Page 1 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 1

D ORSET, ENGLAND, 1818

Broken fingernails and tattered lace were the cause of problems for many young ladies. A missing invitation to a ball could start a revolt. Surely the snub of a handsome gentleman would be enough to recover the smelling salts.

But today, much like every day, it wasn’t any of those things that were causing me trouble.

It was my younger brothers.

I hadn’t noticed them leave my side. The shop window had been too great a distraction. I hurried down the path, scolding myself for letting them out of my sight and for letting my imagination convince me I could afford a single item in that window. Pretty ribbons and jewelry were not beyond the attentions of my admiring eye—just the coins in my reticule.

“Peter! Charles!” I called out, darting between laughing faces and rolling carriages. My aunt had sent Edith, one of her maids, into town with us, but I had left her in the dust somewhere. She would catch up, I was certain. But my brothers’ antics waited for no one.

I stopped around a bend to scan the area, focusing my gaze on a man with whom I was regretfully acquainted. Although I could see only Mr. Coburn’s balding head, I continued forward, sensing that I had discovered my brothers’ location.

As predicted, a closer view revealed two little heads, one covered in blond curls, the other in dark brown, standing behind Mr. Coburn. I released a huffed breath as I moved toward them. Not again.

Peter and Charles had a history of mischief, some of which centered on this man. He frequented the local bakery, buying pies for himself each morning and stashing them in a basket, which he hadn’t yet learned not to leave unattended. My brothers had been growing increasingly clever in their efforts to steal from him. I had earnestly tried to engrave on their minds that stealing was unacceptable, but it seemed my efforts had been in vain.

As I approached, I caught Charles’s eye. His gaze froze on mine before flickering to the small pie he held in his hand. I arched an eyebrow at him, shaking my head. Charles slapped a hand over his mouth, stifling sudden giggles. Peter was watching me too, but there was a look of defeat on his face. I could easily guess their latest strategy. Peter was engaging Mr. Coburn in conversation while Charles sneaked behind him and captured the pies. It amazed me that two little boys of seven and five could concoct such a devious plan.

As I came closer, Charles returned the pie grudgingly into Mr. Coburn’s basket, sharing a disappointed scowl with his elder brother. Their faces looked so much alike. Aside from Peter’s darker hair and four or five inches of extra height, they could be twins.

I hurried across the cobblestones to stand beside Peter. Mr. Coburn glanced in my direction with a smirk. “Good afternoon, Miss Downing.” He bowed. “I see you have left your brothers unattended yet again.”

“Good afternoon,” I greeted, ignoring his second remark. I tried not to look too closely at his face. It was round and shining with buttery perspiration, and his two beady eyes watered against the harsh sunlight. I took Peter by the arm and reached for Charles. I had intended to leave without another word, but Mr. Coburn stopped me.

“I do not appreciate their company.” He cast a sharp look at my brothers. “They are ruffians.” He cleared his throat and eyed me with a warning. “I do not take pleasure in associating with ruffians. ”

I groaned inwardly. Ruffians? There were hundreds of things I could have said, and would have enjoyed saying, but containing my spite for the moment, I settled for, “my apologies. It will not happen again.”

Mr. Coburn seemed far from satisfied. “Where is your chaperone?”

I glanced behind me. Edith had yet to find us. “She is only a few paces behind,” I said in a confident voice, daring him to question me.

His watery eyes examined every angle of my face. “It appears you have spent too much time out of doors, Miss Downing. You are developing an unbecoming flush.”

I knew he was referring to my sunburned face. Impossibly, I felt it burn hotter. “I misplaced my bonnet.”

“What a daft thing to do. I daresay the outcome was deserved.” He grunted in disapproval and smoothed his hair over the bald patch on top of his head.

My pride bristled.

“May I inquire after your age, Miss Downing?” he asked after a pause.

“I am one and twenty.”

He gave an amused snort. “Each of my daughters were married before the age of nineteen, and my youngest is soon to be married. If you ever hope to make a match of your own, I suggest you stop spending so much time out of doors and more time tending to your appearance.”

I kept my mouth shut, afraid of what I might say if I chose to respond. My words could not be trusted when I had such fire racing through my veins. The man was absurd. I shouldn’t have given his words any heed, but they left a few welts on my pride.

“These two could use some assistance as well.” He glanced at my brothers with a look of disgust. “Their behavior is completely unacceptable.”

I followed his gaze behind me where Peter had now engaged himself in the task of crafting a very unflattering picture in the dirt of who could only be Mr. Coburn, dragging his index finger in the shape of hunched shoulders, a round belly, and the long tail of his ridiculous jacket.

I quickly pulled Peter to his feet and wiped the dirt from the seat of his trousers. Charles laughed. My face burned with embarrassment, but part of me hoped Mr. Coburn recognized himself in the drawing. Perhaps it would humble him, as his depiction of himself must have been equal to that of a Greek god at the very least.

Mr. Coburn cleared his throat once my brothers were at my side again. “Your guardian is far too respectable to allow such misconduct from her wards. I can only conclude that their behavior must have been influenced by you, their elder sister.” He paused to dab at his forehead with a handkerchief. “I am not surprised to find it lacking.”

My fists clenched at my sides.

His singsong, arrogant voice continued, grating against my skin. “And what, pray tell, is that horrendous creature they attempted to make a drawing of? Yes, drawing is primarily a woman’s pastime, but a basic understanding of the craft should be taught at an early age. If, of course, such simple minds could embrace the talent. I find it unlikely.”

Could he be any more odious? I pulled my brothers close and opened my mouth in a strike of boldness. “Before you continue listing our failings, sir, I would suggest that you make a list regarding your own. If you should have any struggle with the task, I would be most eager to assist you.”

His face darkened to a deep shade of crimson. “I beg your pardon,” he sputtered.

With opportune timing, a flustered Edith came rushing toward us, basket swinging on her arm. She stopped beside me, wide eyes taking in Mr. Coburn’s outraged expression.

“Good day, Mr. Coburn.” I curtsied and tugged my brothers down the path, my heart racing in my chest. Edith followed, still catching her breath.

“What on earth happened, miss?” she whispered.

“Nothing.” I swallowed hard. I couldn’t trust anyone employed by Aunt Ruth. Edith would tell her, as well as the other servants, everything.

I ignored the feeling of Mr. Coburn’s gaze on my back as we walked. Despite the horror I felt at the insult I had just paid him, a sense of pride unfolded inside me. How long had it been since I had stood up for myself and my brothers? Until now, I had always remained silent, accepting the criticism.

Peter and Charles erupted into giggles as soon as we were out of Mr. Coburn’s sight. A little smile curved my lips as I watched them.

“Annette made Mr. Coburn angry,” Peter said around a laugh, turning his blue eyes up to me.

I shushed him with a look. Edith was still listening. Mr. Coburn had made me angry first, though it was no excuse for my behavior. Dread had begun replacing my sense of pride. Mr. Coburn would not take my insult lightly.

When we achieved a little distance from Edith on the path, I cast a scolding eye in Peter’s direction. “You should not have tried to steal his pies again. I have told you many times not to steal.”

Charles clasped his hands together with a shy smile. “We almost got one.”

I shook my head, my voice growing sharper. “Stealing is wrong. We must pay with money for the things that we want. We cannot simply take them. We must pay for the things we want. Repeat it to me so I know you understand.”

“We must pay for the things we want,” they said together.

I smiled, content that they understood. Until next week, at least.

We walked in silence for a while as we passed the tall trees that separated the village from Oak Cottage. It was only a mile walk, and it was a lovely day, so I didn’t object to it. Although the summer heat was mild, my sunburned face was still on fire. “I need to find my blasted bonnet,” I muttered under my breath.

Charles giggled, sharing a secretive smile with his brother. They both looked up at me, a mischievous twinkle in both sets of blue eyes.

“What?” I asked, narrowing my gaze.

They snickered again, covering their mouths in an attempt to muffle the sound. “I know where your bonnet is,” Charles said between giggles.

I stopped my steps. “Where did you put it?”

More laughter. I waited, folding my arms. I did not like where this was going.

“We put it in the drawer with Aunt Ruth’s . . .” Peter fell into a fit of giggles before finishing, but Charles finished for him.

“ . . . Underclothes!”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I should have known my brothers were the culprits of my disappearing bonnet. But they had hid it with Aunt Ruth’s unmentionables? Ruth Filbee was not a woman to be trifled with, and my brothers knew that better than anyone.

They must have noticed my lack of amusement, because their giggles had fallen silent. “Is she going to be angry?” Charles asked, his face all seriousness now.

My heart melted in an instant. “She has called upon a friend this afternoon, so if you remove my bonnet from amongst her . . . underclothes, as soon as we return, she will never know. Not to worry. But you must take care, do you understand?”

They nodded, squeezing my hands a little tighter.

As soon as the roof of Oak Cottage peeked above the hill, my brothers were running, racing to the door as they always did. In the five years that we had lived here, I had never been able to call it home. A home was a place of peace, security, and refuge. Oak Cottage was none of those things. It was beautiful to the outside eye—I had heard it described as ‘fashionably quaint’—but it was difficult for me to find beauty in the place where I’d felt so much sorrow.

The house was positioned at the peak of a hill, appropriately named for the multitude of oak trees behind it. The facade was grey stone with white-trimmed windows. The plot of land set so far above level ground was not envied, mostly because of traveling inconvenience, so Aunt Ruth’s late husband had received it for a very inexpensive price. But the price, I knew, was not the only thing that had enticed her to purchase the home. Living on a hill would allow her to do what she loved most: put as many people beneath her as possible.

I had only met my late uncle once during my childhood, but I knew that he and my mother had been as close as any two siblings could be. We had originally been left to his care in our parents’ will, but they had neglected to ammend it after his death just a year before their own. As his widow, Aunt Ruth had been the one to grudgingly accept the responsibility. In her mind, she was a saint, a victim, and she never let me forget how burdened she was because of our misfortunes. She had married my uncle out of desperation at the age of thirty, and they never had any children of their own. She never loved my uncle, or my parents.

I was fairly certain she had never loved anyone.

When I reached the top of the hill, I took the doorknob and turned it, but the door wouldn’t move. I pushed a little harder, opening a crack between the door and frame to reveal the glowing faces of my brothers as they pressed themselves against it.

“You two are atrocious, do you know that?” I teased.

“Yes,” Peter and Charles exclaimed in unison, erupting yet again into high-pitched laughter. I had played this game with them before, but today, I lacked the energy. My head still spun with regret over my insults toward Mr. Coburn. Reality had settled in, sending chills over my arms despite the heat of the day. I was in deep trouble.

I covered my face with my hands, drawing a deep breath. Perhaps Aunt Ruth wouldn’t hear of the incident. I peeked between my fingers. Edith was finishing her climb up the hill, one hand planted on her hip as she caught her breath.

I lowered my hands in surprise. There was someone else finishing their climb up the hill behind her as well. It was a man.

I squinted in his direction, noting the black jacket that looked far too hot for the weather, a head of blond curls, and a bible. It was the local vicar, Mr. Martin Frampton. I normally would not be so afraid of a vicar, but today I feared he had come to call me to repentance. Blast Mr. Coburn , the little tell-tale.

I turned around fast, wrenching at the doorknob. “Peter, let me inside,” I hissed.

I heard the door lock moments before Peter’s grinning face appeared behind the front window. I sighed in frustration. Usually, it didn’t come to locks. Most days, I pushed through the door and tickled my brothers senseless. But this was not a time for games.

“Miss Downing, you are just the person I hoped to see.” Mr. Frampton’s voice was labored from his climb. His thick black jacket could not have helped the situation.

I froze for a moment before turning around. I gave a polite curtsy. “Good day, Mr. Frampton.” Could he see how flustered I was? I held my shoulders back and my head high. “How may I help you?”

He watched me with a peculiar look on his face. In fact, he seemed to have momentarily forgotten why he had come at all. His cheeks were flushed, and I had to wonder if it was due to the heat or something else entirely. He blinked twice before his gaze darted down to the grass. “I came to speak with you about a matter of great importance. Is there a place we might speak privately?” His eyes shifted to Edith, who had wandered closer.

“Y-yes, of course.” Worry sprung to my stomach. Was he about to give me a thorough chastising? He had even brought his bible with him. I glanced at the door. Inside was not an option, so I motioned for him to follow me around the back of the house. The garden was small, but there was a lovely path that exhibited the lilac bushes quite nicely. I walked toward it, heart racing with dread, as Mr. Frampton followed at my heels.

I had never seen Mr. Frampton in anything but good spirits, though his sermons were often a little too impassioned. If he planned to rebuke me, all I could hope for was a gentle delivery.

Slowing my pace, I fell into stride beside him. I dared a glance at his face. He was in his late thirties, tall, with dark brown eyes and a long nose. He had an open, innocent disposition, like the sort of man who would secretly release mice from their traps in the middle of the night. He walked beside me in silence for a long moment, scowling at the ground as if in deep thought.

“What is this matter you came to discuss?” I asked in a tentative voice.

His gaze lifted to mine. He stopped near one of the lilac bushes. “Oh, yes.” His throat bobbed with a swallow, and his grip tightened around his bible, like a child with their favorite blanket. A brief smile flickered across his lips. “Forgive me, I am out of sorts today.”

I gave a slow nod. His manneurisms were a little alarming. Was he here to deliver terrible news? What could have him so anxious?

He turned to face me, drawing deep breath. “Miss Downing, you may not know it, but I have long been an admirer of yours. Week after week, I have watched you in the pews with your young brothers, and I find that you have a remarkable way with children.”

The tension in my shoulders relaxed. Was he here to compliment me? Was that all? “Thank you, Mr. Frampton. That is very kind.”

“Besides that, your eyes are a most lovely shade of green.”

A jolt of surprise gripped my stomach. “Th-thank you.”

He pressed his lips together with a nod, his words spilling out quickly. “My observations have led me to a spiritual enlightening, and I cannot be silent on the matter any longer.”

My brow furrowed. In one swift motion, Mr. Frampton snatched up my hand. “I wish to marry you, Miss Downing, if you will have me.”