“Perhaps it is Mr. Townsend who’s come to call on Mary,” Emily suggested. “How convenient would that be, considering we were just discussing the need for his help?”
Not bothering with a response, Mary rolled her eyes and followed Cassandra and Emily out into the front hallway. Another knock sounded and Cassandra opened the door to reveal a tall, broad shouldered man with dark, windswept hair and a shrewd gaze.
“Lady Cassandra?” he inquired. His eyes searched each of their faces, and Mary instinctively retreated a step. “Viscount Aldridge’s sister?”
Cassandra raised her chin. “I am she. And you are...?”
Again his gaze drifted from one to the other, this time with a hint of expectation, as if he waited for them to guess his name. When none of them added anything further, he said, “Mr. Crawford, at your service. Your brother sent me to inspect your home and to make any necessary repairs.”
Mary drew a sharp breath, because just as he said that, their eyes locked. Not for too long, but for long enough to unsettle her. Unwittingly, she assessed his age, which had to be close to her own though perhaps slightly older, the perfect shape of his mouth with its broad lower lip, his angular jaw line and aquiline nose. All combined to create the most handsome face she'd ever seen. It also provided a sharp reminder of a similar pair of eyes a few shades lighter. Those eyes had gazed upon her as if she'd been special—as if she'd mattered. Except she hadn't. At least not enough.
“I'll fetch the tea,” she said and turned away, deliberately breaking eye contact. “Just in case you decide to invite Mr. Crawford inside.”
Returning to the kitchen, Mary took comfort in the peace that had settled over the children because of the biscuits they’d all procured from the tin. They halted in the process of chewing the moment they saw her, their anxious eyes waiting to see if she’d scold them for starting on their snacks before they’d been invited to do so.
“We have a guest,” she told them, ignoring the issue as she went to fetch the kettle. The water was already boiling, so she grabbed a dishrag, pulled the kettle off the hook above the flames, and poured the water through the strainer into the teapot. Steam rose in thick swirls, filling the air with hot humidity. Glancing over her shoulder, she narrowed her gaze just enough to remind the children of who was in charge. “I hope there are still a few biscuits left for him.”
“There’s three,” Cassandra’s daughter, Penelope, said before wiping her hands on her skirt. “One for you, Emily, and Mama.” The little blonde girl stared back at Mary with big round eyes. “We didn’t think to save one for a guest.”
Mary bowed her head to hide her smile and nodded. “Very well then. No biscuits it is.” She picked up the tray and started for the door. “But this will cost you when the tickle monster hears what you’ve done.” And then she swept out into the hallway with a grin while squeals erupted behind her.
She could still feel her lips twitching with mirth when she walked into the parlor. Cassandra and Emily were both seated on the only sofa the room had to offer while Mr. Crawford filled out one of the armchairs. His bright blue gaze latched on to Mary with intense interest, and in spite of her conviction that she’d never respond to any man ever again, her stomach tightened and her hands began to tremble.
A slight dimple puckered the edge of Mr. Crawford’s mouth, affording him a humorous expression. Mary’s pulse quickened and she hastened forward to set the tray down, eager to be rid of it before she dropped it.
“—so with that in mind,” he continued, returning his attention to Cassandra and Emily, “it could take anywhere from a week to a month before the roof is completely intact.”
His voice…
Mary placed the tray on the low table between the sofa and the armchair and tried to ignore the rich cadence of it. Swallowing, she sat in the remaining chair before pouring tea for each of them.
“Milk and” –she cleared her throat which had suddenly gone quite squeaky—”sugar?”
Mr. Crawford turned his gaze toward her, and all of her strength seeped out of her limbs as they instantly turned to jelly. Determined not to let it show, she stared back at him and did her best not to blink. But his eyes were like azure blue lakes on a hot summer’s day, and for some inexplicable reason, she found herself leaning toward him.
A grin tugged at his lips. “Neither.”
Mary took a sharp breath and leaned back. Averting her gaze, she set Mr. Crawford’s cup before him and then offered tea to her friends, who both watched her with curious expressions.No. She would not let this handsome stranger addle her brain. This was a path she’d been down before, and it had broken her heart and denied her the chance of marriage.
On that sobering thought, she returned the teapot to the tray and took a sip from her own cup. Mr. Crawford was a laborer, a man sent by Cassandra’s brother to patch up the roof. She didn’t care how handsome he was or how well he looked in those beige colored breeches that hugged his thighs. Sighing, she slumped back in her seat and almost spilled her tea in the process. Of course she’d noticed. She’d have had to be dead not to.
“We cannot offer much in the way of accommodation,” Cassandra said. “To stay with us in the house would be inappropriate, and even if it weren’t, I’m afraid all the rooms are occupied.”
“I understand.” The deep timbre of his voice stroked its way along Mary’s nerves as he spoke. She shuddered slightly and reminded herself once again to take control of her senses. “But your brother mentioned a caretaker’s cottage. Is that still available?”
“It is,” Cassandra said. “In fact, it was vacated by the caretaker only a week ago, so it should still be somewhat clean and ready to move into, though I must warn you that it is pretty sparse.”
“That’s quite all right.” He smiled warmly at Cassandra, and Mary felt the oddest pang in her chest. “My needs are few. As long as there’s a roof and a bed, I’ll be content.” He picked up his cup and cradled it carefully between his large hands. Sipping the tea he then asked, “Why did the caretaker leave?”
It was so to the point Mary felt like she’d just been pushed into the path of a charging carriage. “Because he accused us of squandering our money on others instead of seeing to Viscount Aldridge’s wishes.”
The room fell silent in the wake of her sharp response. Mary took another sip of tea, not daring to look at any of them while heat warmed her cheeks.
“Not a very sympathetic man then, I take it,” Mr. Crawford murmured.
Heart pounding, Mary raised her gaze to his and stiffened her spine in an effort to maintain at least some of her composure. “He did not understand why we would feel any responsibility toward children who aren’t our own.”
“He was a very plain-spoken man,” Emily added while Mr. Crawford’s gaze remained fixed on Mary. It took a moment for him to turn slowly away in order to face her friend, leaving Mary’s insides in a jumble and her head slightly dizzy. “Too plain-spoken, in the end.” Emily grinned and jutted her chin in Mary’s direction. “Miss Clemens put him in his place. I’ve never seen a man pack up and leave so quickly.”
