“About?”
Robert sighed. “Using the funds I sent for repairing the roof.”
Caleb gaped at his friend. “So this…Miss Clemens, is the real problem I take it?”
“She’s part of it,” Robert agreed. “She’s certainly not afraid of speaking her mind. This is the third caretaker she’s frightened off in just over a year.”
Raising an eyebrow, Caleb stared at his friend. He was no longer entirely sure he was up to the sort of change he offered. “I will have to think about it.” Long and hard and then a few times more to be absolutely certain.
But when he arrived home and found three Society matrons waiting for him with their very eligible daughters, Caleb quickly retreated to his study. He spent the next three hours discussing matters with his secretary and ensuring that the man was indeed capable and willing to handle all his affairs if Caleb chose to remove himself to the countryside for a while.
That settled, he went in search of his mother, who was not the least bit pleased with his decision. He understood her of course and promised he’d soon return, assuring her that when he did, he’d be ready to focus on finding a wife.
2
Smiling fondlyat the five children who played nearby, Mary hung another pillowcase on the clothesline. It was a sunny autumn day with a brisk breeze, so the laundry would dry quickly.
Reaching inside the basket beside her, she pulled out a sheet, struggling a little when it billowed and flapped against her hold. Her life was so different now from what it had once been, before she'd fallen in love and allowed herself to dream. But dreams, as she'd learned, were fickle things easily torn apart.
Inhaling deeply she forced the sheet to comply by pinning it with a couple of pegs. She then grabbed the now-empty basket and marched toward the house.
“Come help me prepare the tea,” she called to Bridget, Daphne, Penelope, Peter, and Eliot whose scruffiness proved a fondness for the outdoors. Their laughter danced through the air as the kitten they played with toyed with a piece of string. His name was Raphael, and he’d been gifted to them by Mr. Townsend, a gentleman farmer whose interest in Mary had recently increased.
Daphne swept the kitten up into her arms and raced past Mary with the rest of the troop close on her heels.
“Remember to wipe your shoes,” Mary called.
The reminder caused quite the ruckus in the narrow doorway, and Mary could hear her friend Cassandra on the opposite side, issuing threats to anyone who dared bring dirt inside the newly swept kitchen.
“Do you ever have any regrets?” Mary asked when she reached Cassandra. She cleaned her own boots with a brush and entered the boisterous interior where cups and saucers clattered together as the girls helped each other prepare two trays. Eliot, the youngest of the boys, reached for the tin filled with biscuits, and Mary charged toward him. “Clean your hands before opening that, or you'll not have a single one.”
“Never,” Cassandra grinned, answering Mary's question. “This is where happiness lives. I would not trade it for anything else in the world.”
Agreeing, Mary filled the kettle with water from a jug and hung it over the fire. Despite the various challenges they'd faced over the years, they'd acquired their freedom in this tiny corner of the world. They could walk about as they pleased and keep the company they chose without causing a stir. Now that she and her friends had been labeled spinsters, nobody seemed to care what they did, which was, to be honest, rather liberating.
Reaching for the tin filled with tea, Mary spooned a little into a strainer and glanced across at where Peter was sitting. The twelve-year-old boy had moved in with them six weeks earlier after his parents had died. He'd kept to himself ever since, his eyes always downcast, his mood always somber.
No matter how hard they all tried, they'd failed to reach him so far, and while Mary knew he would need time to heal, she wished there was some way to help him.
“I've finished cleaning the grates and polishing the brass tools,” Emily told Mary and Cassandra as she came to join them. A wallflower whose fondness for sweets had been evident in her figure, Emily had never secured a dance and had eventually given up trying after enduring her third failed season.
It was a pity really, for the active lifestyle she now enjoyed had helped her shed enough weight to reveal a woman many would likely call pretty.
“Well done,” Cassandra said. “The weather is unusually pleasant for this time of year. It will likely turn sooner than we expect, and when it does, we'll need to be ready.”
“Which means we'll need firewood too,” Emily said. She glanced at Mary. “Do you suppose Mr. Townsend might be willing to offer his assistance with that?”
Mary glanced at Cassandra and then back at Emily. “I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige.” Especially if she invited him back to the house for tea after church on Sunday. She hesitated on that thought and bit her lip. “I just don't want to take advantage.”
“And you wouldn't be, as long as he's happy to oblige,” Cassandra told her.
Mary gave her a quelling look. “You know what I mean.” Mr. Townsend was a nice man, but it had also become alarmingly clear that he was in the market for a wife and that he favored Mary for this position. The only problem was she had no intention of ever marrying anyone. Because if her time as a debutant had taught her anything, it was that even the most honorable gentleman was not to be trusted.
“Perhaps we should set our minds to matching him with a lady who'd be more appreciative of his advances,” Emily suggested.
“Good heavens,” Mary protested. “No man would wish for three spinsters to involve themselves in his search for a bride. Not even a man as charismatic as Mr. Townsend.”
A knock at the front door interrupted their conversation. Cassandra frowned. “Who could possibly be calling at this hour?” She made her way toward the front of the house while Mary and Emily trailed behind.
