Page 18 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 18

W e burst through the door and stopped in the vestibule, our laughter echoing off the walls. Owen released a sigh and raked his hand through his hair, releasing drops of water. “Well, that was…sudden.”

I nodded, trying to calm my laughter. My ribs ached and my lungs burned. I looked down at the muddy footprints on the floor by my feet. “I was hoping to avoid tracking mud into the house.”

Owen leaned closer with a secretive smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”

I met his gaze with a grin, and I was suddenly breathless.

The sound of humming reached my ears. Owen and I stopped and looked toward the end of the vestibule. It was a strange, high sound, and I couldn’t decipher a tune at all.

“That sounds like my grandmother,” Owen whispered.

Just after he spoke, she appeared, walking past the end of the adjacent hall. She glanced lazily down it, and took another step. Then her gaze jerked toward us again. Her eyes lit up like she had just struck gold. Her lips pursed into a tiny heart.

I held my breath.

“Boys!” Mrs. Everard yelled down the hall to my brothers. “Come along with me to dry off.” She waved them forward, taking their hands once they reached her. Her lips were still pursed, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She turned and shuffled away, pulling my brothers along with her.

I grimaced. She had obviously taken Peter and Charles just to leave me alone with Owen. I could hardly understand her. One moment, she was eager to introduce me to all the eligible neighbors, and the next she seemed intent to throw me at Owen. I glanced up at him tentatively, hoping that he didn’t recognize his grandmother’s scheme.

He was smiling down at me, and it made my heart skitter. The rain was having a very unfair, favorable effect on his appearance, soaking his hair, dripping down his face, and catching in his lashes. I didn’t dare imagine how I must have looked. I could feel my hair hanging loose, plastered to the sides of my face.

He lifted his jacket and shook the water from the outside of it, then draped it over my shoulders.

“You don’t have to?—”

He waved off my protest. “Take it. Would you like to sit down? We can light the fire in the parlor and dry off. Besides, you now owe me a question.”

Oh, yes. Another question. My stomach fluttered, but I flashed him a smile anyway. “That sounds pleasant. Thank you.”

After Owen lit the fire, he positioned two chairs closely across from each other, and we sat down in front of the fireplace. I wrapped Owen’s jacket snug around my shoulders and sat back, sinking into the comfortable chair. I could already feel the warmth of the fire wicking away the water from my gown and skin and hair.

Owen leaned forward in his chair, watching me intently. I tried to ignore him, looking at the flames dancing in the fireplace, but each time I peeked at him again, he was still staring at me.

“What?”

He scrunched his brow and narrowed his eyes. “I’m thinking of a question.”

I nodded in understanding and looked back to the fire for a while, but I could still feel his gaze on my face. I looked at him again. He was still watching me. And in my current state, it made me feel especially self-conscious.

“Do you have to stare at me while you think?” I blurted.

He looked down with a soft laugh, then up again. “There is nothing I would rather look at.”

I looked down, feeling my face burn, regretting that I had even asked.

“I have chosen a question,” he said finally.

My eyes shot up to meet his. My heart pounded hard in my chest.

“Besides your brothers…what else do you love?”

The question rang in my ears. “What do I love ?”

Owen nodded. The firelight made his features softer, but his eyes still pierced through me. “I want to know more of what occupies your heart. The happy things.”

I sat back as I contemplated his request. I had never made a list in my mind of the things I loved, but now that Owen had asked, I would have to come up with something.

There were very few things I loved in Silton, and what little there was, I rarely took time to enjoy. I closed my eyes for a moment, then took a deep breath and opened them. Owen watched me patiently, awaiting my answer.

“Well, Peter and Charles do take up the majority of my heart.” I gave a quiet laugh. “There is little room for anything else.” I swallowed, searching my mind for something to add. “I do love flowers. I love freshly baked bread, particularly the bread that has been served here every morning.” I cracked a smile, my list growing longer as I spoke. “I love horses, and other animals. I love rain…and oranges. I love tea served in pretty cups, like the blue ones your mother brings out each afternoon.”

Owen smiled, leaning his elbows on his knees as he listened.

“My aunt doesn’t have a pianoforte, so I have loved listening to your grandmother’s music in the evenings. I love playing cards, and dancing, though I’ve never been to a real ball.”

I stopped myself, looking down at my lap. That wasn’t a confession I had intended to make. Owen had spent several seasons in London—he would think less of me if he knew that I had never been invited to a ball. At twenty-one years old, most young ladies had attended too many to count.

“I love the way Lizzie arranges my hair,” I added in a quiet voice. “I love watching the sunset from the window upstairs.” I met Owen’s gaze, a wave of embarrassment passing over me as I realized how long I had been rambling. I clung my hands together, drawing a deep breath. “Is that a sufficient list?”

He smiled and nodded, his intent gaze tracing over my face. “It seems your heart belongs here at Kellaway Manor.”

I laughed, my gaze flickering to the floor. “Everything here is quite easy to love. When I go back…I’m afraid my heart might feel empty for a while. In truth, I find very little to love in Silton.”

Owen’s expression softened. “Come now, Silton can’t be entirely bad.”

I shook my head with a laugh. “You cannot say that. You have never been there.”

He leaned forward in his chair, looking into my eyes. “I think I would find much to love in Silton.” His mouth was curled in a smile, and his eyes held both a statement and a secret.

I looked away fast, unsettled by the warmth of his gaze. “Perhaps you are more optimistic than me. You do seem more inclined to love things that others don’t, simply for the sake of being different.” I cast him a skeptical look.

He shook his head, the movement so subtle I almost missed it. “I don’t love anything for the sake of being different. I love what I love because I can’t help it.”

Hearing the word love on Owen’s lips so many times made my skin hot. Or perhaps it was the fire. Either way, it burned somewhere deep inside me. What were these things Owen loved so much that he couldn’t help it ? I wanted to ask him to share his own list, but the thought frightened me.

“I can understand that,” I said. “I never chose to love my brothers. I love them without trying.” I was silent for a moment as the sentiment sank into my heart. Perhaps that was the essence of true love—that it wasn’t something that required permission to grow. I cleared my thoughts, eager for a change in subject. “Thank you for teaching them to shoot. They seemed to be enjoying themselves…until the rain started, anyway.”

Owen gave a wry smile. “The real enjoyment began after the rain started.”

I laughed, a nervous breath escaping my lungs. “I should have ran to the orangery instead. I still need to see it during a storm.”

“You will. There is plenty of rain this time of year.” Owen’s hair was almost dry already, the ends forming soft curls. Silence enveloped us for a moment, and I found myself studying each of his features. I loved the way his eyes wrinkled at the corners when he smiled, and I loved the way his mouth lifted a little more on one side than the other.

But I would never, ever tell him that those things were so high on my list.

I slipped his jacket off my shoulders and handed it to him. “I should go change.”

He nodded, standing up beside me. As I stood, a severe pain struck my ribs, making me gasp. My hand flew to my right side.

Owen’s brow furrowed, and he stepped toward me. “Are you hurt?”

I shook my head dismissively. “It’s an old injury. I broke some ribs a few years ago that never healed properly. I’m afraid running to the house may have awakened the pain a bit.”

His concern only intensified. “What caused the injury?”

I swallowed. “It was nothing important.”

Owen caught my arm as I turned to leave. “Annette. Did your aunt have anything to do with it?”

I took a deep breath and faced him. His eyes were looking into mine so deeply I felt as though he knew my answer before I said it. “Yes,” I whispered. “But it was a long time ago.”

“Tell me what happened.”

My hands shook as I rubbed them over my skirts. I had never told another person about this. I had been trying to forget for a very long time.

“When we first went to live with our aunt, she was furious,” I said in a quiet voice. “We were left to her husband’s guardianship in my parents’ will, but it was never changed before Ruth became his widow. She never loved her late husband, and so she wanted nothing to do with us. She only took us in because she feared the scrutiny of her acquaintances.” I didn’t dare look at Owen’s face as I continued to the worst part of the story. “During that time, she deprived us of food for several days at a time, but I usually managed to sneak something for my brothers. As a result, I…well, I grew rather thin and she caught me smuggling food from the kitchen one day and threw me to the ground. Because I was so frail, my ribs easily broke, and she never called for a doctor.”

I glanced up for a brief moment. The anger in Owen’s gaze shocked me.

“If she were a man I would call her out,” he seethed.

“Owen—”

He drew closer, stopping my words. I looked down at the wooden floor, but he took my chin between his thumb and forefinger gently, lifting my face to look at his. “She will not hurt you or your brothers again. I promise.” His voice was firm. “I will not allow that to happen.”

I felt the threat of tears stinging my eyes. I quickly blinked them away. Why was my heart behaving so wildly today? Perhaps my ribs had been the last and final cage that could contain it, and whatever happened today had damaged my only remaining defense.

“I will not allow that to happen,” Owen repeated in a softer voice. There was something in his eyes that convinced me to believe him. If only for the moment.

When I made my way up to my bedchamber, my wet skirts tangled around my legs. Lizzie drew me a hot bath, and I relaxed into the lemon and rosemary scented water. Owen’s words about love, his compliments, and his gentle reassurances all echoed through my mind. I tried to stamp them down. There was something amiss with my heart. It was developing ideas of its own, and sprouting feelings that I was completely unfamiliar with. I dunked my head under the hot water, but it did nothing to clear my thoughts.

This was not acceptable. I needed to gain control of my heart before it began loving things it wasn’t supposed to love. I had a proposal—a certain, dependable thing—waiting for me in Silton. What Owen might have felt for me—what I might have felt for him—were not certain things at all.

My time at Kellaway Manor was temporary, so I would be wise not to grow too attached to it or anyone here. Perhaps it would be good to meet the gentlemen Mrs. Kellaway planned to introduce me to. They might prove that what I was feeling for Owen was not special at all, but rather common. I might like the company of Mr. Baines or Mr. Fields just as much.

And once I knew Mr. Frampton better, he might even make me feel just the same.

That night at dinner, I listened as Mrs. Everard raved about the compliments she had received that day. “Peter told me I had beautiful hair! I haven’t been told my hair was beautiful since it turned grey more than twenty years ago.”

I met Owen’s eyes across the table, suppressing a smile.

“And you wouldn’t believe what happened next,” Mrs. Everard continued. “Little Charles kissed my hand!” She released a hoot of laughter. “I am flattered, to be sure!”

Owen winked at the boys. “Well done,” he whispered.

They looked proud, sitting up straight in their chairs and eating with their spoons.

After an hour in the drawing room, I took my brothers to their room, as was our new routine. I tucked Charles into bed first, then Peter. He blinked up at me, his blue eyes round with sincerity. “I love you, Annette.”

Charles scowled. “I wanted to say it first.”

Peter rolled over. “You were too late.”

I sighed, biting back my laughter. “I love you both, and it is never too late to say it.”

Charles took a deep breath, his temper simmering back down to normal. He gave me a smile that tugged at my heart. “I love you the very most.”