own,” said Jessie, looking in the mirror and adjusting the single frill of lace around her neck. “I can’t wear Mrs Chalmers’ dresses too often.”
“I’m sure Sir Gerald will make sure you have what you need, Miss,” answered Thompkins. “There’s a seamstress in the village—Barton Craw, that is, about a mile or so down the road—and she does for most of us. Very talented she is.” The maid smoothed a lock of hair to her satisfaction. “And Berry cottage is ever so nice.”
“Berry cottage?” Jessie raised her eyebrows.
“Yes, it’s on the far side of the kitchen garden, and the back looks out onto the berry field.”
“Strawberries?”
“More blackberries and raspberries, I think. Maybe some gooseberries…”
Jessie’s mouth watered at the thought. “I am very much looking forward to seeing it,” she said eagerly.
“Mr Crawford is to meet you at half-past eight in the hall, and it’s nearly that now, so if you’re ready, Miss…”
“I’m ready.” She remembered to collect her reticule, though it held no more than a handkerchief and a comb. She still felt more at ease with the formality of it on her arm.
Walking down the staircase as the grandfather clock solemnly tolled the half-hour, she saw him waiting for her and straightened her spine even more.
“Good morning, Miss Nightingale.” He dipped his head politely. “I trust you passed a satisfactory night?”
“Indeed I did, sir. Thank you for asking.” She reached his side and curtseyed. “And I am eager to visit what I understand is known as Berry cottage?”
“Then let us be on our way.” He held out his arm.
She took it, tucking her hand beneath his elbow. This was no formal escort into dinner, this was a walk outside and through gardens. Her shoes fit, but not well enough to traipse over forest paths. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but not knowing what to expect, she took a firm grip on his arm, absently noting the solid muscle beneath the jacket.
“Fortunately, it is a pleasant morning, so you need not concern yourself about mud or wet grass.” He led her along the hallway and turned into a passage that ended with steps down to an outside door. “Here we are. The kitchen garden.” He inhaled. “Reminds me of my childhood here, when I helped my mother pick herbs for various dishes.” He pointed as they walked along paths bordered by plants readying themselves for winter. “Rosemary. Just smell it. Makes one’s mouth water, doesn’t it?” He smiled and nodded at a maid gathering various green things from one of the beds.
Amused by his unexpected charm, Jessie agreed. “It does indeed. As does the sage…over there, I believe? Next to what must be mint…”
“Ah, I see you too enjoy the different fragrances of such places.”
