Chapter Five A Proposal Of Sorts
Lydia
I told myself I was finished thinking about Gavin Wickham.
That was a lie, but it was a comforting one, and I repeated it while carrying a stack of mismatched plates from the sitting room to the kitchen.
The Snowdrop Inn had settled into its evening rhythm, which meant the day’s chaos had not ended so much as changed shape.
Tools were stacked where they didn’t belong.
A ladder leaned against the wall like it was waiting for instructions.
Someone had left a tape measure on the mantle of the fireplace again, which felt less like an accident and more like a personality trait.
I gathered the odds and ends, putting them in a box at the lobby desk so that little hands and guests wouldn’t do something silly with them before going back to get another stack of plates.
The smell of something baked hovered in the air. Jane had been experimenting again, which meant the results would either be excellent or require a diplomatic explanation.
I set the plates beside the sink and stared at my reflection in the darkened window above it. The glass caught my face at an angle, tired and thoughtful, brow furrowed in a way that suggested I was thinking far too hard about something that couldn’t be undone.
Gavin was not gone in the way I wanted him to be gone.
Not because he was present, but because he had left me feeling like I was to blame for the entire episode.
I had finally stopped checking my phone to see if he might call back or text.
That Gavin might just tell me it had all been a misunderstanding and a mistake.
He would return the money and it would be accepted that I had organized the Christmas dance with success.
Of course, that wasn’t the truth.
Instead I had invited a thief to the inn, giving him every opportunity to steal from us. It was my fault.
The pieces Ephram had laid out earlier fit together too cleanly. I had been the naive access point, giving Gavin the opportunity.
I turned back to the sink and plunged my hands into the water, scrubbing a plate harder than necessary. If I stayed in my head too long, I would start rewriting conversations that were already finished. That way led nowhere useful.
Jane brushed past me with a bowl tucked against her hip. “If anyone asks, that smell is experimental.”
“That doesn’t reassure me,” I replied.
She smiled anyway, that patient, gentle smile that made people trust her almost immediately. Jane had always been like that. She was warm and quiet. The kind of person people confided in without realizing they were doing it.
Now that she was with Braxton, she was happier than ever. It was a soft love between them, both of them cautiously fawning over each other.
I had been silly to think that Gavin was my boyfriend. He had given me compliments, seemed so mature and smart, sent me small inexpensive gifts, and then taken so much before disappearing.
Maybe love wasn’t flashy and lovebombing. Maybe it was quietly choosing each other every day like Jane and Braxton were.
From the other room, Lucy’s voice rose over the sound of tools being put away. “I’m just saying that if you label things, people might stop asking what is in them.”
“That assumes people read labels,” my mother called back.
“I read labels,” Lucy said.
“You read labels selectively,” my mother replied.
I leaned my hip against the counter and let myself breathe for a moment.
This was familiar Bennet banter and it made me smile.
The inn was unfinished, chaotic, and constantly on the verge of a small disaster, but the noise of my family moving through it grounded me.
It reminded me why we were here in the first place.
Without meaning to, my thoughts drifted toward a certain guest.
Ephram was upstairs, temporarily here until his house was fixed.I barely knew him. I had met him less than twenty-four hours ago. And yet his calm professionalism lingered in my thoughts, steadying in a way I had not anticipated.
It also helped that he was cute.
“Lydia and Jane.”
I turned as my father appeared in the kitchen doorway, his expression careful. That look always meant he was about to ask us all for patience.
“Do you have time to come to the sitting room for a moment?” he asked. “Collin has a few things he would like to discuss.”
Every muscle in my body tightened. Whatever was happening, I didn’t see it as being any good.
“We can go right now, as long as I’m back in twenty minutes to get my baking out of the oven,” Jane agreed.
I wiped my hands on a towel then followed them to the sitting room.
Collin stood near the fireplace, hands folded neatly in front of him, looking entirely too comfortable.
He had positioned himself as though the space belonged to him, and the longer I looked at him there, the more it irritated me.
This was my parents home and dream, not his. He was not in charge here.
Jane took a seat on the sofa, posture attentive.
Lucy leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, already braced for nonsense.
Mom and Dad stood together, Dad with an arm around her shoulders.
Kitty and Meri sat each in an armchair, waiting to hear what was going on.
I hovered near the doorway, close enough to listen and far enough away that I could escape if necessary.
“Thank you for indulging me,” Collin said smoothly. “I will be brief.”
No one believed him.
“As you know,” he continued, “I have a vested interest in the success of the Snowdrop Inn.”
Invested interest. The phrasing grated.
“I have been reviewing projections for the Inn including expenses, renovation timelines and long-term sustainability.”
Lucy muttered something under her breath that sounded like “Here we go.”
“One must think ahead, especially when family assets are involved,” Collin went on pompously.
Jane shifted slightly, still polite but alert now.
“It has occurred to me,” Collin said, smiling as if he were about to offer a generous solution, “that there is a very sensible way to stabilize matters. I have no wish to create a fracture in the family should payments default. Family is very important and should be treated as a sacred institution.”
A cold feeling settled low in my stomach.
He turned his full attention to Jane.
“Jane,” he said warmly. “You have always struck me as particularly well suited to partnership.”
Jane blinked once. “I’m sorry?”
“A marriage,” Collin said, clearly pleased with himself. “Between us. A merger, if you will. Emotional and financial.”
For a moment, the room was completely silent.
Jane’s expression did not change right away, which told me she was stunned. Jane was very good at smoothing reactions, at responding graciously even when she was surprised, but this had clearly knocked the air out of her.
“You’re our cousin,” I inserted into the conversation. “Isn’t that illegal or at the very least frowned upon?”
“Third cousin, twice removed. That is not a barrier to our happy union,” Collin replied with a satisfied smile.
“You’re very kind,” she said at last, and I admired her composure even as my internal alarms began screaming. “But I am already in a relationship .I am very happy and I am not available.”
Collin frowned slightly, as though this were an inconvenience rather than a rejection.
“Oh,” he said. “That is unfortunate timing.”
Lucy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You can’t be serious.”
Collin waved a hand. “Of course I am serious. Still, if Jane is otherwise occupied, then we should consider alternatives.”
Alternatives. My stomach bottomed out at the word.
Collin nodded, making a note on a small pad he had produced from somewhere. I didn’t want to know what he was writing.
“Well,” he said briskly, “it was worth discussing. Lucy? While you are not as pretty as your older sister, we still may suit each other.”
Lucy pushed off the wall. “You can’t just move down the line like we are items on a checklist.”
Collin looked genuinely puzzled. “I fail to see why not. It is a practical matter. Perhaps you simply need to take time to think the matter through.”
“I’m not marrying you,” Lucy said definitively. “I have a boyfriend.”
I met Jane’s eyes and saw the apology there. Not for refusing him, but for what she suspected might come next.
Collin tilted his head then smiled. “Ah. I see. You seek to use the same excuse as your sister.”
“It’s not an excuse,” Lucy bit off.
“Many young ladies choose to reject the first proposal from a suitor. We will revisit the topic later after you have had time to think of the advantages of my offer,” Collin said pleasantly. “There is no need to rush such important decisions.”
He smiled, entirely satisfied, before quitting the room.
I excused myself before my mouth could override my judgment.
In the kitchen, I pressed my palms flat against the counter and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then I laughed, a short, incredulous sound that surprised even me.
Lucy appeared beside me, eyes bright with fury. “Did that just happen?”
“Yes,” I said. “It did.”
“He proposed to Jane like he was presenting a quarterly report.”
“Yes.”
“And he wrote it down.”
“Yes.”
“Then he looked at me next, like he was shopping for a bride from a grocery list.”
“Yes.”
Lucy stared at the ceiling. “I am going to need coffee. Or wine. Possibly both.”
Jane slipped in quietly and closed the door behind her. “I am so sorry.”
“This isn’t your fault,” I said immediately.
“I know,” she said, though her shoulders still sagged. “I just did not expect that.”
“No one could ever expect that,” Lucy said, grabbing a bottle of wine from the wine fridge.
Later, when the house quieted and I finally sat alone with my notebook, the weight of the day settled in.
The float list stared back at me.
Vehicle was still circled and unresolved.
Wickham had taken advantage of trust. Collin was trying to turn obligation into leverage. Different men. Same assumption.
That someone would accommodate them.
I heard footsteps cross the room and looked up to see Ephram heading toward the door. He paused when he noticed me.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said automatically. Then I exhaled. “No. But it will be.”
He nodded, accepting that without probing. “Good night, Lydia.”
“Good night.”
As the door closed behind him, I shut my notebook and stood.
The inn mattered. My family mattered. My independence mattered.
And I was not marrying Collin to save any of it.
Tomorrow, I would ask for help. Tomorrow, I would stop pretending I could carry everything alone.
Tonight, I allowed myself one final thought, sharp and steady.
Absurd men did not get to dictate my future.
Not here. Not now.