Page 11 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 11

O wen led me across the lawn where we eventually reached the entrance of a long, glass conservatory.

He pushed open the door and gestured for me to precede him. Sunlight streamed through the ceiling and many windows. A long walkway traveled the length of the structure, flanked by marble busts and sculptures, citrus trees, and other large plants. A wooden bench rested against one wall, facing south where it would be bathed in as much sunlight as possible.

Mrs. Berney trailed inside behind us. I knew she was my chaperone, but I was still startled to see her.

Owen walked to the bench. “Would you like to sit down?”

I nodded and took a seat beside him, unable to tear my gaze away from the plump oranges and lemons that hung from the branches. Sheltered from the elements, the fruit could be grown year-round. “I have never seen an orangery.”

He looked at me, half his face in sunlight, half in shadow. “You haven’t?”

“No. It is embarrassing to admit, but I haven’t been outside of Silton in five years. And I have never been to a home as grand as this one, with orangeries and twenty rooms and maids that appear out of nowhere to wait on me.” I laughed.

“You were here once before,” Owen said with a smile. “Or did you forget?”

I swept my gaze over all the trees and sculptures. “I forgot most of the details, I suppose.”

“But not me.”

I cast him a sidelong glance. “I hoped you were one of Mrs. Kellaway’s children who would be ‘away for most of the summer.’”

He tipped his head back with a laugh, crossing one ankle over his knee. “I’m sorry, Annette, but I’m afraid you are trapped here with me.”

There it was again, my Christian name. I should have corrected him, but I found I didn’t mind. The familiarity was warm and inviting, like we might have truly been becoming friends. I hadn’t had one of those in a very long time.

Perhaps Owen’s friendship was another gift Mama and Papa wanted me to enjoy while I was here at Kellaway Manor.

We sat for a moment in silence—not uncomfortable silence, but the relaxing kind. I listened to the birds chirping and the breeze rustling against the glass walls. It was warm and quiet inside the orangery, but the glass ceiling made me feel like I was still outside. I wondered what it would be like in a rainstorm.

I had no desire to break the silence, but Owen’s voice snapped it right in two. “Tell me more about your aunt.”

The question unsettled the relaxation that I had felt just a moment before. I didn’t want to lie to him, but I didn’t want his pity either. “She is very...generous. She took us in out of kindness, and?—”

“That won’t work on me,” he interrupted. “You may have convinced my mother, but I don’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked sheepishly.

“What kind, generous woman threatens two little boys for being imperfect and sends them off with their sister to change their entire disposition? Please tell me the truth about her.”

His gaze demanded an honest answer. He had behaved decently today; perhaps I could confide in him. I fixed my sights on an orange in a tree across from our bench. It sat far apart from the rest, on the highest branch. It rested singular and defiant, alone and unreachable—just as I was supposed to be.

I stared at the orange instead of Owen, for fear of seeing pity in his eyes. “She is horrible,” I began in a quiet voice. “She spends most of the day out of the house, visiting neighbors or traveling. When she is home, she . . . well, she threatens to throw us out, or starve us.” I swallowed, fighting an unwelcome memory. I continued quickly, trying to dispel the unrest that I could sense rising in Owen.

“Sometimes I fancied the idea of being thrown out. I was certain that I could care for my brothers better on my own, without a penny to my name.” I laughed lightly, though I didn’t feel it. “I have always known that was never truly possible. It is all right, though. We have what we need, and she doesn’t beat us anymore.” I regretted the words as soon as they escaped me. I had said too much. I felt Owen’s anger break free and rise into the air between us.

“She beat you?” His voice was quiet and dangerous.

“I can usually prevent it now that I’m older,” I stammered. “She rarely attempts to strike the boys.”

“Rarely?” He got up quickly and stood in front of me, obstructing my view of the tree. “How long has it been since she hurt you?”

My gaze flickered to the new bruises on my arms. For a moment I thought my movement went unnoticed, but Owen’s sharp blue eyes caught everything. He leaned forward and set his fingers on the bruise so gently I hardly felt it. His touch sent a shiver down the length of my arm.

“It’s nothing.” I pulled away, trying to reassure him with my eyes.

He must have noticed my discomfort, because the intensity of his gaze softened and he took his seat beside me on the bench. “It isn’t nothing .” His brows drew together. “It is completely unacceptable. I won’t allow you to be treated like that ever again.”

I laughed under my breath, uncomfortable with his seriousness. I was not accustomed to being defended so valiantly. “How are you going to do that?”

His jaw tightened. “I will think of something.”

I was a little shaken. From what I had seen of him, I wouldn’t have guessed that he could be so serious. Or so…protective. I wanted to tell him about Mr. Frampton’s proposal, but the words lodged in my throat. He would likely encourage me to accept it, and I was afraid of being told something so reasonable. The idea of being Mr. Frampton’s wife was still new—and still unnerving.

Owen didn’t speak for several seconds. “Your parents were so different from her. They were always very kind to me. I am sure they were kind to everyone.” His voice was so gentle it made my heart ache deeper.

“They were.”

In a softer voice, he asked, “How long has it been since they died?”

My heart lurched. Why did he have to ask me so many questions? I replaced my sights on the orange in the tree. “Nearly five years.”

“How old are your brothers?”

“Peter is seven and Charles is five.”

He paused for a long moment. “So Peter was two years old, and Charles was only a baby?”

I nodded, avoiding his gaze with every muscle in my body.

“And you have looked after and taught them all on your own.” He stated it as a fact, and I couldn’t detect any pity in his voice. Something else lingered in his voice, though. Was it admiration? He fell silent for several heartbeats until I could feel the heat of his gaze on the side of my face.

“I have obviously been very inept so far,” I said. “I truly don’t know what I’m doing. If I were better, then surely their behavior would be more appropriate.”

Without warning, Owen moved his fingers to the side of my face and softly turned my head so that I was forced to look at him. “Their circumstances are the only thing to blame for their behavior, not you. Living in fear of their guardian, no longer having a mother or father…” He held my gaze. “You are not inept.”

My heart gave a furious leap.

“You have been enduring the same pains as your brothers all these years, but with a greater understanding of what you have lost. That is no small burden to bear on your own.” His brow pinched together at the center. “You are so brave,” he said in a hushed voice. “And so capable. They are fortunate to have you.”

The unexpected tenderness of his words plunged through my heart. My throat tightened with emotion. I would prefer Owen’s teasing over . . . this any day. It made me feel completely defenseless in a way that I never remembered feeling before. In fact, I felt strangely close to crying, which would not do.

I closed my eyes, hoping that doing so would drive away the tremor that was spreading through me. Owen was unearthing my pain too easily, pouring salt on the oldest wounds of my heart, making them sting anew. I wanted to run away.

His voice came again, deep and quiet. “But no matter how capable you are, you deserve to have someone you can depend on—someone willing to share the weight of your burdens. Please know that you can depend on me. And that you can trust me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. My hands shook in my lap, my fingers clutching that thorny pink rose. It was a kind offer, but how could I possibly depend on Owen? The weeks would pass quickly, and then I would be gone. I had depended on myself for so long that it was the most natural thing for me to do. I had forgotten how to trust someone else.

“I will try.” My voice was just a faint whisper. He had severely disheveled my emotions. That had not happened in a very long time. In just one morning, Owen had already managed to discover a hidden piece of my heart. It was terrifying to think of how much yet he could learn of it.

He stood and walked toward the nearest orange tree and plucked off the very one I had been staring at. He sat down and handed it to me.

“Thank you,” I said, finding my voice again. I met his gaze with a smile. For some reason, I couldn’t look at his face for very long. My eyes flickered away, a flutter erupting in my stomach. I felt strange with my pile of gifts from Owen on my lap when he held nothing. “Don’t you want an orange?”

“We can share it.” He took the fruit back from me and peeled back the skin. In the silence, I felt the hum of vulnerability shrouding me, as if my own skin had been peeled away too.

Owen split the orange and handed me the larger half.

I took a bite, my mouth flooding with juice. The pulp was tough, but the orange was sweeter than I had expected. Bitter tartness came as a light aftertaste. Owen watched my face for a reaction.

“Delicious,” I said after a swallow.

He grinned. “If you are ever in need of a place to think, or to find a sense of peace, there is nowhere better than this bench with an orange and a rainstorm. It is the perfect combination.”

My gaze flew to his. “I had wondered how captivating it would be in the rain.”

He took a bite of his orange. “There is nothing like it.”

“I will have to try it.”

He met my gaze with a soft smile.

A creak sounded from the end of the conservatory. The door opened near where Mrs. Berney still stood. A footman strode inside, stopping in front of Owen with a small letter. He unfolded it, reading the brief words.

“I must see to a patient,” Owen said with a glance in my direction. “Although I would much rather stay here with you.”

I averted my gaze, feeling suddenly hot and nervous. “I should be going too.”

“No, stay.” Owen gave me an encouraging smile. “Enjoy the quiet a little longer. You must at least finish your orange while you are here.” He folded the note again and stood.

I laughed, but gave a small nod. His gaze and smile lingered on me a few seconds longer as he backed away, then turned, following the footman to the door. He whispered something to Mrs. Berney, who then followed him and left me alone in the orangery.

I watched Owen’s retreat through the glass walls, taking a deep, shaky breath.

I heard each of my inhales and exhales in the silence. The breeze outside had faded. If I listened closely enough, I might even hear my own heartbeat.

I broke off a wedge of the orange, listening to the rushing sound as it tore through the silence like a strong current. I was rarely alone, and rarely in such a beautiful, peaceful place. There was nothing to stop Owen’s words from echoing in my mind. You have been enduring the same pains as your brothers all these years, but with a greater understanding of what you have lost.

I steeled myself and closeted my emotions. Perhaps if it was raining, the silence would be more bearable. Memories filled my mind and, in an effort to stop them from coming, I closed my eyes.

They came anyway.