Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
As the physician had predicted, James made a full and rapid recovery.
To celebrate, his brothers and brother-in-law took him to supper at the Briarbush Inn.
Located on the corner of High Street, the popular establishment had a comfortably shabby ambiance.
The ceiling sagged between heavy oak beams stained by soot.
Plaster crumbled from walls mellowed by time.
The air was redolent of baking bread, roasting meat, and beeswax polish.
This evening, the public room was as packed as a market at noon.
Competition for the dining tables was fierce, especially for those close to the giant stone hearth that held a kettle of simmering mulled cider.
Owen’s attempts to secure a table had been foiled twice: first by a rector who’d sped by on winged feet, then by a spinster who’d simply knocked him aside with her cane.
Rubbing his side, Owen muttered, “Care to remind me why we are dining here?”
“It’s Thursday,” Ethan said.
Owen drew his brows together. “What is special about Thursday?”
“It’s Pie and Fool night. And no one makes a pie or a fool like Mrs. Thornton.”
“What kind of pie? And what flavor is the fool?”
Despite his gangly build, Owen ate like a horse…
which came as a relief to James and the family.
Following his return from Afghanistan, Owen had gone through years with little or no appetite.
That, combined with too much drinking and not enough sleep, had turned him into a walking skeleton.
Since his arrival in Chuddums last fall, he had filled out.
He would always be lanky, but his enjoyment of the hearty country fare and working outdoors had toughened his physique.
His brown hair was overdue for a trim, but he looked rested…
which owed less to the bucolic setting and more to burying the hatchet with Ethan.
Watching his brothers banter, James felt a weight lift from his shoulders.
As the eldest, he had a duty to look after his siblings.
Witnessing their rift and being powerless to fix it had been excruciating.
He’d feared that their relationship might never be mended, but then a miracle happened.
Ethan had purchased Bottoms House, and in this downtrodden village in the middle of nowhere, he’d found Xenia.
Or at least, he hadn’t pushed her aside when James had suggested that he hire her as a housekeeper.
Xenia had restored more than Ethan’s manor.
Her love had healed Ethan and allowed him to forgive Owen.
Even if Owen hadn’t forgiven himself for injuring Ethan, the two had reconciled.
A few months later, Gigi found her soulmate as well.
Initially, James had had doubts about Conrad Godwin, but he now saw the man’s devotion to Gigi—and to rebuilding Chuddums.
Maybe this place does possess some sort of magic. Maybe my siblings and I were destined to come here for a reason. Maybe there is hope, not just for them, but for me as well.
Thinking of the conversation with Evie, James felt a surge of hope.
It had been their first honest conversation in nearly a year.
She’d been open about her feelings in a way she never had been before.
Recalling her anguish, his throat tightened.
The grief she’d bottled up had been like a poison and needed to be purged.
Truth be told, he’d been surprised by his own show of emotion.
By expunging the past, they could move on.
The loss would always be there, but they could face the future together.
He recalled her wistfulness regarding a second chance, and determination welled inside him.
Now that there were no longer secrets between them, he would show his wife the sort of marriage he desired.
He hadn’t made his move yet; he wanted to be strategic.
To choose his next steps with deliberation and care.
Although their tension had improved since their talk, Evie remained skittish around him.
Last night before supper, he had tested the waters. Dismissing his wife’s maid, he’d helped her put on her mama’s pearl necklace. She’d shivered when he’d slid those cool pearls around her neck, and he couldn’t resist kissing her—a simple brush of his lips beneath her left ear.
Color had flooded her cheeks. She’d twitched as if she’d touched an electrifying machine.
“We…we can’t be late for supper,” she’d stammered.
As excuses went, it was a transparent one, but he had let it go.
Throughout supper, he’d watched her, the way those pearls bobbed upon her magnificent breasts, the sweet curve of her cheek when she smiled.
Several times, their gazes had collided, and she’d averted hers, with an endearing shyness that made him grow hard beneath the table.
That night, it had taken considerable willpower not to climb into bed with her.
He was recognizing that passion wasn’t their problem.
Looking back, that had been the one area where their connection had always been robust. True, she’d pushed him away physically for a time, but her explanation had made sense.
He believed that she hadn’t meant to do so—and now the heat was back between them, stronger than ever.
Yet he sensed there was still something holding her back.
A remnant of grief, perhaps, or the natural awkwardness that came with getting reacquainted?
Lying on the lumpy sitting room sofa, he didn’t know what the problem was, precisely, but he knew he needed to take things slowly with Evie.
They needed to get to know one another again… or perhaps for the first time.
That didn’t stop him from fantasizing, however.
The images of making love to his wife while she was clad in only her pearls and spectacles had made his blood rush.
Like a damned greenling, he’d been forced to take matters into his own hands, stifling his groans with a pillow.
The release had cleared his head and clarified his plan.
He would court Evie again, get to know her body and mind. He would secure her love. By doing so, he would steer their marriage back on course…and finally fulfill his family legacy.
“The filling and flavor depend on Mrs. Thornton’s mood,” Ethan was saying as he clapped Owen on the back. “A word to the wise, lad. Whatever you do, do not ask the good lady questions about the menu.”
Owen frowned. “Why not?”
“Just trust me on this—”
“Good evening and welcome, sirs.”
The booming voice belonged to Mr. Thornton, the proprietor.
The fellow’s chest was as wide as the barrels of ale lined up behind his bar, and his rolled sleeves revealed bulging arms that would make a guest think twice about unruly behavior.
His hair was concentrated on his bushy mutton chop whiskers, and his bald pate gleamed as he bowed.
“Good evening to you, Mr. Thornton,” Ethan replied. “We were in hopes of securing a table, but it appears you are fully occupied—”
“Never too occupied for the Harringtons,” Mr. Thornton declared. “Or for you, Mr. Godwin. The improvements you’ve made to the square have already brought new business to the village and my establishment. As landlords go, you are a breath of fresh air. Especially after the last bloke.”
“The investment is of mutual benefit,” Godwin replied. “And when it comes to cultivating Chuddums, my wife is never short on inspiration.”
“Gigi says the village needs an apothecary, a theatre, and a hospital,” Ethan said wryly. “I don’t suppose you’re going to build those for her as well?”
His green eyes glinting, Godwin said nothing.
“Bloody hell,” Ethan grumbled. “You are going to spoil our sister rotten.”
“She could never be anything but sweet.”
Hearing the former cold-blooded rake utter those words with absolute conviction, James felt his lips twitch. Yet he wasn’t surprised. His baby sister could melt a heart of stone.
“Lord Manderly, you are an esteemed guest this eve.” Mr. Thornton’s gaze turned speculative. “If you don’t mind my saying, your bid for the Reading seat is a topic of great interest to many here.”
“I never object to the truth,” James said easily. “I would expect, nay hope, that there would be curiosity about my candidacy and the upcoming hustings.”
Friend and Dunsmuir had gone full steam ahead with the campaign.
Their most recent plan involved hosting a hustings in Chuddums. They’d argued that holding a political rally here—the first of its kind in Chuddums’s history and one that would bring visitors to benefit the local economy—would signal that James was no aristocratic snob, but a man of the people.
The fact that the formerly downtrodden place was undergoing a renaissance, thanks in no small part to James’s kin, was visible evidence of what he stood for: progress and prosperity for all.
While James had to admit the plan was sound, he had to prepare with haste since the hustings was to be held in three weeks’ time.
His rival, Eustace Ryerson, had already agreed to debate him—and planned to preach fire and brimstone, no doubt.
Ryerson was also spreading coin to win favor, and rumor had it he meant to pack the hustings with hired supporters.
When Dunsmuir suggested copying that strategy, James had unequivocally refused.
He was going to win by honest means—or not at all.
As the innkeeper led them through the crowded public room, James did indeed draw his share of attention.
He exchanged pleasantries and answered questions.
Whether these men had the right to vote was irrelevant: everyone had the right to be treated with respect, and their concerns mattered as much as any landowner’s.
As he’d expected, people’s main worries had to do with putting bread on their tables and caring for their families, and he took the time to explain the benefits of his proposed reforms in plain and simple terms.