Page 22 of Marie’s Merry Gentleman (The Bookshop Belles #2)

CHAPTER 21

Alone at Alston

S ebastian had never really considered before how very long the journey to Alston was, save to be grateful for the distance it had afforded him in previous years before his wife and father had passed on. Always before when making the journey it had seemed comfortable enough; when Sebastian was absorbed in his books he did not particularly notice the passing of time.

This time, however, his extreme agitation of mind would not allow him to settle, even to read the stack of new books resting on the seat opposite him. Not even the antics of the sweet little cat Pie could keep his attention for more than a few minutes.

Pie was charming, though. Sebastian allowed him to spend most of the journey out of the basket, and Pie was quite content to sit on the seat beside Sebastian, occasionally crawling onto his lap as the hour grew late and cold.

“You’re a good little creature.” Sebastian scratched behind Pie’s ears on the final afternoon of his journey, chuckling as the cat popped his head up and two triangular black ears blocked part of Sebastian’s view of his book. “Though if you interfere with my reading, you and I shall not be such great friends. I dare say you are well trained not to behave disgracefully around books, considering where you have grown up…” he paused, his thoughts once again inevitably drawn back to the bookshop and the beautiful, fascinating woman he had farewelled.

“Have I made a mistake, Pie?” he asked the cat, who gave him no answer beyond a rumbling purr, as Pie made himself comfortable and began to knead against Sebastian’s legs. Fortunately his coat and trousers were thick enough that Pie’s claws did not penetrate to his skin.

With a sigh, Sebastian gave up trying to read, setting down the book, and gently stroking Pie’s sleek fur, trying to find some comfort in the cat’s soothing purrs.

At least Sebastian’s ears were warm, courtesy of the ear mufflers Marie had given him. He stared out of the window at the grey, winter-bare landscape, and tried to ignore the fact that his eyes were leaking.

Home at Alston the next day, he felt no better. Everything in the castle reminded him of Marie; several times when he was sitting in the library reading after dinner he caught himself turning to ask her a question only to find she was not there.

In the time he’d been gone, the staff had removed all remnants of Christmastide decorations. The cold, dreary months of winter loomed ahead.

Sharpe noticed his mood, because of course he did. “Perhaps this decorative pin in your cravat might bring some cheer?”

“I don’t need cheering,” Sebastian snapped.

“Of course not, my lord, you’re the most cheerful man in Christendom.”

“You’ll keep,” he growled, marching out of his rooms, sans decoration.

In the breakfast room, Mrs Ellwood produced plum jam. “I know it’s one of your favourites, m’lord. Thought it might bring a smile.”

“Why is everyone trying to cheer me up?”

Mr Martin entered the room and said to Mrs Ellwood, “How goes our lord and master this morning?”

Mrs Ellwood chuckled and said, “No better.”

“Now see here!” Sebastian pushed back in his chair, making the legs groan against the floorboards. “Why is everyone commenting on my mood?”

Mr Martin looked at Mrs Ellwood, and she sighed theatrically and accepted the responsibility of delivering bad news. “Because you’re been proper miserable ever since you returned home.”

Pie ran into the room and leapt onto his lap, then helped himself to the table, where he licked the butter off the knife.

Sebastian lifted him away and sat the rascal on his lap. “I am not,” he insisted, but even to his own ears he sounded petulant.

“Yes you are,” Mrs Ellwood said. “Quit your moping. It’s all your fault.”

He may have previously claimed he could forgive Mrs Ellwood any transgressions, but this morning she truly was pushing her limits. “And, what, pray tell, is my fault?”

“I’d say that’s obvious,” Mrs Ellwood said. “Leaving your heart behind with Miss Baxter!”

“How dare,” he stood up, still holding the cat, “you speak to me like that!”

Mr Martin interjected, making a calming gesture with his hands, “Let’s all take a deep breath.”

Mrs Ellwood’s fists landed on her hips. “Too many years ago I held my tongue when I shouldna, an’ everyone ended up miserable. I’ll not make that mistake agin. Miss Marie is the best thing that ever happened to Alston, and to you. And the boys adore her so. Why you didnae bring her back with you I’ll never know!”

Mr Martin hesitated, and then he nodded. “She’s right, my lord. We should have told you then… be damned if we won’t tell you now that you’re making an enormous mistake!”

His pulse thumped so hard in his ears he couldn’t hear anything else. When the two of them eventually stopped giving him a piece of their minds - and they were very large pieces indeed - he did his best not to explode.

“I’ll take it under advisement. I should like to finish my breakfast now.”

They left him with the cat at the table, and he overheard Mr Martin asking Mrs Ellwood if they should best both make themselves scarce for the next few days as they headed back to the kitchens.

Sebastian took a bite of his toast with plum jam, but it tasted bland and stale. It took another gulp of tea to get it down his throat.

Mrs Elwood had ruined his mood, and his appetite.

At least Pie understood him, as he nuzzled into his hand for more head and cheek scratches. Alas, it was only the cat caressing him. How he wished it was Marie.

He’d said all the right things to Marie when he left Hatfield. About how much he trusted her. He even said she could post his next delivery of books to him! A groan escaped his throat and he leaned over in pain. The clarity of his loss rang as clear as a bell. He loved Marie Baxter, but he hadn’t told her.

He’d thought he’d said all the right things, but she’d said farewell.

Then it hit him, the reason Marie hadn’t said anything was because she clearly was not in love with him!

How could she be, with the way he’d treated her so poorly upon his return to Hatfield. He’d been a thundercloud and had shouted at her upon his return. Accused her of the worst kind of betrayal. Driven her to tears.

When he’d eventually realised his error - and that she was protecting Mrs Ellwood - it had been too late.

No wonder she didn’t love him; who could fall in love with someone who terrified her?

She was probably grateful to see him go.

Sebastian woke the next morning with a gripping headache and Pie sleeping on his chest. Giving Pie a cuddle, he whispered to the cat, “At least you love me.”

Climbing out of bed, he nearly stepped on the dissected mouse on the carpet. “Good boy, Pie.” The cat was already proving an excellent addition to the household; hopefully his habits of leaving unsavoury gifts would improve, or at least become confined to a single location as Marie had assured him Crafty’s were. He pointed out the location of the remains to Sharpe and left his bedroom.

Tea did not shift his headache. He needed the serenity of his sanctuary; the library. Absently browsing the shelves, not finding anything to appeal to his mood, he came across a book he hadn’t thought of in years, but which became of brief interest now. The copy of Burke’s Peerage would have been his late father’s copy. He hadn’t needed to replace it with a newer edition. Being removed from London society did have its advantages. However, it was recent enough to have the information he wanted.

He looked up Baron Ferndale and was surprised to see the gentleman only had one heir, his grandson Felix Yates. He was the one who’d married Marie’s sister, Estelle, at the urging of Lord Ferndale himself, if he recalled correctly.

So, a shopkeeper’s daughter was good enough for the heir to a barony!

At some point, he privately hoped not too soon as he’d rather liked the old gentleman, Felix Yates would become the new Baron Ferndale, and Marie’s sister Estelle would be a Baroness.

Good for them, he smiled.

Then it hit him. Marie, as the sister of a Baroness, would suddenly be far more eligible in the eyes of society.

He really didn’t like that thought at all. Jealousy made his heart constrict, at the idea of some fop from the ton taking Marie to London on his arm. She would hate that, he felt sure of it.

He put the book back on the shelf and only now noticed there was nuncheon on the table. His staff must have been incredibly quiet bringing it in, not wanting to disturb him.

He’d lost all track of time, but his stomach roiled with a pang of hunger. He needed to eat.

Gulping down the cold soup, he felt his spirits soaring as he came to a momentous decision.

It was time to face facts. He’d never cared about Marie’s station in life. He barely cared for his own for that matter, which was why he’d lived so long in isolated Alston instead of bustling London.

If he married Marie and they did eventually venture to London when George and Richard were older, she’d be a countess, and her sister a baroness. Doors would open. They would walk right through. Nobody would know or care about her family’s background.

They could marry as soon as they liked!

Oh dear. He’d been so unfathomably awful to her, she’d probably turn him down. Would she even agree to marry him?

Was he good enough for her ?

He’d better hurry up and ask.

The library had served its purpose. It had given him time for contemplation and realisation. Contemplation to know for sure he was hopelessly in love with Marie Baxter, and realisation that he could not waste one more minute in the wilds of Cumbria.

Rushing out of the library, he went looking for Mr Martin, and found him in the kitchen.

The windows showed it was dark outside. He’d lost all track of time. It could be four in the afternoon or eight in the evening.

“Mr Martin, ready my carriage for the morning, if you’d be so kind. I know I’ve only just returned, but I must get back to Hertfordshire as soon as possible.”

Mrs Ellwood poked her head around the scullery door, a smug satisfaction written all over her face. “What did I tell you, Mr Martin? He’s come to his senses.”

Mr Martin grinned and nodded her way. “If I recall, you said ‘eventually’ and I thought he’d be faster than that.”

“All right, you two. Yes, I’ve been an idiot. Take care of Pie for me,” he said, suddenly wondering where the cat was.

Out of nowhere, Pie tore across the kitchen floor and darted into the pantry. Something squealed, then the cat reappeared, grey furry trophy in its mouth.

He deposited it at the feet of Mrs Ellwood. “Excellent!” She beamed, then she got him a plate of leftover sausage as a reward. “You are such a good boy. Keep this up and I’ll spoil you rotten!” When she finished heaping praise on the cat, she turned back to Sebastian and asked, “If I may speak freely?”

Sebastian laughed and said, “I couldn’t stop you if I tried.”

That brought a round of laughter from all, including muffled noises from a nearby room. The rest of the staff must be eavesdropping. He deserved every bit of it.

“My lord, I’m delighted you’ve come to your senses,” she said, with a warm look of encouragement. Then her voice turned stern. “But if you return to Alston without Miss Baxter, you may as well not come back at all.”

He bit his lip and nodded to his housekeeper, and, he now realised, perhaps his truest friend.

“Write to him, tell him how you feel!” Louise urged. “Don’t ruin your chance of happiness with this dear man like Estelle nearly did!”

Marie sniffed and sipped her tea. Mrs Poole refilled it.

Bernadette handed her a fresh handkerchief and said, “Writing will help. You didn’t tell him how you were feeling. Men seem to be intelligent, but they can be as dense as an oak at times. How was he to know how you felt if you never told him?”

“But,” Marie sniffed again, “what if I tell him my deepest secrets and … he … rejects me?”

“If you don’t, he’ll never know, and neither will you,” Louise said impatiently. “If he rejects you, he’s an idiot.”

Mrs Poole tut-tutted in the background as she refilled the kettle and put it on the stove.

They did not let up for the next ten minutes, by which point Marie relented and promised she’d write.

It took her almost another ten minutes to think of what to say, but after a few false starts the words began to flow.

“ Dear Sebastian ,” for that is how she thought of him now. If he blanched at her use of his Christian name, then he would most likely hate what followed and she’d rather know how he felt now, instead of spending the rest of her life wondering.

It has come to my attention, and that of my sisters and dear Mrs Poole, that I have become gripped with abject misery since your return to Alston. Forgive my sentimentality, but I have grown so very fond of you since arriving on your doorstep. I had a very different impression of you from our earlier correspondence where I had come to think of you as the Earl of Demanding. (I hope you are smiling as you read that.) But over the weeks at Alston, you grew in my affection. So did your charming sons, George and Richard. (It’s possible their sweet dispositions made me realise you were in fact a kind person after all, and you had a generous heart.)

I’m not exactly sure when it happened, but over time, I came to care deeply for you. That care has a name, and it is love.

This sentiment has most likely come as a shock to you. (A good shock, I hope.) I should have told you as soon as I knew, but it took me far too long to know myself, and now I fear I am too late. It is my dearest wish that you carry the same affections towards me and let me know at the soonest opportunity.

If you cannot find it within yourself to return my affections, or you do not feel that the gap between our respective stations in life can be bridged by love, then all that is left for me is to wish you happy. I would still like to reply to any correspondence George and Richard send me, if they remember, as I would like to keep my promise to them.

(I hope you may reconsider any plans to marry Miss Stamford, however, in light of the discomfort such a union might cause your sons; I pray you will think of their happiness as well as your own.)

Bernadette sanded the letter for her when she handed it over. “I shan’t read it, it’s between you and Renwick, although I have noticed some tear splotches.” She folded the mostly dry letter so that Marie could write his address on a clear section on the reverse, then she sealed it.

Marie took her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She had to sit on her hands to stop herself grabbing the letter back. “You’d better post it now before I change my mind and put it in the fire.”

“I’ll be right back,” Bernadette said, and she darted out of the room.

Marie made her way to her own room and slumped on her bed, sickness and nerves taking hold, her tears starting to flow again. “What have I done?”