Authors: Jessica Nelson
Finally she lifted her gaze to his. Concern shadowed her irises. “It worried me to see you so tired at the house party. Grandmother missed you, as well.”
His jaw tightened. “You are not to worry for me. What is it you wish to speak to me about?”
She held out the book. A navy blue monstrosity of a novel. “This. It is the collected plays of William Shakespeare. Not the tragedies, mind you, but the comedies, the romances. I wish to read it to you.”
Because she was holding out the book as though she wanted him to take it, he did. The weight of it sank his heart to the floor. “I have no time, Elizabeth, for such a venture. And are not plays meant to be watched?”
Her brows furrowed and her eyes clouded. “I considered the difficulty in that, yes, but it is my deepest desire to show you how much a story can mean. How beautiful and lovely a tale can be. I want you to understand why I love reading. If we are to be marriedâ”
“We will be married, and not long from now.” He handed the book back to her. “There is no need for me to understand why you love reading. I accept you as you are, but you must do the same for me.”
“Sharing what I love with you in order to expose you to a new perspective does not mean I don't accept you, Miles. I simply want you to understand the beautifully great scope of stories. Their extraordinary ability to draw out the imagination, to teach life lessons and to inspire one to greater heights of creativity.” She moved past him and set the book on his overcrowded desk. “Won't you consider allowing me to read to you? Perhaps only a few minutes per day? I would greatly enjoy it.”
Her eyes, so innocent and bright, fastened on him, pleading. He groaned. “Wrottesley will pay for this.”
“Is that a yes?” Her rosy lips curved becomingly. “You shall not regret it.”
“I already do.” He pulled out his pocket watch and tapped it sternly. “Thirty minutes a day, at the most. I haven't time for more than that.”
“You will see that reading is not frivolous. I can assure you that reading is like peering at the world through a telescope.”
Paperwork awaited. He glanced at the mounds, then back to Elizabeth, who glowed as if she'd accomplished some miraculous feat. “Is that all?”
She moved a bit closer to him. “I wonder how I could have known you for so long and yet never realized what a serious man you are. So serious. Working all the time. What do you do for fun, Miles?” A teasing lilt flavored her words.
“Poking fun at me? For shame, Bitt.”
“It's not as though you don't deserve it.” She turned and began touring his study. Touching the various objects he'd placed around the room. “After all those years you teased me.”
Miles rapped his fingers against his thighs. “Are we finished here?”
She cast him a disgruntled look. “Really, Mr. Hawthorne. That is not the way to speak to an old family friend. Shouldn't we get to know each other more?”
“No.”
She pursed her lips. “I disagree. A marriage must needs some measure of knowing, don't you think?”
“What I think has no bearing, but since you showed up unannounced and you're draining the time I have to work, let me remind you that the last time I saw you, you were miffed with me. There was no talk of getting to know each other nor special reading times.” As he spoke, his frustration mounted. He shoved one hand through his hair. Words pounded through him. “Our marriage is for convenience's sake. Nothing else.”
She stopped walking the room to face him, chin lifted. “You need not constantly remind me of your honorable choice. If I had known it would be such a heavy burden, I would have married Wrottesley instead.”
“Don't be ridiculous,” he growled.
“I could say the same for you.” She glared at him. “I am trying to make the best of a situation I would not wish on my mortal enemy. I have ideas and thoughts. Perhaps I prefer solitude and books to people and talking, but that does not mean I am without a brain. Is it so terrible to consider my opinions? They have merit.” She walked closer to him, invading his space, pressing the boundaries of propriety. “This delicate situation requires a bit of finesse and a changing of plans. Perhaps you should bear in mind the ways I have grown in order to meet your standards. And expectations.” She waved her free hand through the air. “Your horrific expectations. What have I asked of you? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
“Beyond marriage?”
“Only because the alternative was...” She expelled the last words on a soft breath, as though her speech had exhausted her.
“Unacceptable.” Miles touched her shoulders. Her head jerked up, her eyes lifting to his, and he knew he would do almost anything to make her happy.
Stunned at the realization, he released her and stepped back. Took an extra inch as a precaution. “Nevertheless, our marriage remains a business arrangement. There is no need to know each other beyond what is necessary.” He gave her a soft look, quelling the urge to reach for her. “Thank you for the information about the mills. I spoke with my brother and together we devised a plan for creating a more healthy work environment. I have decided that your ideas for the children are beneficial.”
“Thank you.” Elizabeth clasped her hands in delight.
“Now, if you don't mind, I have work to do.” He looked past her to the door. “Remember that two nights hence is the theater with Langford and his wife.”
She blinked, her features tightening. “I do not know them.”
“He is a business associate. As my future wife, you will often meet people you do not know,” he said sternly.
Blanching, she became completely and utterly still. Giving him a slow, appraising look, she nodded once, curtsied and left.
Groaning, he returned to his desk. This hasty betrothal was doomed to failure, and it was all his fault.
Chapter Sixteen
T
he Littleshire Mill sounded just as dreadful as Elizabeth remembered. Clutching her books to her bosom, she marched up the front steps to the entrance. Behind her, Miss Townsley struggled to keep up. The young governess had answered Elizabeth's ad for employment. Her serious air convinced Elizabeth that she was the best candidate for the job.
She wet her lips and waited for Jenna to open the door for them. The mill manager met them, a supercilious expression upon his weaselly features. How she'd hoped he'd be dismissed. Sucking back her disappointment, she squared her shoulders.
“Good day,” Elizabeth said in her most brisk tone. “We've come to teach the children.”
He made a little bow, probably to hide his displeasure. “I've assembled them in the lunch room.”
They followed him to the room. Children crowded within, standing against the walls, the tallest in the back and the smallest up front. Becky wiggled, her cleft lip hardly noticeable she was so covered in grime. Beside her, Katie giggled.
Elizabeth looked for Louise but did not see her. “Miss Townsley, please stay in here with the boys. Jenna, will you take the girls outside for fresh air and sunshine? Mr. Grealey, a word if you will.”
Without waiting for his answer, she pivoted and went into the hall. She walked toward the doors that led to the other rooms and then stopped to wait. Jenna led the girls outside. The sounds of snickers and shoes scraping the floor echoed in the long hall, though somewhat muted by the other sounds of the mill.
Little boy laughs filtered out, as well. Elizabeth was not concerned. Miss Townsley came with the highest references and much teaching experience. No doubt she would soon have those boys in hand.
Mr. Grealey came skulking out of the room. Unfortunately, he stood a head taller than her. She would prefer to loom over him but the Lord had made her Lilliputian.
That would be a most excellent novel to read to Miles. What man would not enjoy
Gulliver's Travels
?
Thinking about reading softened her ire as Mr. Grealey neared.
“My lady,” he said, the sound of his voice causing her teeth to grate.
“Children are missing. Bring them up, please.” She used her most haughty tone.
Grealey squinted at her, and inevitably, his attention moved to her cheek. Something near to a smirk twisted his lips. “I've brought all under the age of twelve.”
“But the ones who need to learn the most are the older children.”
“You are welcome to read my letter from Mr. Hawthorne, in which he instructed those beneath the age of twelve to be given precisely an hour of study.”
How utterly frustrating! She peered closely at him, but his eyes did not so much as flicker from her birthmark. In the past, she might have dropped her gaze and hidden from him. Perhaps scuttled off as some demeaned victim.
But the remembrance of Miles and his words regarding Becky filled her with strength. God made all things beautiful. Besides, Grealey's vile nature did not deserve one second of her thoughts. She ducked down, moving so that his gaze must meet her eyes.
“I realize that my birthmark is distracting, but do try to look me in the eyes when I speak to you. I shall contact Mr. Hawthorne as I'm sure his stipulation of age is a mere oversight. Be prepared in the coming weeks to have all the children assembled to learn.”
Mr. Grealey's mouth dropped open, rather like a stunned toad. Or what she imagined one might look like. Slimy man. Barely repressing a shudder, she brushed past him.
Within the room, Miss Townsley had captivated the children. They each bent over a slate as she instructed them in a quietly modulated voice on how to form the letter
A
. Flashing her a gratified smile, Elizabeth went outside in search of the girls.
She found them on a sunny square of grass, picking flowers. The mill sounded more soothing out here, the water wheel constantly gushing as it powered the machines within. Hundreds of yards away, the River Irwell glistened. There were places where the smell of pollution overwhelmed the senses, she'd been told, but her lady's maid had chosen to take the girls to a high part of the land, away from the stifling odor of the river.
“Ladies, I have a story for you.” Beckoning the girls, she settled down onto the grass. They followed her example. Jenna sat and two little ones climbed onto her lap. “After I read to you, I shall take you back to the room so that you may learn your letters. Listen closely.”
“I want to play,” piped up Becky.
“As you shall, when it is time. But every week or so I shall be visiting and we will read this magnificent adventure so that all of you may understand that life is not merely about the job you go to, but about the life you live.”
“Stories are boring.”
“You may go in and work if you do not wish to listen.” Elizabeth gave Becky what she hoped was a scolding look, though her heart pinched at the thought of the little girl leaving them to go into that odiferous factory.
Scrunching her face, Becky shook her head and settled onto the grass.
What transpired in that hour was more than Elizabeth could have ever hoped for. Halfway through the time, the girls and boys switched so that the boys could have a turn listening to a story. First they ran circles in the grass, somersaulting and whooping. Bittersweet, as they all knew the joy would be short-lived.
Still, a great feeling of accomplishment swelled through her as she read the book to them. The bright sun warmed her fingers and nary a sound from the boys could be heard as they listened to the story.
Why had she waited so long to help others? Though it was true the children did sometimes stare at her birthmark, overall, being out of the house and doing a useful good deed already felt as though it enriched her life. Miles had been right to prod her, she mused.
If being his wife opened the doors to helping others, then she had made the right decision. Whether he agreed or not. She thought of his coldness the last time they'd met, his distance when they'd gone to the theater with his friends.
He was the Miles she'd always known. From childhood he had been a brooding sort. Something bothered him, and now that she'd successfully implemented her idea, she would corner him and get to the bottom of his rottenness.
* * *
When Miles arrived at the Littleshire Mill, the first carriage he noticed bore the Windermar crest. So Bitt had come, after all.
Pensive, he strode to the factory and let himself in. Usually the faint clamor of machines and the water rush of the mill greeted him, but today another sound filtered into the entranceway. Hushed giggles and a soft, feminine voice.
Interest piqued, he inched toward the room where his employees normally ate and peeked in. His betrothed sat in a puddle of skirt, surrounded by children. They all giggled at something she said. He peered closer.
A huge book nestled in her lap. He supposed she didn't own a small novel.
He must have made a noise, for she looked up, beaming him a smile that indicated nothing of the way she'd left his study only days ago. At the theater she'd been quiet and only spoke when spoken to. When Langford mentioned her shyness, Miles simply nodded.
He did not know how much of her timidity was due to shyness and how much to self-consciousness, but looking at her now, she appeared to be neither.
Her eyes sparkled at him. She closed the book and addressed the children. “I have already used more time than allotted by reading to you beyond our outdoor lessons. You must work now, but I shall return.”
“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” lisped Becky.
Bitt flashed him a helpless look and then shrugged. “I will try, but I cannot promise anything. Only you all must do your very best to read everything that comes into sight, and if you find a book, hold on to it, stow it safely, for it is your entry into another world.”
She rose to her feet, and everyone followed her lead. Rustles and thuds resulted as children knocked into each other. Two women, one of whom Miles recognized as Elizabeth's lady's maid, waded into the crush of children and began ushering them out the door.
They waved to him as they stumbled by. He watched their exit and frowned. It did seem a shame to see them heading toward the main part of the mill rather than outside to play.
“I have to thank you, Miles. The children enjoyed their lesson immensely, and I feel it will not be long until each and every one is fully literate.”
Elizabeth moved past him, beckoning to the women. “You two may wait in the carriage while I speak with Mr. Hawthorne.”
Curtsying, the women left.
That left Miles and Elizabeth. He cleared his throat, feeling a strange itch at the back of it. “I'm happy the class proved productive.”
“Oh, it was. I confess to being...” She paused, looking furtively past him. Voice lowered, she continued, “Gravely disappointed that you still keep Mr. Grealey on hand. He is altogether unsettling, Miles. I do not care for him at all.”
“You must forgive his crass words. The man is doing his job.”
“This has nothing to do with forgiveness.” She hiked up her chin.
“I believe it does, but that is between you and God.”
“How very condescending.” She glared at him. Fortunately, he was well used to these looks of hers.
Winking at her, he gestured for her to follow him as he started down the narrow hall. “Come with me. I wish for you to look at my ledger again.”
She let loose a puffy exhale, most likely to express her displeasure with him, but the sound of her dainty steps echoed behind him. Once in the office, he went straight to the cabinet where Mr. Shapely kept the ledger. Behind him, Elizabeth plopped her book on his desk. Or so he assumed, based on the smacking sound the leather binding made against the wooden surface.
“Do you plan to always be peevish with me, Bitt?” he asked mildly as he drew out the book.
“Forever” came the snappish answer.
He turned. She lounged against his desk, a disgruntled slant to her lips. On her, it was adorable. But would she be like Anastasia? He wondered how often she cried, for his first wife had wept at the drop of a hat pin. She'd been very tenderhearted, and it had been the ruin of her.
Besides that time in the stables, a memory that never failed to twist his gut, he could not recall Elizabeth actually weeping. He studied her now, bringing the ledger to the desk and setting it beside her.
“Since I am incapable of making you happy, please take a look at this and show me the errors, for I have not found a one.” Obviously, he was incapable of pleasing women. The knowledge vexed him in unexpected ways. Elizabeth had been trying so hard to prove her mettle, but he feared in the end,
he'd
be the disappointment, not her.
The unpleasant conclusion tried his patience even more.
She flipped open the ledger but her eyes were on him. “Did you have a difficult day?”
“No harder than any other.”
“Come now, it is easy to see that you're worn and irritable. Perhaps we should stop by Grandmother's. I'm sure Cook has a tasty dish at the ready.”
“Eating solves nothing.”
“That is not what Grandmother says.”
“Must you always argue?” Miles threaded his fingers through his hair. “In truth, it has been a harder day than most. There was another machinery malfunction at my other mill and the costs are hefty.”
“Another one?” Elizabeth frowned, her empathetic tone making his arms ache to hold her.
A perfectly natural response, he assured himself. It was normal to seek comfort when agitated.
“Yes,” he said shortly. “I have a suspicion that someone is out to sabotage me, but I'm not sure who or why.”
“That is a strange thought, but it is true that all of these sudden problems are rather suspicious.” She paused, her finger to her chin. “Grandmother says that food comforts the soul and prayer comforts the spirit. Perhaps you ought to pray?”
He let out a short laugh. “I pray every day.” His relationship with the Lord was the only thing that kept him sane after Anastasia died.
“Well, that is very good of you. I did not use to, but when that dreadful Wrottesley accosted me in the gardens, I prayed hard indeed and God sent you. I was amazed by how quickly He responded. Perhaps if you pray now, He shall send you a quick answer.”
“He is not a math problem. Praying isn't an equation to solve to get what you want.”
“Don't be cross with me, Miles Hawthorne. I know that God is not my personal wishing well. I simply was surprised. I had expected a more distant being.” She propped her chin on her fist, her eyes taking on that faraway look. “I had almost hoped to get a glimpse of heaven through my telescope.”
Miles squinted at her, his chest constricting. Thinking about Wrottesley increased his pique exponentially, but Bitt was already dreaming of something else. She really had no idea, or refused to think about, the ramifications of what could have happened. But perhaps this was better.
She believed God to have rescued her, and as far as he remembered, Elizabeth had never spoken of God. He did not think she even attended any chapels, unless for a special occasion. With all her book learning, had she ever read the Bible?
He moved to the desk and propped himself on the corner. “My father believed deeply in God. He brought us up to have faith in the darkest of circumstances. Perhaps that is why he and your grandmother were great friends?”
“I'd like to believe they were secretly in love. Rather like Romeo and Juliet, but without the tragedy. Grandmother only speaks of him fondly. If she felt more for him than friendship, she does not let on. You know they were the same age. She simply had my mother before your father was even married. Perhaps they shared a similar faith.”
“What do you think of religion?” He studied her carefully, noting the thoughtful expression that crept into her eyes and the relaxed posture of her shoulders. What a fascinating woman Elizabeth had turned out to be.