Page 8 of Mischief and Manors (Change of Heart #1)

CHAPTER 8

I sat as far from Owen as possible, crossing my leg in the opposite direction. I attempted a discreet glance at his face, but found his gaze already locked on mine.

“You looked like you wanted to flee from the room when you realized the only place to sit was beside me.” He regarded me in a serious manner that I hadn’t seen before now. “If I have done anything to offend you, I sincerely apologize.”

I sneaked a speculative glance at his face. He did seem sincere. Almost. But something about the way his lips were curled up at the corners made me feel like I was still being teased. I did not like it. Not at all.

“There is no need to apologize. I’m not easily offended.”

“It sounds to me that you were offended. So please, accept my apology.”

“I already said there was no need to apologize.” I took a passive glance around the room.

“There must be a reason you sat as far from me as you might a roach,” he said with a laugh.

I met his gaze across the sofa. “Why must there be a reason for everything?”

“There’s always a reason,” he affirmed.

“Perhaps I simply didn’t have a reason to sit closer to you.”

He threw me a curious look. He leaned in my direction to speak softly in my ear. “Would it help if I told you how beautiful you look?” He raised a questioning eyebrow and smiled crookedly, making that dimple appear again. “Vomit suits you well enough, but this color suits you better, I think.”

My face heated and I looked around, hoping that no one had seen or heard him. What nerve, thinking he could woo me into accepting his apology with a compliment. And a disingenuous one at that. I hardly knew how to accept a compliment from a gentleman; it was even more difficult than accepting his apology. Both made me vastly uncomfortable. I pulled away quickly and scowled at him.

He gave an exasperated sigh. “So you are offended by compliments. Is there anything that doesn’t offend you? If so, I would love to hear it.”

I glared at him, ready to snap a retort that would wipe away his maddening smile and erase that infuriating dimple. But before I could speak, Mrs. Kellaway’s voice pierced the tense silence. “Is something amiss over there?” She gave Owen a stern glance.

She must have noticed my expression. How embarrassing it would be if I were to admit that the only reason Owen was receiving my glare was because he offered an apology and a compliment. “No,” I blurted.

The drawing room door swung open and a footman announced that dinner was ready. My shoulders slumped with relief. Bless that man.

I hurried to escape Owen’s side, but the walk to the dining room required decorum, so I grudgingly took his extended arm in the doorway. In the dining room, Mrs. Kellaway was seated at the head of the table, with her father in the seat of honor to her right, and her mother to her left.

I walked to the table, which was set for seven, but could easily accommodate at least twelve, and took a chair beside Mrs. Everard. Charles sat down beside me, and Peter beside him. Owen took the remaining seat directly across from me.

Frustration bubbled in my stomach. It would be nearly impossible to avoid his eyes with him sitting there. He seemed to recognize my plight, because just as I looked across to him, he flashed a smile in my direction.

I glowered at my plate. Why did he seem to relish in my discomfort? Charles tapped my arm. “What’s wrong, Annette?”

I forced a smile for his sake. “Nothing.”

The first course was brought in—white soup with piles of fresh bread. My mouth watered at the scent. Peter and Charles gaped in wonder as the soup and bread was placed in front of them. Their expressions made my heart sink as I remembered our early months at Oak Cottage. My damaged ribs ached—as if the pain had been provoked by the memory. While I had enjoyed many meals of this grandeur before my parents died, my brothers had never seen such an abundance. I couldn’t provide it for them. When Aunt Ruth had grand meals made, she never shared.

The food was served and everyone lifted their spoons. To my dismay, my brothers surpassed their utensils, sipping their soup straight from their bowls. They picked up large chunks of bread and tore at them with their teeth. One large crumb flew across the table and landed on Owen’s plate.

Mrs. Kellaway looked appalled. Owen was laughing under his breath.

“Peter. Charles,” I hissed. “Use your spoons.” Was it improper to reach across them and force their spoons into their hands? I wanted to prove that my brothers could listen to a simple instruction, but they were too distracted. They didn’t listen at all. Instead, Peter began licking his fingers and proceeded to wipe them on the white table linen.

I was tempted to put my face in my hands and keep it there for the rest of my life.

“Peter, Charles,” Owen said.

They looked up for a moment. A droplet of soup dripped off Charles’s chin.

“Did you forget your spoons?”

My brothers each offered a bashful grin. “Oh, yes. I forgot,” Peter said, lifting his arm to quickly wipe his chin.

Owen chuckled. “And your serviettes?”

I had been frozen with mortification, but I managed to laugh and grab my own serviette, using it to clean Charles’s face.

Keeping his eyes fixed on Peter, Owen discreetly lifted his serviette to his own mouth, demonstrating how it was to be done. Peter mimicked the action, a proud smile on his face.

“There,” Owen said. “Now try to eat slowly and use your silver. I know such manners are difficult to remember when you’re hungry.” He gave each of my brothers a broad smile.

I watched with amazement as Peter picked up his spoon, taking a careful scoop from his bowl and following Owen’s instruction.

How on earth had he managed to do that?

My gaze shot to Owen, who gave me a satisfied grin. He was obviously trying to prove himself capable of his task. Admittedly, I was impressed.

When the main course was brought in, my brothers stared with unblinking eyes at the trays of meat and vegetables circling the table. Suddenly, Charles began squirming in his chair. “Georgie! Hold still,” he said in a hushed voice.

I gave him a puzzled look. “Who’s Georgie?” I whispered. I followed his gaze as it traveled slowly down to the pocket of his trousers. A small, round lump sat quivering over his leg. Dread began creeping up my stomach and into my chest. “Charles. Who is Georgie?” I hissed.

In answer, he reached his hand inside his pocket. Before I could stop him, he had removed Georgie from his pocket and was holding him high in the air.

To my complete dismay, my suspicions were confirmed—Georgie was a mouse. A small grey mouse, who happened to have a very slick tail. As soon as Charles pulled Georgie from his pocket, he slipped his tail right from between Charles’s fingers and scurried across the table. Charles stared after him with an adoring grin. “Look how fast he can run!”

I very nearly dove across the table. The mouse stopped just in front of Mrs. Everard, as if to take a look around.

Mrs. Kellaway pointed a shaking finger at the mouse and let out a scream that could have shattered the windows. She nearly tipped the table as she leaped from her seat. I could have never imagined what chaos such a small creature would ensue.

With a bloodcurdling shriek, Mrs. Everard flew from her chair and ran across the room, clutching her chest in panic. I also would have never imagined that Mrs. Everard could move so quickly.

I looked around frantically. Peter and Charles laughed in their chairs, eyes wide with delight. Jumping into action, I grabbed my empty glass and slammed the open end over the mouse, trapping it inside.

“Don’t hurt him!” Charles screamed, tugging on my skirts.

I twisted to look at him. My face flushed hot. “Take him outside, now!”

Charles quickly obeyed, snatching Georgie and hurrying to the door. Peter accompanied him. I could hear their secretive giggles as they left the room.

I sat back in my chair and put my face in my hands. It was warm to the touch, and the entire room had fallen silent around me. I had been completely wrong to assume that my brothers hadn’t been working mischief while they were out of doors unsupervised. Surely Mrs. Kellaway wouldn’t allow us to stay any longer. Two incidents in one day? Even I hadn’t expected their behavior to be this horrible.

I took a deep breath. Then another. “I am very sorry,” I said behind my hands. I didn’t dare uncover my face. After a long stretch of silence, the temptation was too great. I glanced up.

Owen was looking at me, his lips quivering in an apparent effort not to laugh. Mr. Everard sat rigid, his wrinkled face completely expressionless. Mrs. Everard stood across the room, attempting to steady her breathing, and Mrs. Kellaway had returned to her chair. Her lips were tight, brows lifted.

I rotated in my chair to face her. “I truly am very sorry.” It was all I could manage. How many apologies had been uttered within the walls of this house today? It seemed like thousands.

She drew a shaky breath and put on a smile. “Not to worry. The fault is not your own.”

I nodded silently. But of course the fault was mine. My brothers were so young, and it was now obvious that I had not taught them well enough. Mr. Coburn was right, and Mr. Frampton was wrong. I was inept. I had no control over my brothers’ behavior. The moment I married him, he would see me, and my brothers, for who we truly were. Despair and mortification swirled around my heart.

After a long moment of silence, everyone carried on with the meal except Mrs. Everard, who was still catching her breath in the corner.

My heart beat hard with shame. I looked across the table at Owen. He leaned forward. “I didn’t catch a good look at the creature,” he said in a hushed voice. “Was it a harmless mouse or a rabid wolf? I cannot be certain based on the way they reacted.” He pointed his gaze at his mother and Mrs. Everard.

A small smile tugged on my mouth. “I’m surprised you were able to keep your wits.”

“They are suspended by a thread. Much like my grandfather’s lip.”

An unexpected laugh burst out of me.

Looking at Owen’s smiling face, I was struck by a pang of guilt about not accepting his apology. He had meant it in earnest, and I had refused it. Although he was an unyielding, mischievous tease who could never be serious, I was fairly certain that his intentions weren’t all bad.

My thoughts were interrupted by a flustered sigh from Mrs. Everard as she reclaimed her seat at the table. She shook her head, then patted her curls back into place. “Those boys ought to be kept on leashes.”

My eyes flew of their own accord to Owen. We looked at each other, as if to see who could hold out longer without laughing.

Mrs. Everard scowled at us. “Do you not agree?”

Owen laughed first, and I tried to keep myself from bursting out in a similar fashion, but failed after a few seconds. My giggles only added to my embarrassment, but they couldn’t be stopped. I hadn’t laughed this hard in years. Perhaps it wasn’t only Mrs. Everard’s comment, but the look on Owen’s face that brought me to such a state. I sighed as my laughter subsided, feeling much lighter.

“I certainly agree, Grandmother,” Owen said with a playful grin in my direction. “In fact, I already made the same suggestion this afternoon.”

Mrs. Everard’s distressed expression lifted for a brief moment, and she joined in the laughter. “You were not lying when you said they were mischeivous, Miss Downing.”

I groaned. “I did try to warn you.”

After the chaotic events of dinner, I made sure to send Peter and Charles to bed without joining the others in the drawing room. I insisted on taking them to their room myself rather than sending a maid to tuck them into their new beds. For years, I had been the one to wish them goodnight and blow out their candles. I wouldn’t stop now, especially when they were in such an unfamiliar place.

With my brothers drifting off to sleep, I walked down to the drawing room where the others had gathered after dinner. I paused at the door, tempted to hurry back to my own bedchamber rather than continue socializing. My heart fluttered, sending a spiral of nervousness down to my stomach. Did anyone even want me there? No matter how many times Mrs. Kellaway had told me I was welcome, I still felt like I was imposing.

For several seconds, I stood outside the room, wringing my hands together and watching Owen. He sat in the same place as he had before dinner. He was laughing at something, which came as no surprise, his dark blond hair falling over his forehead. The cushion beside him was still indented from where I had been sitting before.

Why was I so determined to dislike him? Was it a defense of some sort? I was fully aware that I had no shortage of defenses, but taking them down was a task I didn’t feel capable of. My feet felt like they had been nailed to the floor. With my brothers tucked into bed and far away from my side, I felt incomplete. Who was I without them? What was my purpose? I was an intruder in this beautiful house among such kind people.

“Annette? Is that you?”

It was Mrs. Kellaway’s voice. I retreated one step backward into the dark corridor before calming my nerves and moving forward instead. I put on a smile, but my legs were shaking. “Yes.” They must have all thought me to be such a strange creature, lurking in the darkness, watching them all converse and laugh.

I forced myself to walk into the room, taking the available seat beside Owen. I didn’t look at him, keeping my posture straight and my eyes fixed on Mrs. Kellaway.

“How are the boys?” she asked.

“I suspect they will sleep well. They’ve had an eventful day.”

Mrs. Everard snorted, a wry grin on her face. “Eventful, indeed.”

“I’m glad you could rejoin us,” Mrs. Kellaway said with a smile.

I was quickly learning that she didn’t hold a grudge. She seemed to have forgotten the mouse incident already.

I gave a polite nod in response. I could feel Owen’s gaze as he studied my profile, and it might as well have been flames for how dangerous it felt. Why did I allow him to unnerve me so much? He didn’t mean any harm. Did he?

I glanced in his direction.

“Will you please accept my apology?” he asked in a quiet voice, displaying his playful grin. Contrary to his mother, he seemed to remember past quarrels perfectly.

I waited several seconds; I didn’t want him to know just how relieved I was that he had asked again. “Yes,” I said with a reluctant smile.

“And my compliment?”

My heart stumbled, but I managed not to blush, which I was quite proud of. “I suppose.”

He sat back, relief apparent in his eyes. “I hope to remain undeserving of your wrath for what remains of your visit at Kellaway Manor. I will be on my best behavior.” Something in his voice failed to convince me.

I looked at him from the corner of my eye. “I fear that your best behavior may be another man’s worst.”

“He must be a very boring man, indeed.” His smile grew. I couldn’t help mine from doing the same. “Do you think we can be friends?” he asked.

The question rang loud in my ears, pulling at my heart. When was the last time I had considered anyone I knew as a friend? After moving to Silton, I knew no one. My grief had been fresh and I had no intention of making friends. I had taken on the role of a mother to my brothers and that had been the sole purpose of my life.

“At least something better than an enemy?” Owen’s voice brought my mind back to the present.

My lips curled slowly into a smile. Something within me yearned for friendship with fresh longing. I wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t bring myself to flatter him so completely. “I suppose,” I repeated.

He still smiled like he had just been granted a knighthood.

As I lay in bed that night, I was surprised by how easily sleep was evading me. After such a long day, I had expected that I would fall asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. Instead, my mind raced as I stared up at the dark ceiling. Embarrassment, worry, and excitement all played their part in my inability to sleep, and my thoughts refused to dispel their thick clouds of questions.

How did Mrs. Kellaway truly feel about us staying here? What did she think of Peter and Charles’s awful behavior? Would they ever learn to be well behaved? And one question, that repeated itself over and over: what was it about Owen that made me feel so…defensive?

He was very unlike Mr. Frampton. The two could not be more opposite. Mr. Frampton was gentle, reserved, and serious. When he had complimented me, I had accepted it graciously. Perhaps it was his older age, or perhaps it was because his voice had lacked the flirtatious tone that Owen’s had.

I had little experience detecting flirting, though, so I might have been mistaken. At any rate, if Owen was flirting, it would be ridiculous to think that it was genuine. He had mistook me for a nursemaid when he had first seen me. Surely in his eyes I was nothing more than a poor, unfortunate girl who deserved his family’s sympathy.

His efforts to help my brothers had potential though, so I couldn’t ignore him the entire visit.

I would simply have to promise myself that I would never take him seriously.