A Heart Revealed (22 page)

Suzanne set Sally to move with a flick of the reins, and Amber hurried back to the cottage. She thought of the letter on its way to the post and wondered how Darra would receive it. Amber had not heard from her sister in all the months she’d been at the cottage and feared her letter would invite a reply full of anger and resentment that would burn into Amber’s heart. Even if that were the result, however, Amber did not feel comfortable allowing their relationship to remain as it was now that she better realized her part in the circumstances.

Perhaps if Darra wrote back with kindness Amber would share the details of some of the activities that now filled her time. Her sister would scarce believe such tales, but rather than feeling ashamed at the prospect, Amber smiled to think of Darra’s reaction. How she hoped to one day be restored to the comfort they had once shared. She vowed not to see such a connection as a small thing again.

Chapter 23

The day was cold but the skies were a brilliant Yorkshire blue when Thomas turned Farthing up the lane that led to Step Cottage—as it had been referenced by his brother’s solicitor, Mr. Llewelyn. The pursuit of the records, specifically a bill of sale for a sixty-acre piece along the riverfront, had led him to what was once the caretaker’s house of the parcel.

It had been some years since the cottage had functioned as such, Mr. Llewelyn had said, but as Thomas had looked everywhere else for the document, it was his last hope. If the document were not produced as proof of the Fielding estate’s ownership, they would have to take secondary documentation to the magistrate and attempt to have it rectified that way. Which could take months. It was nearing the end of the year, and Thomas was still not the legal owner of the lands he worked. If they could find the document, the end of this transfer would be in sight.

In preparation for this journey, he had asked after the cottage’s occupant, Mrs. Chandler, hoping to learn what to expect when he arrived. Based on the general feelings around town toward her—that she was isolated, eccentric, and not even accepting of clergy—he feared he was being too optimistic to hope she would allow him access to her library. Or perhaps desperate was a better description of what he was feeling.

Lady Fielding felt he should send a letter asking for audience, but with the weather so unpredictable he feared he could be delayed a week or more awaiting her response. Mrs. Chandler’s housekeeper, Mrs. Miller, came to town only once a week, or so the vicar had told him. He hoped Mrs. Chandler would be less inclined to turn him away if he were upon her doorstep, even if he were uncomfortable with the demanding nature of the visit.

He brought Farthing—his horse named by Lizabeth—to a stop at the bottom of the steps and jumped down before tying her to a post. He knocked three times on the heavy wood door before stepping back and waiting for it to be answered. It wasn’t an impressive cottage from any perspective, but he could see it was solid and there was smoke rising from the chimney. In addition to hoping Mrs. Chandler would let him in, he hoped it was warm. He was quite chilled from his ride despite today being the best day to travel these last two weeks.

He waited some time before stepping forward and knocking a second time. When more time passed and no one answered his knock, he found himself in quite a quandary.

Because of the distance from town and the unreliable nature of traveling so far this time of year, never mind the urgency he felt about the business that had brought him there in the first place, he was not much inclined to simply come back another day.

Thomas stepped around the side of the cottage. Perhaps Mrs. Miller was out back, though the temperature was such that he did not imagine she would be lounging about. He stepped through some of the sodden patches of brown grass around the edge of the house, but eventually found himself behind the cottage. There was a privy, a smokehouse, a coalshed, and what looked like a cellar entrance all close to the kitchen door.

He knocked again. Perhaps this woman whispered about in town was deaf and had not heard his knocks from the front of the house. Rumor had it that she was a cripple too, but certainly her housekeeper wasn’t.

The back door was not answered either. What poor luck on his part if both occupants had gone to town. If they were gone, however, could he let himself inside to look around on his own? As soon as he thought it, he rejected the idea. His morality would not allow such a trespass despite how much his lack of patience encouraged it.

He spied a path leading away from the cottage and decided to follow it. Perhaps there was another outbuilding where the residents of the cottage were occupied. The further he moved from the house, however, the more discouraged he felt. Why could not one part of this transfer be easy? Just one?

Chapter 24

The footsteps retreated but Amber did not relax one whit until they had disappeared completely. She did not think she had ever been so terrified as when this unwelcome guest had pounded on the door just two hours after Suzanne had left for town.

She had been in the library sketching out a pattern for a new shift she wanted to attempt to make from fabric Suzanne would be purchasing in town when the knock came. A man, based on the heaviness of his knock. Amber had immediately run for the kitchen and sat in the corner near the washstand where she could pull her knees to her chest and know she would be unseen through any window or door.

In all the months of living in Step Cottage no one had come when Suzanne was gone, and Amber could barely breathe until after she heard him leave—toward the stables, she thought. Did that mean he would come back to the house?

Once Amber was sure he was gone, for the moment at least, she crawled to the kitchen door and lifted the wooden plank into the braces on either side to secure it, then hurried to the front door and turned the lock before going about the house and pulling all the curtains closed.

Despite her overwhelming fear, there was an edge of excitement to the situation as well.

“Don’t be a goose,” she chided herself as returned to the kitchen. Suzanne would be laughing if she could see Amber’s actions and read her silly thoughts.

She pulled back the curtain over the washbasin just a bit to survey the yard, then squealed when the long legs of a man came into view. She dropped the curtain and resumed her position in the corner with her hands over her mouth, torn between laughing at herself and crying in fear. What if he were a highwayman come to murder her? And yet why would anyone come to Step Cottage for such a thing; there were plenty of people to murder not so far from the road.

Perhaps he was a bandit, hiding from the law! She nearly screamed again when there was another knock at the door beside her, sending her heart racing faster than she thought possible.

“Madam?” a man’s voice called. “I have seen that your carriage and horse are not in the stable, which means your housekeeper must have gone to town today. Please forgive me for such an inopportune visit, but it truly is of great importance that I speak with you. I am in need of your assistance with a matter of business.”

Amber didn’t move, but clearly this man was not a highwayman or a bandit; he had all the high tones of genteel breeding. The realization only gave her a modest degree of comfort. He was still a stranger—a
male
stranger no less—and she was still alone.

Yet if his assertions were correct, he needed her help and that made her curious at the very least. It had been a long time since she had conversed with anyone but Suzanne, let alone a
man
. In London, Amber had simpered and flattered her way through so many conversations with so many men; could she not talk with this one man now when he was in need of her assistance? The idea made her heart flutter. She was quick to remember that she was not Amber Sterlington, Rage of the Season. She was exiled and different in every way. But then, she did not need to flatter this man. She simply needed to
talk
to him. Could she do it?

“Madam,” he said again, his tone sounding less hopeful. “I saw the curtain move. I have come all the way from Romanby to look into your book room and can promise that if I could obtain access for just a short while I shan’t bother you again.”

Book room
? There was a book room at Hampton Grove where her father’s bailiff worked on the ledgers and kept documents associated with the estate. Here at the cottage, she assumed Mr. Dariloo kept those records at his own house, though she had seen past documents in the library from a time when the records were kept in residence. This had once been a caretaker’s house according to Mr. Dariloo, and the records had remained even when the cottage and connecting lands had been sold to Amber’s father.

Her neck was hot and her heart still racing when she made the momentous decision to respond to the gentleman outside. There was a door between them, and a braced one at that, so there was no fear he would see her. With such protections in place, she simply could not resist the temptation.

She lowered her hands from her mouth and moved on her hands and knees to the doorway. “What need have you for the items of the book room, sir?”

He was quiet for several seconds before he responded. “I understand that this house was once part of an estate that was divided out over time and sold. My father purchased one of those parcels, and I am seeking to get the legalities properly settled. I’m looking for a sale agreement and have looked everywhere in the county that might possibly have a copy except this place.”

Amber slowly stood, then pressed her back against the door and straightened the knit cap on her head. She had three of them now and rarely bothered with the lacy caps anymore. “The records here are not current, sir.”

He paused for a moment. “I’m afraid I did not understand you through the door, Madam.”

She cleared her throat and spoke louder this time. “Mr. Dariloo manages the land and keeps the current records.”

Another pause. “I am not looking for current records, but for records from twenty years ago.”

“Well, the latest records in my library are from ninety-four, I think.” She had had ample time to peruse the shelves of the library, though she certainly hadn’t read the estate records. “And I believe the earliest of them was sixty-nine.”

Again he paused before he replied, and she wondered at how often he did so. “I-I would be most obliged if you would allow me the opportunity to look at the documents to see if I may find the transaction in question. I believe the record was made in ninety, when the parcel in question was sold to my father.”

Amber was surprised at how much she wished she could help him. His interest seemed sincere and his presence was wonderfully diverting. Regardless, she could not bring herself to let him in. “I am afraid your timing is quite poor, sir,” she said. “My, uh, housekeeper is in town, and it would be most improper for you to come inside with no one to attend me.”

“Might I be so forward as to ask your name and station that I might address you properly as Madam or . . . perhaps as Miss? My name is Thomas Richards. My brother is Baron Fielding. He holds title to a parcel of land that connects to the eastern border of your property.”

My name?
Amber’s mind spun, trying to remember the name she had decided upon for her stay. She was to be a widow, she remembered that much, and disliking of company. If she sounded too agreeable would it conflict with the reputation Suzanne had shared in town? Amber had delayed an awkward amount of time before she recalled the information and answered his question.

“You may call me Mrs. Chandler. I am a widow.” She rolled her eyes at how stupid that sounded. Six months out of society and she couldn’t maintain the simplest of conversations. Besides, why was he asking her name so directly? It was highly improper for him to be so forward. But she had answered him all the same, and she couldn’t deny she had been equally curious as to his identity. Perhaps him talking through a door to a widow in the country was as unusual to him as it was for her to be talking through the same door to a man of gentle birth. Surely conventions could be set aside for such unique circumstances as this.

“Uh, my condolences,” he said, though it took her a moment to realize that he was referring to her deceased husband. How very considerate of him.

“And you think the record you seek is here?” Amber asked.

“Yes, and it is of great importance that I find it. Would it be at all possible for me to come in and look through the records?”

She had already told him that she was home alone and could most certainly not let him in. Beyond that, she felt no reason to refuse his request. It was simple enough to fulfill, only not today.

“My housekeeper shall be here the day after next. If you would be so kind as to return then, I shall see that you have full use of the library for as long as you desire.” Only when she finished did she realize that as a widow she would not need a chaperone. She frowned, but could not reverse her insistence.

“That is very kind of you,” he said, but the disappointment in his tone made her frown deepen. “I shall return on Friday then. What time would you like me to arrive?”

Amber calculated how long it would take to bake a cake, dust the library, and ensure Mr. Richards enough time to travel from Romanby and back without risk of being caught in the dark. “Eleven?” she asked. “I can have some tea and cake for you.”

“I shan’t need such consideration,” he said. “I shall return as you said, at eleven on Friday, assuming the weather holds.”

Imagining that he was turning to leave, Amber found herself eager to keep him talking. She faced the door and placed a hand upon it, though it seemed an overly dramatic gesture. “I am sorry you have had to journey so far, sir,” she said, hoping he could hear her sincerity.

He was quiet again, perhaps so angry at her refusal to let him in that he needed time to better control his words. “Thank you,” he said. “It was nice to meet you . . . Mrs. Chandler.”

“And I am most pleased to meet you . . . or, well, talk with you, Mr. Richards. I will look forward to seeing you on Friday . . . or, well, I shan’t be seeing you but Suza—my housekeeper will show you the library and all will be in readiness. I shall pray for clear skies on your behalf.”