Page 20 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 20

I gave Peter and Charles each a hug when we arrived back at the house late that afternoon. They told me of all the activites that they had enjoyed with Mr. Everard, reading books, learning tricks, and learning to play whist. They were so energetic and lively that I had to laugh when I noticed Mr. Everard snoring on the farthest sofa.

They had clearly worn him out.

A young maid sat on a chair in the corner, dutifully observing my brothers in Mr. Everard’s stead.

“Look what he gave us!” Charles held out his little palm, revealing two shiny pennies. “Two for me, and two for Peter.”

Peter showed me his hand where two identical pennies lay.

I smiled. “Well, that was very kind of him, wasn’t it? Keep those pennies safe until you can use them to pay for something you want. There is never a need for stealing.”

“We must pay for what we want,” Charles said, repeating the line I had tried to commit to his memory. “Can we use them to pay for some sweets at the bakery instead of taking them from Mr. Coworm?”

I laughed lightly. Mr. Co worm was a much more fitting name for that odious man. “Of course. Just be sure it is something you really want. We do not want to waste money either.”

They nodded, clutching the pennies in their fists. I had a feeling they would keep them very safe.

A familiar voice came from the doorway. “Did you bore Grandfather to sleep with your talk of ballgowns and fashion?”

I turned around to see Owen, an easy smile on his lips as he strode into the room. I remembered Madame Fareweather’s lecture about confidence, and decided that Owen embodied the word perfectly. His gaze found me where I stood with my brothers near the pianoforte. I smiled, and he smiled back, his eyes softening at the corners. A little flutter rippled through my stomach at that look. I tried to ignore the sensation, but I was truly happy to see him.

Mrs. Kellaway laughed. “Your grandfather has been snoring since the moment we walked through this door. We are not to blame.”

I noticed a letter in Owen’s hand. He tore it open with an amused smile, still addressing his mother. “Perhaps because he was anticipating your return.” He unfolded the letter, not waiting to read it privately. His eyes ran down the page, then stopped suddenly. His grip tightened on the paper.

Something was wrong. All at once, he lowered the letter and strode quickly out of the room.

Mrs. Kellaway frowned in his direction as she settled into an armchair. “I hope nothing is amiss.”

I stared at the empty doorway, worry prickling over my shoulders. His smile had fallen so quickly. What could have made him rush away like that? I stood frozen for another minute before retreating to the sofa.

Peter and Charles were showing Mrs. Kellaway their new pennies, and Mrs. Everard was attempting to jostle her husband awake by poking him with the end of her fan.

I couldn’t stop worrying about Owen.

As the evening went on, he didn’t return. We went about our usual business, eating dinner, playing games and music in the drawing room, and eventually retiring to our rooms.

After Lizzie braided my hair, I sat on the center of my bed, tucking my knees to my chest. My candle flickered on the desk, but I didn’t want to blow it out. The clock read eleven. The rest of the house was dark and quiet, but Owen still hadn’t come home.

I rested my chin on my hands, letting my eyes drift closed. There was nothing I could do to help Owen by staying awake. I didn’t have the slightest idea of where he was.

The sound of the front door made my eyes fly open. From the floor below, I heard boots clicking on the marble. The footfalls continued up the stairs, and I saw a sliver of candlelight under my door. It quickly disappeared.

I jumped off my bed, wrapping my cloak over my nightdress and grabbing my candle. If I peeked outside my door, I might be able to see if it was Owen returning home. At least then I would be able to sleep without picturing that crestfallen expression on his face over and over again.

I slipped into the corridor, but Owen was nowhere in sight. After scouring the entire floor, I still found no sign of him, so I started quietly up the stairs. At the top, I felt an odd wave of guilt, like I was trespassing, but my curiosity carried me forward into the long corridor.

Moonlight streamed through tall, arched windows. Besides that, the only light came from my candle. My footsteps were quiet as I took in the many portraits lining both walls. I continued down the corridor and turned right. Just as I did, the sound of a pianoforte reached my ears. It played a soft, simple tune, and stopped.

I paused where I was, waiting to hear more, but the sound never came. It was enough, though, for me to follow. I hurried to the end of the hall and peeked through the doorway of the music room. The space was dim and large, with a lofty ceiling and one small window. Light from a single candle illuminated the space.

Sitting on the bench of the pianoforte, was Owen.

He couldn’t see me from his angle, but I could see his profile clearly. My heart twisted. The blank surprise he had exhibited when he first read that letter had now turned into raw sadness.

I looked away, certain that the expression was not meant for my eyes. Or anyone’s. He had come here to be alone. What I had sensed upon walking to the second floor had been correct; I was indeed trespassing.

An unpleasant clamor of musical notes rang through the air, making me jump. I stole another peek into the room. Owen’s fist had fallen forcefully on the keys. I was startled. I had never seen him so emotionally disheveled. The closest thing I had seen to this was when I had spoken to him about Aunt Ruth.

I cursed myself silently. I shouldn’t have come up here. I tried to put myself in his situation, and I knew that I would have certainly preferred to be alone, rather than have someone sneak up on me because they were curious about business that was not their own.

My decision was clear: I needed to leave. But as I leaned away, the ribbon at my waist snagged on the latch of the doorframe. My sharp intake of breath echoed in the vast space.

“Is someone there?” Owen asked.

Drat. There would be no hiding from him now. My heart pounded in my ears as I stepped out from my hiding place. The light from my candle betrayed me.

“I know I shouldn’t have followed you up here, but I was worried,” I said. My cheeks burned. I had no right to worry about him. He was not mine to fret over like my little brothers.

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes taking me in. I froze under his examination, remembering that I wore my nightdress and cloak, with my hair in a hasty braid.

“I’m sorry to have worried you,” he said finally. “I was called away on urgent business.” He released a sigh and raked a hand over his hair. “It wasn’t pleasant.”

Hardly aware of my own movements, I crossed the room and sat beside him on the bench. I was aware of how improper it was to be here alone with him, but I was more concerned with how troubled he seemed.

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the keys of the pianoforte before glancing at my face. I realized with a rush of hot embarrassment how close I had sat to him. I shifted a few inches away discreetly.

“A patient of mine…she—” His voice was throaty and quiet, and he struggled to finish the sentence. “I thought she was healing. The family didn’t call for me again until today.” He shook his head. “She must have taken a rapid turn for the worse. She died a few hours after I arrived. I couldn’t save her.” His eyes flashed with guilt.

My heart ached. “Owen—it’s not your fault.”

“Of course it’s my fault,” he whispered. “Her family trusted me. I know that feeling of disappointment and anger. I’m the doctor I swore I’d never be.”

“You can’t be expected to work miracles,” I said. “Did you do everything you could?”

He swallowed. “Everything.”

I turned so I faced him completely. “Then you are not like the doctor who treated your cousin. You told me that he was lazy and uncaring. You told me that he performed the minimal amount of work and treated Theodore’s illness like nothing. Yes, the outcome was the same for you, but the difference between yourself and that physician is significant. You didn’t give up.”

Owen’s brow twinged with pain. “My knowledge must have been insufficient, then. If I could have known this would happen, I would have stayed at the house prior to today and given her constant care.”

I shook my head fast, gripping his forearm softly. “There are matters that are out of our hands.” A quiet confession burned in my throat, making my eyes cloud with unexpected moisture. “I have thought many times about the last time my parents left for Kellaway Manor. They invited me to come, but I declined. If I had agreed to go with them that day, we would have required a carriage to fit us all, not the phaeton they took. If I had gone with them in a carriage, perhaps the wheel would not have broken and they would not have fallen off that cliff.”

I fought the tightness in my throat. “But I couldn’t have guessed what would happen that day. I thought my duty was best served helping the nursemaid with my brothers. I did the best I could, and so did you. Do you know what your mother said to me in the carriage today?” I asked. “We passed Willowbourne, and she told me about Theodore. She spoke of your bond and how it inspired you to become the great man and physician that you are today. I agreed with her.”

I realized that my thumb caressed his arm softly as I spoke. It was how I comforted my brothers during thunderstorms or nightmares. I stopped, my heart suddenly jumping to my throat. What would he think of the gesture? Had I done too much? Heat climbed the base of my neck.

I dared to meet his eyes.

His expression was complex and heavy, so intense that I lost my breath for a moment. I couldn’t name all the things it contained, but I could see what it lacked. The sadness was gone. The guilt was gone. His gaze roamed over my face, leaving a trail of heat everywhere it went. Why was he looking at me like that?

My defenses began to rise, but then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me. I stiffened, too shocked to move. He buried his face in my shoulder, his cheek against my neck. His masculine scent enveloped me, and before I knew it, my arms clung to him the same way he held me.

Perhaps tighter.

I could feel the beat of his heart against my chest. It was improper, yes, but I didn’t want it to end. There was something so intimate about the moment, and what was passing between us with each second. Understanding. Gratitude. And, I couldn’t deny, a bit of affection on my part. Owen was dear to me. It was ridiculous to call him that on such a short acquaintance, but he was. Hot tears burned my eyes. I blinked hard to dispel them.

I hadn’t been held in strong arms like this since Papa died. I hadn’t known how much I needed it.

Eventually, my arms loosened and Owen pulled away just far enough to look in my eyes. I felt a cold chill as soon as the warmth of his body was gone, but the look in his eyes matched it.

“I’m glad you followed me here,” he said in a voice so quiet that it sent chills over my arms. It felt like we had a secret now. We would never speak of this moment with anyone. It was ours, and ours alone.

“I am, too,” I whispered back. If I spoke any louder, I might ruin what had just passed between us. I was sure he could hear my heartbeat in the silence.

He smiled, and I felt something melt inside me, like the wax of a candle. But things didn’t melt without heat, or a flame of some sort. I became suddenly aware of a fire burning in my chest, consuming my strongholds along with my better judgment. I wondered if it was contagious, because Owen leaned closer to me on the bench. His gaze held mine, but it was warmer than before. It was heated and intense. I couldn’t look away. His knee slid between both of mine, threading us together as his hand moved to my face.

“Thank you, Annette.” His hoarse voice stirred through my stomach, disrupting a swarm of butterflies.

His thumb caressed my cheekbone, and then his gaze lowered to my mouth. My heart leaped, and I found myself studying that same feature of his. His lips were serious now, unsmiling. All I had to do was lean forward, and I would taste them. I would kiss him. My heart raced. The idea was wild and preposterous, but I wanted it. I wanted him.

I held still, my skin hot. The candlelight caught on Owen’s features. His eyes found mine in that pocket of light, and I felt a tug toward him. I saw the restraint in his gaze. He seemed to be waiting for me to make a decision, to lean just the slightest inch toward him. I knew, deep in my bones, that if I did, I would never be the same. We would never be the same.

“Who’s there?” a voice from the corridor clattered through the air, breaking us apart.

I leaped to my feet, making the quick decision to dart across the room to hide behind the harp that was covered in a sheet. I made my escape just in time, because Mrs. Kellaway’s voice came again seconds later from the doorway.

“Owen, there you are. I heard the piano.”

“I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

I held perfectly still as Owen explained his absence, in fewer details than he had given me, and reassured her. Eventually, Mrs. Kellaway left, and I stepped out from behind the harp.

Owen was standing near the pianoforte. A smile twisted his lips as he looked at me. “That was quick thinking.”

I could hardly meet his eyes. My pulse still raced, but I gave a nervous laugh. “We would have looked improper. I couldn’t have her…forming ideas about what she saw.”

Owen crossed his arms. His gaze was still slightly hot, but I might have been mistaking it in the candlelight. “Would she have been right?” The lowness of his voice made my skin burn.

We were alone again in that dark, empty room. My feelings for Owen were growing at a dangerous rate, and they frightened me. Suddenly, I couldn’t remain still a moment longer—and I certainly couldn’t answer his question.

“I should return to my room,” I said, striding toward the door. My legs shook. “Goodnight.”

Because Owen was a gentleman, I knew he wouldn’t follow me. I didn’t stop walking until I reached my bedchamber. I sat on the edge of my bed and took a moment to steady my breathing. I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the steady beat of my heart, when a few minutes ago I had felt Owen’s, so close to my own.

I couldn’t identify what I was feeling at that moment, but it was very unique and intense. For the first time, it felt like my heart was trying to tell me something. It surprised me so much that I quickly blocked it out before I heard it. I couldn’t listen to my heart. It listened to me—I was in charge. My heart had always known that.

So why did I feel like that was bound to change?