Chapter 11
A few days after the storm passed, Lavinia Temperance, and Honora went into town.
The market was full of excited hawkers, children running around, and street vendors selling food.
The air was thick with the smell of fresh bread and roasting chestnuts threading through the sharper scents of horses and fresh mud.
Lavinia was not focused on that, however. She was focused on getting to the paint pigment shop. Vermillion, Prussian blue, Ivory, and yellow ochre. Even though she had made a list of which pigments she needed, her eyes wandered over the vibrant colors in the window display.
You do not need to buy them all.
She repeated that thought as though it would stop her from buying anything extra. It was unlikely to work.
“You are staring,” Honora teased.
“Leave her alone,” Temperance stepped in, flicking the back of Honora’s hand.
“Ow!” Honora cried dramatically. “You did not need to bludgeon me!”
“I did no such thing,” Temperance smirked, folding her arms across her chest.
“Would you both please behave?” Lavinia sighed. “I thought I had gone for a walk with my friends, not a pack of wild animals.”
“Well, if you insist on going to the one shop that only you have interest in,” Honora pouted.
“You are acting like a child,” Lavinia chided gently.
“You can hardly blame her; she has had neither a husband nor a suitor to make her act any differently,” Temperance said, patting Lavinia’s shoulder.
“Neither do you!” Honora cried out.
“No,” Temperance sighed. “But I have three older brothers, and a younger one, who act like a pack of wild dogs. One of us has to be the sensible one.”
“And which one of you is that?” Honora asked. Temperance glared at her and Honora quickly hid behind Lavinia’s arm.
“Ladies, please,” Lavinia sighed again. “And you should not be comparing your common sense to the state of the men in your life.”
“They certainly do not consider their common sense around us,” Temperance sighed.
“I am sorry, Lavinia,” Honora said sincerely. “I am not used to being away from my family for so long, and your estate has been so tense that I feel as if all the energy simply must come out of me now!”
“I understand,” Lavinia sighed. “It has been a difficult time at Briarwood Hall, but that is exactly why I need a few moments of quiet outside the estate.”
Lavinia trained her eyes back on the pigments in the window. The bickering continued quietly behind her, but she did her best to ignore it.
“I have made my choices,” Lavinia said after several minutes. “I will go and make my purchases. Please do not do anything deeply offensive while I am in the shop.”
“We will try our best,” Honora said.
“I make no promises.” Temperance grinned.
It took everything in Lavinia not to swat her friend with her fan.
Once she stepped inside, her shoulders relaxed as the smell of the paint and canvases filled her senses.
She quickly chose her colors, not wanting to be in there too long, lest she spend all of her money in only one shop.
“Vermilion, Ivory, and yellow ochre, please. Three bottles of each,” Lavinia said to the shop owner.
“Is that all, Your Grace?” the merchant asked.
Lavinia’s eyes glossed over the paints again, her jaw tensing as she tried her hardest to keep her self-control.
“And the Prussian blue, please,” she decided. The merchant grinned and nodded.
“I will wrap those up for you,” he said, writing out the receipt for her. Lavinia nodded, her chest warming as she took the receipt. After a moment, he handed her four parcels filled with the pigments, the small bottles clinking together.
I will never have enough self-control around pigments.
As she stepped outside again, Honora and Temperance were not fighting, much to her relief. Instead,, Temperance stood next to the paint shop, watching Honora, who was across the road with Mr. Silas Whitcombe, a local fabric merchant.
“How long has she been over there?” Lavinia asked.
“Only a few moments.” Temperance smiled. “It seems that they are having a spirited conversation.”
“Really?” Lavinia asked.
“Oh yes,” Temperance nodded. “She went over to ask about her silk order and has not come back since. I have heard sweet little giggles, and I am sure that Honora’s ears are a deeper shade of pink than before.”
“I see,” Lavinia said, something twisting in her chest. Mr. Whitcombe was a strapping young man, with dark brown hair and warm blue eyes.
He had always been sweet to Honora, and Lavinia had never thought much about it before.
However, it made her somewhat uneasy. It was not that he was untrustworthy.
After dealing with a man like Mr. Vale, she had developed something of a general distrust for all men.
After a few more moments, Honora walked back toward her friends, a small bundle of silk in her hands. Her cheeks were flushed a deep pink.
“Is that all of the order?” Temperance asked.
“No,” Honora shook her head. “But it was what he had available today.”
“Well, that is better than nothing,” Lavinia sighed. “What has you so pink-cheeked?”
“Oh!” Honora squeaked. “Mr. Whitcombe was asking if I would be at the assembly ball.”
“It is kind of him to ask,” Temperance said with a nod.
“Indeed,” Lavinia agreed. “But you are forbidden from falling in love until the inheritance matter has been resolved.”
Honora blinked in shock, then burst out laughing.
“I swear it, I will not fall in love until then.” Honora grinned and Lavinia nodded sagely.
“Come, we have more to do,” Lavinia said and the trio began to walk further down the street. Before they could turn down one of the winding cobbled streets, someone called out to Lavinia.
“Your Grace!” Lord Casterleigh shouted. Lavinia turned to face him.
“Lord Casterleigh,” she said. “What a lovely surprise.”
“Indeed, it is such a happy coincidence,” he agreed, walking in step next to her. “Allow me to take those parcels for you for a little while.”
“Thank you,” she said, gently handing the parcels over to him. “You always were attentive.”
“It is only right for a gentleman to assist a lady,” he replied. Honora and Temperance shared a pointed look.
“I am glad to have run into you, as I intended to ask you something,” he said, his voice quieting. “I have heard about a stranger, potentially attempting to claim your estate.”
Lavinia’s mood immediately soured.
“That is not something you need to worry about,” she sighed.
“I am simply hoping that it is just a rumor that the local populace have made up. After all, there have been talks of forged claims, men appearing from nowhere to seize inheritances, and even fortune hunters,” he said gently.
“I am not saying these things to alarm you. I worry about the fact that your position is so precarious.”
Lavinia studied him, searching his face for whatever lay beneath his mask of concern and affection. She had known that man long enough to know when a conversation was, from his perspective, a negotiation. Even so, she did not believe him to be entirely dishonest.
“I am well aware of my position,” Lavinia said, her voice taking on an edge that made Lord Casterleigh seem to reconsider his strategy.
“I understand,” he said. “Please, if anything seems irregular, or you need someone to speak to, you can always confide in me.”
Lavinia nodded, but she could feel the hair on the back of her neck prickle. She gently took the parcels of pigments from his arms again.
“Thank you for your consideration,” she said gently. “I believe we are stopping into the bakery now, and I would hate to take up too much of your time.”
“You could never take up too much of my time,” Lord Casterleigh said warmly. “And, please,” he took a step toward her. “I know that I can be… blunt, but it is because I worry for you. Look after yourself. I am here if you need me.”
Lavinia nodded and stepped into the bakery, Honora and Temperance following close behind.
“What an insistent man,” Honora sighed.
“Insistent or nosy?” Temperance asked.
“Both,” Honora said, folding her arms.
“He means well,” Lavinia added.
“I am less certain than you are,” Temperance replied. “Although I am not the one who has courted him before.”
“I am not saying that his intentions are entirely pure,” Lavinia went on. “But I am saying that he is, more often than not, coming from a good place.”
“I would still be careful of him,” Honora encouraged.
“You know I am careful.” Lavinia examined the bread and bought a few pastries before they left. As they walked down the road, she could feel Lord Casterleigh’s eyes on them. She kept her eyes straight ahead.
“Honora, you have met Mr. Vale, who appears to be causing our friend so many problems,” Temperance said as they continued. “What is he like?”
“I believe he is a good enough man,” Honora said thoughtfully.
“Really?” Temperance asked. “From what I have heard, the women of the village have found him handsome and are quite curious about him.”
“Oh, yes, and it is not an undeserving interest,” Honora shrugged. Lavinia felt herself bristling as her friends spoke about that infuriating man.
“If you are sure,” Temperance nodded. “They all believe the cover story, but there are others who are once again bringing up the old rumors.”
“There will always be those who do that,” Lavinia commented.
“Some are asking about the wedding night again,” Temperance continued.
“I do not believe I will ever escape those rumors,” Lavinia groaned.
“And they are asking if you will murder Mr. Vale too,” Temperance said with a wry smile. Lavinia burst out laughing and had to look away from her friends to regain her composure.
“Temperance, if I meant to do that, I would have done so already,” Lavinia grinned. “He is rude, ignorant, and stubborn; he assumes he may make decisions that do not concern him, he takes his tea far too strong; he is deeply frustrating!”
“You speak with considerable passion about a man you claim to despise,” Honora said with a sweet smile.
“That—I have a lot of grievances!” Lavinia stuttered.
“I also must say,” Honora continued, “that underneath all of the faults Lavinia sees in him—and she is not wrong, he is a man of many faults—I believe he is still a decent man.”
“It sounds as though you have to dig rather deep to find that decency,” Temperance said, trying not to laugh.
“I do not believe I have enough servants to dig down deep enough to find it,” Lavinia huffed.
“Perhaps,” Honora suggested, “you might try speaking with him rather than at him.”
Once they returned to Briarwood Hall, Honora and Temperance retired to the drawing room, chattering happily as Lavinia handed the pigments to a maid to bring upstairs.
As she turned toward the drawing room, she spotted sa bouquet of wildflowers with a small note attached and her heart leaped as she read it.
Thank you -R.V.
Lavinia considered the note.
R.V. Why would Mr. Vale leave me flowers?
“They are lovely, are they not?” Mrs. Briggs, an elderly housemaid, said as she walked into the room. “Thank you for allowing me to display them.”
“Display them?” Lavinia asked.
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Briggs nodded. “Mr. Vale brought them for me after I assisted him earlier in the week. He is a kind man under it all.”
Lavinia’s heart sank at the realization the flowers were not meant for her, but she managed a polite nod.
“Yes,” Lavinia said, clearing her throat. “Feel free to keep these in here as long as you wish to. They are… lovely.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Mrs. Briggs smiled and turned. Lavinia nodded as the housemaid walked away. She ignored the heat rising in her cheeks. Her eyes traced over the soft colors of the wildflowers, the delicate patterns on the petals, the sweet scent coming from them and closed her eyes.
She had not anticipated feeling upset that the flowers were not intended for her.
Lavinia took a deep breath and stepped back.
Any warmth I feel toward Mr. Vale is dangerous.
Warmth allows him to have access to my heart, and if I allow that, then I will not be able to save myself when he inevitably takes away my freedom.
“I will be back in a moment,” she said to Honora and Temperance before hurrying upstairs. She needed a moment alone.
However, when she entered the sitting room, she knew no relief would be found there. Her writing desk, which had been under the window for two years, was not there anymore. A larger, darker desk stood, pushed against the back wall.
Lavinia’s heart slammed into her ribs and tears blurred her vision. Her breathing escalated, and her chest tightened. Backing out of the room, she stumbled down the hallway to the study where she knew she would find Mr. Vale.
“Why have you moved my desk?” she asked, her voice trembling. He looked up at her, blinking in surprise. He had been sitting down, looking over the ledgers again, his fingertips stained with ink.
“Good afternoon to you too,” he said, standing. “Which desk—”
“My desk,” she repeated. “The one that has been in my sitting room for two years.”
“The new arrangement of the room provides better light for estate work,” he said firmly. “And why has the position and replacement of a desk upset you so?”
“It is not just about a desk,” she said, her voice tight.
“Every day I find you have changed something. A painting, a rug, a room. You have made decisions without me. You are erasing me from the house I have kept alive for two years.” She hated how her voice got louder and sharper as she spoke.
He watched her for a moment, then something flickered in his eyes that she did not know how to read.
“I am not erasing you,” he said firmly. “What I am doing is preparing to manage an estate that is legally mine.”
“The solicitor has not confirmed that,” she contested, her voice cracking.
“But he will,” Mr. Vale said, stepping closer. “You cannot expect me to live as a guest inside of my own inheritance.”
They stood only inches apart, neither willing to back down. Lavinia ignored the tears in her eyes and the ache in her chest. She swallowed hard and kept eye contact. All at once she seemed to become aware of him.
How tall he was, the shimmer in his eyes, the scent of sandalwood and horse leather on his clothes, the way his jaw tightened as he attempted not to say anything more impolite.
Self-loathing flooded her for noticing those things about him.
She hated how her pulse seemed to quicken at the realization.
Eventually, Lavinia turned away from him, looking out at the grounds from the window.
They were the grounds she had worked on for years, the ones that she had curated. They had been hers. She felt herself scrambling for the last scraps of control she had.
“It may be your inheritance,” she whispered. “But this is my home.”
She listened as footsteps left the room, the door closing hard behind him. Only then did she allow the tears to fall.