Page 14 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 14

A s promised, I met Owen in the library the next morning for my tour. My brothers were happy to be left to the care of the Everards; they hardly noticed my departure.

Having seen most of the main areas of the grounds the day before, Owen showed me the other rooms on the main level of the house. His father’s study looked like a miniature version of the library, but was furnished in red with a dark walnut desk. Likewise, the morning room looked like a miniature version of the drawing room, but all the furnishings were ivory and pink, including the paper on the walls. Owen told me that it was Alice’s favorite room in the house, the place where she and Mrs. Kellaway often received their friends for tea.

The parlor, yet another room for hosting guests, was the largest of all. The exposed parts of the wooden floor gleamed in the morning light. Various sofas and chairs dotted the room, as well as a very large rug. I learned that when the Kellaways hosted parties, it was all cleared out for dancing. I debated telling Owen that I had never been to a ball, but decided once again not to make my inexperience so obvious.

I had learned to dance from an instructor when I was young, and had practiced with my parents, but I had never awaited invitations from handsome gentlemen while wearing a ballgown. That would be an entirely different experience. A thrill raced across my skin at the thought, but then I remembered that soon I would be the wife of a vicar, and the only men I would dance with would be at small gatherings in Silton.

Owen planned to show me more of the house, but paused at the card table in the corner of the parlor. He challenged me to a game of piquet, which of course I couldn’t refuse. He won, but I assured him I would win the next time.

He smiled at that.

At dinner, it was already clear that my brothers’ table manners were improving. I was relieved (and shocked) again to see that another day had passed without any mischief from them. Certainly they had something up their sleeves, but at the moment, that didn’t matter to me. What mattered was the warm, buzzing feeling inside my chest. It reminded me of days long past, when I had lived with my parents at my childhood home. I was delighted not to turn every corner in fear of seeing Aunt Ruth around the other side. I was content—happy even—sitting around the table with the Kellaways and Everards.

Before I went to bed, Owen reminded me again that we hadn’t finished my tour, so we resumed it the next day. In no time, Mr. and Mrs. Everard had established a habit of keeping my brothers with them in the library for their reading, and I had established a habit of meeting Owen there each morning.

We explored the rest of the ground floor, first floor, and finally the second. Owen showed me the portrait gallery. I stopped in front of a portrait of a young boy. He looked close to Charles’s age. Stepping closer, I recognized his deep blue eyes, golden hair, and the little dent in his cheek. Owen.

My heart melted. I smiled at how endearing he looked as a child. I stood on my toes and looked even closer. The artist had captured his countenance perfectly. I gasped, and then laughed as I identified the mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

Walking down the line, I saw matching childhood portraits of Owen’s brothers, Edmund and Simon, and his sister, Alice. As I walked, I found recent portraits of the entire family. Edmund, the eldest, had Owen’s same striking blue eyes, but his hair was much darker, and his disposition more serious. Simon looked quite young, but resembled Owen more than any of the other siblings. Alice had the same auburn hair as her mother, and I detected a faint mischievous twinkle in her eye as well.

I smiled, suddenly looking forward to meeting her.

It took four mornings for Owen to complete my tour of the inside of the house, usually because we became caught on some passing conversation, or a game of piquet in the parlor. We talked and laughed for hours each day before Owen had to leave to make visits to his patients.

The bond my brothers shared with him, and with Mrs. Kellaway and the Everards, was as heartwarming as it was concerning. How could I tear them away from this place? It had only been a week, and they were already attached. I had never seen Peter and Charles so happy and well-behaved. They thoroughly enjoyed the doting attention of everyone in the house—perhaps enough that they didn’t feel the need to act out and create chaos.

The cause behind their behavior had never been so clear to me, and I could only hope that Mr. Frampton’s home would create a similar environment for them. Each time I thought of that future, a tiny bit of my newfound happiness was wiped away. So I tried not to think of it at all. I still had weeks to enjoy my escape.

My friendship with Owen was becoming an anchor in my heart, tugging me out of bed each morning with a sense of joy that I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was exhilarating and freeing, but also dangerous. Perhaps I had given Owen too much control over my feelings and my heart. He was my friend, and nothing more, but there were times when I felt a tug on that rope, and on that anchor. He held the other end, and he could do with it whatever he pleased.

I had made myself vulnerable, and that was very unlike me.

Now that the tour was over, perhaps I could dig the anchor out. There would be no need for me to spend my mornings with Owen any longer. The thought sent a pang of sadness into my chest, but I brushed it away. My brothers still wanted to read with the Everards each morning, so I would simply join them instead.

When I stepped into the library one morning, I was instantly greeted by the smell of wood and old leather. My brothers ran to Mr. Everard. Mrs. Everard looked up from her embroidery. “Where is Owen this morning?”

I laced my fingers together, claiming a chair beside her. “We finished my tour yesterday. I have seen all twenty rooms.”

She pulled her needle through the fabric on her embroidery hoop. “Did you have a favorite?”

As a child, I would have said the pink morning room, but that wasn’t an option now. “I liked the parlor best.”

“Was it the room you liked, or the company?” Her eyes slid up to mine. A sly smile twisted her lips.

I frowned. Judging the look in her eyes, I didn’t dare answer. It was a trick of some sort, I was sure of it.

Mrs. Everard leaned forward. “If you continue spending so much time with my grandson, I may have to force a match between you.”

My eyes widened, my heart plummeting into my stomach. My protest came pouring out. “That is not my wish. I assure you, our interactions are very proper. There is usually a servant nearby, and doors are never closed. He is my friend, and I would never?—”

Mrs. Everard let out a loud, hooting laugh. “I am far too great a tease,” she said with a chuckle. “Forgive me. I will not force a match between the two of you, though I have a mind to encourage one.” She winked.

My face blazed. Was I giving everyone in the household the wrong impression? I hardly knew what was the proper way to behave around an eligible gentleman. Was I supposed to pretend he didn’t exist, or only converse with him in a group? I must have done something terribly wrong. Men and women of marriagable age were not often ‘friends,’ without attachments being assumed.

I did know that much.

As much as I hated to encourage such assumptions, I also hated the idea of losing Owen’s friendship. My mind raced, and I hardly noticed Mrs. Everard’s eyes shift to the door. “Owen! There you are.”

My heart leaped. Had he overheard what his grandmother had just said? When I followed Mrs. Everard’s gaze, Owen was already halfway across the room. He smiled when I looked up at him.

“I thought I might find you all here.” His gaze flickered between Mrs. Everard and me. She still wore a sly grin.

“Did I miss something?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

I shook my head fast, correcting my expression as quickly as I could manage. “No, nothing at all.”

He gave me a curious look before settling into a chair at the table. My shoulders relaxed, and I took a deep breath, willing my face to cool. Peter and Charles looked up from Mr. Everard’s book and gave Owen two very wide smiles, as if just noticing his presence in the room. Charles slid off of Mr. Everard’s lap and ran over to Owen. Peter followed.

“I have an idea,” Owen said, leaning forward to speak to my brothers. “The weather is fine today. Would you two like to go outside to ride horses?”

Peter and Charles turned their heads briskly to look at one another. “Horses?” Peter’s brows lifted.

“Yes, horses. Ponies too. Would you like to join me?”

They nodded. Peter jumped up and down. “I love horses!”

“Are you coming, Annette?” Charles asked with a nervous look.

Owen grinned at me in his teasing way. “I suppose you are invited.”

“Of course,” I said, taking Charles’s hand. I was a little nervous too—it had been a long time since I had ridden a horse. Besides that, Mrs. Everard’s comments were still replaying through my mind. I did feel better about spending more time with Owen if my brothers were present, but I still questioned the wisdom of it. I didn’t want the household to think I had some secret ideas about courting Owen.

That would be horribly embarrassing.

I knew, without a doubt, that I was no match for him. He had been raised in this grand house, had received a full education, had seen cities all over Europe, and was the most handsome man I had ever met. As a physician, he wasn’t rich, but with his charm and looks he could easily capture the heart of some London heiress.

There was an easy solution that would silence any speculation, and that was telling the household about Mr. Frampton. Perhaps I could confide in Mrs. Everard if the subject ever came up again. The thought made my stomach turn, as it usually did.

I stopped by my bedchamber before we set off to the stables. Mrs. Everard had sent Lizzie to fetch me a riding habit that belonged to Owen’s sister, Alice, and I needed to change into it quickly. It was dark green, with stunning brass buttons. I had never worn something so fine, and I couldn’t stop staring at it in the mirror. It fit me well enough, but was a bit loose in some areas, such as the bust, which I had fully expected. Hopefully Alice would approve of her clothing being lent to a stranger while she was away.

I raced down the stairs and met Owen, Peter, and Charles outside. By the time we arrived at the stables, my brothers were bouncing with excitement. They had never ridden a horse, and it seemed that the idea was even more riveting than any mischief they had ever caused, all put together. They tugged on my arm and pulled on my skirts for me to walk faster. They even sneaked behind Owen to push him through the door.

Once inside, Owen introduced them to each horse. Peter chose a dark brown filly, and Charles chose a biscuit-colored pony. According to Owen, they were all expertly trained and would be safe to ride. He turned to me next. “And for you?”

I looked over all the horses. Eve, the striking black mare, stood in the last stall. I walked up beside her, and her large brown eyes met mine. Of course I had to choose her. “I’ll ride Eve.”

Owen grinned as if he had known I would pick her.

With the grooms preparing our horses, I stood back, nervously rubbing my palms down the skirts of the riding habit. I tried to distract myself from my nerves by turning my attention to my brothers. Peter argued that his horse was better, but I assured Charles that his was equally suitable.

I hadn’t noticed Owen walk up beside us until he spoke. “It seems that you boys are eager to begin.” He chuckled. “Now we need only to convince your sister.”

I shot him a subtle glare. He must have noticed how nervous I was. I certainly couldn’t have anyone assuming that I was nervous to ride a horse. I had done so on a daily basis at my childhood home.

But that was five years ago.

“Convince me of what?” I asked a little too innocently.

Owen raised an eyebrow and gestured to the mounting block resting beside Eve. I swallowed and walked tentatively toward her. I stroked between her eyes and spoke softly in her ear. “My name is Annette, and we are going for a little jaunt together. Is that all right?”

Her ears twitched and she turned her head slightly toward me as I spoke.

“If not, please acknowledge so.” I waited a few seconds, but Eve sat still and straight, like a well-trained horse was supposed to do. I felt like I could trust her. After stepping onto the mounting block, I carefully eased my way onto the side saddle. I grasped the reins in my gloved hands. They felt old and familiar, and somehow they settled my nerves.

I smiled back at Peter and Charles. Owen had helped them onto their horses, and was now instructing them. They grasped their pommels with both hands, giggling uncontrollably. Two grooms stood prepared to guide their horses, standing beside them with the reins in hand.

Owen mounted his copper horse and rode up beside me. “Off we go.”

Taking a deep breath, I loosened my hold on the reins and set off at a nice slow pace.

After a few minutes of this, I grew more comfortable, guiding Eve into a trot before slowing down again. The brisk midday air rustled my ears. It sounded like old memories of time spent with my father.

Owen’s horse kept up with mine. From beside me, Owen turned his head and flashed me a smile. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Very much,” I said with a smile.

“It seems your brothers are as well,” he said with a chuckle.

“Indeed.” I laughed. “At least it’s keeping them out of trouble.”

“No young boy is truly a young boy if he doesn’t get into some trouble.” His words rang with familiarity.

“You sound like your grandmother,” I said.

His smile grew, and it was more than a little devious. “My grandmother is a very wise woman.”

My thoughts flickered back to her words about encouraging a match between us. He couldn’t be referring to that, could he? I still wondered how long he had been standing at the door, and if he had overheard the conversation.

I didn’t dare look at his face for any clues. I fixed my gaze forward, watching my brothers’ delighted expressions. On the subject of my brothers, Mrs. Everard and Owen were completely right. No matter what could be done to improve their behavior, Aunt Ruth’s expectations would never be satisfied. It was impossible to alter the natural inclinations of a young boy to the extent that she desired in so short a time. Their behavior could be adjusted, yes, but they couldn’t lose their mischievous spirits entirely. And I didn’t want them to.

Owen’s voice broke into my thoughts. “I don’t wish to neglect my responsibility any longer. I will make a plan to begin giving them lessons.”

I was puzzled for a brief moment, but then remembered that Mrs. Kellaway had charged him with the responsibility of training my brothers—something that I had not been very pleased with. But now that Owen had proved himself to be more responsible than I had first assumed, I felt guilty that this ordeal had been thrust upon him.

“You really don’t have to. It is my responsibility,” I said in a brisk voice.

“I want to help, if you will allow me to.”

I kept my gaze fixed on my brothers straight ahead. I didn’t like receiving favors from people without being able to repay them somehow. It made me feel like some kind of thief. “You must be very busy with your profession. I don’t wish to intrude on your time.”

I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. It looked like he was shaking his head. “It is not an intrusion.”

“But it is an inconvenience,” I countered.

“No.”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “You cannot deny that you are motivated by a sense of obligation.”

He sighed. “The only things motivating me are my concern for the well-being of your brothers, and selfishly, my desire to spend more time with you. I was disappointed when the tour was over.”

My heart jumped at his confession. I would never admit that I had been disappointed too. I gave up a reluctant smile, looking down at Eve’s mane. It shone in the sunlight. “Very well. But please, tell me how I can repay you.”

He cast me a look of exasperation. “I don’t desire payment.”

“Please.” I waited, considering the thoughtful expression emerging on his face. After a few moments of silence, Owen’s mouth lifted in a triumphant grin.

“Fine,” he said. “I will tell you how you can repay me.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “With knowledge.”

My brow contracted. “Knowledge about what?”

“You. I find you frustratingly difficult to read, and you don’t seem eager to speak of yourself. Not for free, at least.” He gave a mischievous grin.

Drat it all. What had I just committed to? I thought back to our conversations, and realized that I did tend to turn the subject away from myself on most occasions. “What do you mean?”

Owen studied my face for a brief moment, his eyes squinting in thought. “For every lesson I give Peter and Charles, I shall be permitted to ask you a question of my choosing. And you must answer honestly.”

I started sweating. “But these questions…they must be appropriate.”

He scowled. “Of course.”

“And not too…invasive.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

I shot him a glare. Why had I insisted that I repay him? Why had I not seen this coming? He had already discovered some things about my life in the orangery that I didn’t want anyone to know, and now he had this sneaky way of discovering even more. I tried to look the least bit unsettled. “We have an agreement, then.” I was proud of how steady my voice sounded.

“Good. My first lesson will be tomorrow morning. Meet me by the water gardens after breakfast.”

I nodded, casting him a suspicious look.

He grinned in his triumphant way. I lost to Owen often in piquet, but why did it feel like I had just lost a much greater battle? I was suddenly very nervous. The portion where Owen would teach my brothers was harmless, but the thought of my payment—his having free reign over my secrets, I certainly did not like. I didn’t even know if I had secrets, but if I did, I was sure that Owen could uncover any truths he wanted. He was very good at things like that.

To ease my worries, I told myself that I would just have to become even better at hiding things about myself. For I was very good at things like that.