Read Online Lady of Milkweed Manor by Julie Klassen - Free Book Online Page A

“You are quite right, Miss Lamb. Forgive me.”
    “If you are implying what I think you are, you are quite mistaken.”
    “Am I? Then I confess myself relieved.”
    “Relieved? Why so?”
    “Well, it is just that I should be disappointed were you already spoken for.”
    “I am not spoken for, Mr. Bentley. I am only seventeen.”
    “Seventeen. And my uncle is, what? Five and thirty?”
    “Not so old as that, I don’t think.”
    He studied her face, and her discomfort grew under his close scrutiny.
    “In any case,” she hurried on, “I’ve no thought of marriage. My sister is two years older and has no thought of it either.”
    William looked up at the vicarage window and Charlotte followed his gaze. She saw Beatrice standing there frowning down at them. When she saw them look up, she spun away.
    “I wouldn’t be too sure of that, Charlotte,” Mr. Bentley said, then lowered his eyes back to her. “May I call you Charlotte?”
    “Yes, please do.”
    “And you must call me Mr. Bentley.”
    She looked at him dumbly, taken aback.
    He smiled, reached out, and rubbed an immaculate gloved finger across her forehead. She allowed him to do so, standing like a submissive schoolgirl. Then he showed her the dirt-stained glove. “Dirt doesn’t suit you, Charlotte. You should remain unsullied by the earth you love.”
    In the manor garden, Charlotte stooped awkwardly over her rounded middle to pick up a stone. She wondered briefly where William Bentley was now and if he truly planned to marry her sister. Had his intentions ever been honorable? Rising gingerly, she hurled the stone into the mossy pond, where it landed with a dull plop.
     
    Unsullied indeed.

    That very afternoon, Charles Harris rode his horse from his estate toward the Doddington vicarage.
    A young lad herded a dozen sheep across the pasture path, so he had to slow his horse to allow them to pass. The boy tipped his hat to him, but Charles Harris only gave a terse nod in return. In no mood to be hindered, Charles pulled the reins up short and urged his horse up the embankment and around the walled churchyard. He was irritated to see his nephew’s grey gelding in front of the vicarage, old Buxley attempting to hold the jittery horse by its bridle. What is that boy up to now?
    Here William came in his green coat and cravat and fine hat, his smile decidedly self-satisfied.
    “Hello, Uncle. Sorry I cannot stay and chat. Pressing business calls.”
    The young man was a dandy and a conniver. Charles should have discouraged his visits to the vicarage, but it was too late now.
    Astride the horse now, William turned in the saddle and said with seeming innocence, “Miss Charlotte seems to have disappeared utterly. You haven’t any idea what that’s about, do you?”
    Charles stared, dumbfounded at the boy’s insolence. He opened his mouth to fashion some feeble reply, but the young man was already spurring his mount down the lane.
    Buxley took his horse with a “Good day to you, Mr. Harris.” Charles entered the vicarage and Tibbets took his hat and showed him into the drawing room. Gareth Lamb sat on one of the satin settees, staring off into space while his elder daughter, Beatrice, picked at tinny melodies on the pianoforte.
     
    “There you are, Charles,” the vicar greeted him gloomily. “We despaired of ever seeing you again.”
    “Yes … Katherine prefers town to country living, I’m afraid. I’ve just come round to check on the place and visit my mother and all of you.”
    “Do come and sit down.”
    But Charles hesitated, looking around the room for some clue that what he had heard was true. Beatrice looked up at him with a brief nod.
    “Good day, Beatrice.”
    “Mr. Harris.” She played on, seemingly unconcerned with or unaware of his agitated state or her father’s pale stupor.
    “And … where is Charlotte this fine day?” He attempted a weak smile.
    “Who?” Mr. Lamb asked, his expression blank.
    “What do you mean, who?