Read Online In the Spinster's Bed by Sally Mackenzie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sally Mackenzie
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shifted in her seat, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “Miss Cordelia wagered there’d have been fireworks if she had, and she and her sister giggled in a knowing, very annoying manner.”
Belle was certainly annoyed. And horrified. She’d been so certain she’d hidden her feelings for William successfully. “The idea!”
“Miss Cordelia even maintained that whenever you thought you weren’t being observed, you’d stare at Mr. Wattles”—Miss Hutting flushed—“as if you wanted to gobble him up.” Her nose wrinkled. “Disgusting. And she said he’d look at you in the same way when he thought no one was watching him.”
Had William really done that?
“I’ve never heard such baseless tittle-tattle. Those sisters could build bridges out of fairy dust.”
“Yes.” Miss Hutting took a sudden interest in the fabric of her skirt. “But as to the baselessness, er, well . . .” She looked back up at Belle. “Apparently Miss Gertrude saw Mr. Wattles go into the Spinster House one evening shortly after he arrived in Loves Bridge. She watched for an hour or so—she and Miss Cordelia were visiting their papa’s grave in the churchyard—and she didn’t see him come out again.” Miss Hutting frowned. “I asked her why she hadn’t raised an alarm, but she said she thought you wished to have him, ah, visit.”
Oh, God!
It was always best not to lie if one could avoid it.
She forced herself to laugh. “Heavens, how silly! Miss Gertrude must have seen Mr. Wattles the day he tried to help me discover how Poppy got into the house. Of course he left, likely shortly after Miss Gertrude stopped spying on me.” That was the curse of village living—nothing went unnoticed or unremarked upon.
Miss Hutting did not drop the matter—she could be bloody tenacious—but at least now she sounded merely puzzled rather than accusatory. “But why did Mr. Wattles do that, Miss Franklin? It’s not proper for an unmarried man to be alone with an unmarried woman. Is Mr. Wattles an acquaintance or relation of some sort?”
Of some sort.
“Mr. Wattles was merely being a gentleman, Miss Hutting.” Keep the story as close to the truth as possible. “He was concerned for my safety.”
“But Miss Cordelia said she’d seen him embracing you on the street earlier that day.”
What was this? Oh, right...
“He wasn’t embracing me, Miss Hutting. He was catching me. I’d tripped over Poppy and would have fallen if Mr. Wattles hadn’t happened upon me at just that moment.”
Miss Hutting grinned, looking much relieved. “I’m surprised he didn’t topple over with you. He’s rather on in years, isn’t he? And not especially robust.” She snorted. “But then, I can’t imagine teaching music requires much muscle, unless it’s to pound some knowledge into skulls as thick as my brother Walter’s.”
How could Miss Hutting say such things? William wasn’t at all old. And as for muscles—
She bit her lip. She wasn’t supposed to know about William’s muscles and—a spurt of what could only be possessiveness shot through her—she definitely didn’t want Miss Hutting knowing about them.
“And you are far too old for such foolishness yourself, of course, which you may be sure I told the Misses Boltwood.”
Blast it, her jaw hadn’t dropped, had it? Her fingers itched to wrap themselves around Miss Hutting’s neck. She’d show the girl old .
Miss Hutting flushed. “But they just laughed and said you were in your prime and likely desperate to—” Her flush deepened.
And she’d strangle the Boltwood sisters as well.
“But then Miss Gertrude shushed Miss Cordelia and said she shouldn’t sully my virginal ears.” Miss Hutting scowled. “I hate it when people say that.”
“I’m sure you do.” And she was equally sure she wished to bring this conversation to an end. She made a great show of consulting her watch. Thank God! “Why, look at the time. It’s already past five o’clock. I must close
Belle was certainly annoyed. And horrified. She’d been so certain she’d hidden her feelings for William successfully. “The idea!”
“Miss Cordelia even maintained that whenever you thought you weren’t being observed, you’d stare at Mr. Wattles”—Miss Hutting flushed—“as if you wanted to gobble him up.” Her nose wrinkled. “Disgusting. And she said he’d look at you in the same way when he thought no one was watching him.”
Had William really done that?
“I’ve never heard such baseless tittle-tattle. Those sisters could build bridges out of fairy dust.”
“Yes.” Miss Hutting took a sudden interest in the fabric of her skirt. “But as to the baselessness, er, well . . .” She looked back up at Belle. “Apparently Miss Gertrude saw Mr. Wattles go into the Spinster House one evening shortly after he arrived in Loves Bridge. She watched for an hour or so—she and Miss Cordelia were visiting their papa’s grave in the churchyard—and she didn’t see him come out again.” Miss Hutting frowned. “I asked her why she hadn’t raised an alarm, but she said she thought you wished to have him, ah, visit.”
Oh, God!
It was always best not to lie if one could avoid it.
She forced herself to laugh. “Heavens, how silly! Miss Gertrude must have seen Mr. Wattles the day he tried to help me discover how Poppy got into the house. Of course he left, likely shortly after Miss Gertrude stopped spying on me.” That was the curse of village living—nothing went unnoticed or unremarked upon.
Miss Hutting did not drop the matter—she could be bloody tenacious—but at least now she sounded merely puzzled rather than accusatory. “But why did Mr. Wattles do that, Miss Franklin? It’s not proper for an unmarried man to be alone with an unmarried woman. Is Mr. Wattles an acquaintance or relation of some sort?”
Of some sort.
“Mr. Wattles was merely being a gentleman, Miss Hutting.” Keep the story as close to the truth as possible. “He was concerned for my safety.”
“But Miss Cordelia said she’d seen him embracing you on the street earlier that day.”
What was this? Oh, right...
“He wasn’t embracing me, Miss Hutting. He was catching me. I’d tripped over Poppy and would have fallen if Mr. Wattles hadn’t happened upon me at just that moment.”
Miss Hutting grinned, looking much relieved. “I’m surprised he didn’t topple over with you. He’s rather on in years, isn’t he? And not especially robust.” She snorted. “But then, I can’t imagine teaching music requires much muscle, unless it’s to pound some knowledge into skulls as thick as my brother Walter’s.”
How could Miss Hutting say such things? William wasn’t at all old. And as for muscles—
She bit her lip. She wasn’t supposed to know about William’s muscles and—a spurt of what could only be possessiveness shot through her—she definitely didn’t want Miss Hutting knowing about them.
“And you are far too old for such foolishness yourself, of course, which you may be sure I told the Misses Boltwood.”
Blast it, her jaw hadn’t dropped, had it? Her fingers itched to wrap themselves around Miss Hutting’s neck. She’d show the girl old .
Miss Hutting flushed. “But they just laughed and said you were in your prime and likely desperate to—” Her flush deepened.
And she’d strangle the Boltwood sisters as well.
“But then Miss Gertrude shushed Miss Cordelia and said she shouldn’t sully my virginal ears.” Miss Hutting scowled. “I hate it when people say that.”
“I’m sure you do.” And she was equally sure she wished to bring this conversation to an end. She made a great show of consulting her watch. Thank God! “Why, look at the time. It’s already past five o’clock. I must close
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