Was enough, ultimately, to make him refocus on the various estate papers spread before him. Grimacing, he picked up a pen, and forced himself to deal with what he could during the day, and leave the night’s challenges until then.
“T here’s a gentleman here to see you, miss.”
Folding and sorting the freshly laundered clothes in the orphanage nursery, the perfect way to keep her mind from dwelling on other, infinitely more distracting things, Sarah looked up as Maggs stuck his curly head around the door.
“Mrs. Carter said as she’d put him in the office and could you come down and see him.” Maggs grinned. “He looks like a shylock.”
“I see.” Sarah laid aside a pair of woolen socks, rose and went to the door. “Thank you for the message, and now back you go to your lessons—and no dillydallying along the way.”
Maggs essayed an affronted look, which Sarah returned with a glance sufficiently pointed to have him heaving a put-upon sigh. “All right. I’ll go straight back.”
Sarah followed him down the stairs. At the foot, Maggs slouched into the corridor leading to the room Joseph used for his classes. Smiling at the blatant evidence of his reluctance, Sarah headed for the office.
Joseph had been exposing the older boys to Shakespeare. While she doubted that any moneylender had called to see her, she wasn’t surprised when on opening the study door she discovered a thin, sharp-featured gentleman dressed in rusty black. With his small, deep-set dark eyes and blade-thin nose, he was clearly Maggs’s vision of what a shylock should look like.
She hid her amusement behind a welcoming smile. “Good afternoon. I’m Miss Conningham.”
The man had risen; now he bowed, a touch obsequiously. “Mr. Milton Haynes, miss. I’m a solicitor from Taunton, and I have an offer to lay before you from one of my clients.”
Sarah gestured to Mr. Haynes to resume his seat in the chair before the desk while she stepped behind it and sat in the desk chair. “An offer?”
“Indeed, miss.” All brisk efficiency, Mr. Haynes lifted a leather satchel onto his lap, opened it, and extracted a folded document. “If you’ll permit me?” At Sarah’s nod, he set down the satchel and, with a certain sense of drama, spread the paper on the desk before her. “As I will endeavor to explain, Miss Conningham, this is what I have no hesitation in describing as a very generous offer for the house and land described as Quilley Farm—you will see the sum proposed here.” He pointed with a neat fingernail. “Now, if you will allow me to advise…”
Frowning even more, Sarah reached for the paper, drawing it from beneath the solicitor’s finger; he was reluctant, but in the end lifted his digit and allowed her to pick up the sheet.
Although she was unfamiliar with such documents, a quick scan of the convoluted legal phrases confirmed that someone was indeed making an offer for Quilley Farm, house and land all together, and the sum offered was enough to make Sarah blink.
Mr. Haynes cleared his throat. “As I was about to say, this offer is extremely generous, certainly significantly more than you could expect on the open market in this area, but my client wishes to secure the property, so is willing to offer above the odds.” He leaned forward. “Cash, I might add. Nothing questionable, no, indeed.”
Sarah lifted her gaze to Haynes’s face. “Who is your client?” According to the letter, the offer was made via Haynes’s office.
Haynes sat back, his gregarious expression fading into primness. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge his name. He’s an eccentric, and prefers absolute privacy.”
Sarah raised her brows. “Indeed?” She had no idea what to make of that. Were such anonymous transactions common? Regardless…“I’m afraid, Mr. Haynes, that your client has been misinformed.” She stood; folding the sheet, she handed it back to Haynes who, face falling, was forced to rise, too. “I have no interest in, or intention of, selling Quilley Farm.”
Seeing something like shock infuse Haynes’s sharp features—perhaps understandable given the sum offered—she added, “The farm was bequeathed to me as a working orphanage with the clear assumption I would keep it operating as such. I couldn’t break faith with such a legacy.”
Haynes opened his mouth, then shut it. After a moment, he said, “Oh.”
Deflated, he allowed Sarah to herd him out of the office and to the front door.
There he turned. “I’ll report to my client, of course, but, well…I suppose there’s no likelihood of you changing your mind?”
Sarah smiled and assured him there was no chance what ever. Shoulders slumping, Haynes mounted the cob he’d left tied outside the door, and, spirits dampened, trotted off down the drive.
Folding her arms, Sarah leaned against the door frame and watched him go. He disappeared for a while, shielded by the dip and the houses of Crowcombe, then reappeared, trotting as fast as the cob would go south along the road to Taunton.
She heard a footstep behind her and turned her head. Katy Carter appeared and came to stand by her shoulder; wiping her hands on her apron, she looked out—at the dwindling figure of the solicitor.
“Said as he had an offer to make you, one you couldn’t refuse.” Katy shot Sarah a questioning look.
She met it with a grin. “In that, he was mistaken. It was an offer to buy the farm, house and land, but I explained I had no interest in selling.”
Katy nodded, turning back into the house. “Aye, well, I didn’t think you would. Old Lady Cricklade would turn in her grave.”
Looking out once more, Sarah chuckled. “She’d come back to haunt me.” She smiled at the memory of the gaunt, autocratic figure she’d been so fond of, heard again her godmother’s strident tones.
Glancing back as Katy headed for the kitchen, Sarah called, “Katy, if there is any talk of people wanting to buy the farm, do reassure the others—I won’t sell.”
Katy flashed a reassuring smile. “Aye, I’ll do that.”
Sarah looked out again, content to stand in the doorway and gaze across the valley to the rippling rise of the Quantocks. Behind her the orphanage hummed, full of life, full of hope. She’d been inducted into her caregiving role by godmother and mother, but she remained because she wished to, because the orphanage gave her something, too.
As the sun, slanting low, struck beneath the clouds to illuminate the opposite slopes, still cloaked in their winter drab, she tried to define what that something was; she concluded that the orphanage was one of her places, the places in which she had a role to fill, one that in turn fulfilled her, and as such it was a necessary part of her life.
It was, however, only one aspect of her life, one piece in a jigsaw. A jigsaw she’d yet to define, to find enough pieces and set them in place so that she could see the whole.
Her life revealed.
The thought brought her mind back to the subject that, over the past week, had consumed it. Charlie, and his offer. Two items, two pieces, but in reality inseparable; if she wanted one, she had to accept the other. Over all the countless hours she’d spent considering, the real question she’d grappled with was: Was he, and the position he offered, also an essential part of her life?
Should she gladly grasp what he offered, accept it and fit it into her jigsaw?
Would it—and he—fit?
That was the critical question, and while she still didn’t know the answer, she knew a great deal more than when he’d so unexpectedly asked her to be his bride.
As he’d stated, they shared a common background, even to the countryside of their birth; contemplation had confirmed there was significant comfort to be drawn from that. Aside from all else, in moving to his home, she would still be surrounded by people she knew. While he would have friends and acquaintances she didn’t know in London and elsewhere beyond the valley, here, at home, their acquaintance was in virtually all respects shared.
Much in their lives was already the same.
Overall, it was difficult to find anything in all that he was physically—as a person, a man, all his possessions and known habits—with which to cavil.
As for less tangible concerns, such as what he felt or might feel for her, she now knew his offer wasn’t solely driven by logic, by the conventional reasons. That there was some other emotion influencing him, although exactly what that was she’d yet to learn. Regardless, it was patently one if not more of the emotions she would want to know he felt for her—passion, desire, even perhaps love. That last remained to be seen, literally, but…what he felt for her might be all she wished it to be.
She considered that, considered what he made her feel, and regretted that while she suspected that given the way he responded to her that what they felt toward each other was in many ways the same, reciprocal and matching, she’d yet to define to her satisfaction what she felt for him, whether or not she truly loved him.
Fascination, enthrallment to the point of sensual abandon, yes, but did that equate to love?
After a moment she left that point as it was—unresolved—and moved on. What else had she learned? While he obviously wished for children, that he liked them and could and would play with them was a definite bonus.
She scanned her mental list, and was surprised by how many ticks were now in place. Eyes on the road below, she saw another rider pass by, was reminded of Haynes and his client’s offer…
Slowly she straightened, lungs tightening.
If she married Charlie, what would happen to the orphanage? It was a bequest to her, but was now part of her property and, as such, on her marriage, would pass legally to her husband.
She stood and stared unseeing at the rolling dips of the hills, then tightening her arms around herself, she turned and headed inside.
She would have to speak with Charlie.
8
That night the moon was full; riding a clear sky untrammeled by clouds, it cast a stark radiance over the hills, silvering the ripples on the weir and streaming into the summer house, where Charlie waited.
There’d been no social gathering to endure that evening; he’d come to the summer house early, hoping Sarah would do the same. Regardless, he’d rather wait here, close to her and the promise of the night, than in the confines of Morwellan Park under the eyes of his observant family.
He paced slowly, conscious, minute by minute, of the hardening of anticipation, of the sharpening of his desire, then he saw Sarah marching along the path—and immediately knew something was wrong.
Arms folded, her shawl clutched about her, she walked quickly along, her gaze fixed not on the summer house but on the path ahead of her.
Her attention wasn’t locked on him, and what was to come; she was absorbed with some other concern.
Had she been any other lady, he would have been irritated that her focus wasn’t on him, and all they might shortly do. Instead, his anticipation, his desire, smoothly, from one heartbeat to the next—at that simple sight of her—transmuted into something else.
He was waiting when she climbed the steps and walked into the softly lit shadows. “What is it?”
She’d raised her head. Drawing close, she blinked at his question, then accepted he’d seen her abstraction and replied, “I was at the orphanage today, and…” Halting before him, through the moonlight, she scanned his face, then, chin firming, continued, “If I accept your offer and marry you, the orphanage, as property I own, will pass into your hands.”
It was his turn to blink. He hadn’t considered that, yet what she said was true.
Pressing her hands together, she turned and paced. “What you may not appreciate is that, to me, the orphanage is considerably more than mere property. As I mentioned, it was left to me by Lady Cricklade, my godmother, of whom I was especially fond, and ever since I was young, both she and Mama encouraged me to take an active interest in the place, not simply oversee it from a distance.”
Halting before one of the arched openings, she lifted her head and gazed out at the weir. “For some years now, I’ve been in charge of running the place.” She turned and through the shadows looked at him. “That takes time, and effort, and care, but in return the orphanage gives me untold satisfaction on many levels.”
She paused, then said, “If I marry, you or anyone else, quite aside from the obligation I feel to Lady Cricklade’s legacy, I doubt that I could happily surrender all that—the interest and the consequent satisfaction. I certainly wouldn’t do so willingly.”
He walked to join her before the arch; she faced him, and the moonlight poured over her features. “There’s no reason what ever for you to give up anything at all. It’s a simple enough matter.”
He met her eyes, his mind racing, assessing the ways. “You’re correct in thinking that when we marry ownership of Quilley Farm will pass to me, but we can stipulate as part of the marriage settlements that that title will form part of your dower property. We can arrange that the title, plus a suitable sum invested to provide income for the farm’s upkeep, be set aside for your exclusive use from our wedding day, remaining yours as part of your dower property in the event of my death, to pass on your death to our joint heirs.”
Pausing, he considered, then arched a brow. “Does that meet with your approval?”
Her approval, and rather more. Sarah nodded. “Yes.” She’d known he wasn’t marrying her for money, or for any property she might own, yet she hadn’t expected…“The sum invested…?”