Page 18 of An Amiable Foe
“I will see if Joe knows of a chimney sweep. In any case, it must be done.”
Sarah cocked her head at Marianne’s pinched brow and rested a hand on her forearm. “Don’t ye fear, miss. My cousin, Jeremy Brown, is a master chimney sweep, and he has lads as ’ull scurry up that chimney and clean it grandly.”
“He doesn’t…” Marianne couldn’t finish the words. She had heard that chimney sweep boys were often orphans who were taken on young, then treated as slaves. She might not be able to do anything about the institution of chimney sweeps, but she did not want little orphan boys to suffer in her house.
“No, miss. My cousin is a kind master. Ye won’t find him whippin’ ’em or lightin’ fires under their feet to get them to go higher.”
Marianne smiled in relief. “You are an angel. I am so relieved that Mr. Osborne let you come to me. I honestly don’t know how long I would have lasted without you.”
“That he did, miss, and I’m right glad to be here.” Sarah glanced at the chimney in the drawing room and went over and rubbed at the marble sides with a cloth. “Mr. Osborne asked if I could pack up my things before the sun set, and he drove me over when I said I could.”
Mr. Osborne was a perplexing man. Imperious and looking out for his own interests in one moment, then surprisingly easy to talk to and showing great kindness in the next. But she would do well not to think too kindly of him, for life had taught her that people could not be relied upon. They would either die, or snub you at church, or hand your most prized possession—your home for the last twenty years—over to a perfect stranger without the blink of an eye or a word of explanation. No, she needed to keep her mind and focus on her own life, for she had to make a new one here.
Early in the morning, Sarah had gone to market to buy viands and produce that would keep them for a week, filling the pantry in a satisfying way. She now prepared to scale a fish for their supper while Marianne went outside to look at what might be made of the garden. She would never have her mother’s rosebushes, but she might create something of her own here. It had rained that morning, and the grass sparkled with drops of water like crystal, and the budding leaves of the trees had begun to open. The sight lifted her spirits. She was looking at an enchanting fairyland.
The sound of a horse snorting came from her left, and she turned to look. In a moment, Mr. Osborne’s friend with the neat, pomaded hair and trim whiskers stepped through the clearing. He was not as tall as Mr. Osborne, and objectively not quite as handsome, but he possessed charm. She did not remember his name.
“What’s this?” The gentleman leapt down from his horse and sketched her a bow. “Miss Marianne, I presume.”
“Miss Edgewood,” she corrected, pulling her basket containing the gardening shears closer.
“Miss Edgewood. Lawrence Wilmot at your service, in case you might not have remembered. My friends call me Lorry. So, you have been ousted from the castle by that poor devil, Osborne.”
“I have been ousted by my uncle.” Marianne looked more closely at his horse, which was an English Thoroughbred with a shiny black coat, as fine as any she had seen. “Robert would offer you his fortune for this horse if he had a glimpse of him.”
She spoke without thinking and then turned red. Perhaps that was not something appropriate to say to a perfect stranger. However, Mr. Wilmot only laughed.
“Yes, I have met your Robert. He joined us last night after supper for a game of cards. However, we did not get to the game in the end.”
“Did he? I am very glad he was invited.” Marianne did not know where to look after having expressed herself so freely regarding the horse, so she dropped her gaze to her feet.
She could feel Mr. Wilmot’s regard, studying her in a way that was both flattering and made her feel somehow exposed. “Vernon had a few things to say in your regard. Apparently, he has proprietary views towards you, given your longstanding relationship.”
At that, Marianne darted her head up. “Robert has no hold on me whatsoever.”
She didn’t like the idea that Robert was going around making it seem as though they had an understanding. And if she examined her thoughts too closely, she feared to find that she also didn’t wish for this fine London gentleman to view her as some country miss who had buried herself away and subsequently sold out to the first man who showed an interest. Although it was the perfect truth that she had buried herself away. That was not something she would be changing any time soon.
“Of course,” he said soothingly. “Anyone might see that you are much too fine a lady to accept the offer of the first gentleman who makes one.”
Honesty pushed her to say, “He has not exactly made me an offer.” Then heat crept up her cheeks, for that seemed a pathetic thing to say. How she wished she had been taught to converse with gentlemen. Although it had not been difficult to talk to Mr. Osborne, despite his provoking ways at times.
To her surprise, Mr. Wilmot did not laugh at her. Instead, he said, “Oh, but he will. Mark my words, Vernon will try. And you”—he gave her a cheeky grin—“you must resist.”
Marianne bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Of course, I must resist. Though, allow me to assure you, it is not as much of a temptation as you seem to believe.”
Mr. Wilmot swung back into the saddle. “Happy to hear it. Well, I must leave you. We will be having a late breakfast at Brindale, and if I don’t arrive in time, I might get nothing to eat until dinner. Barbaric place, that castle. Good day, Miss Marianne.” He lifted his hat and rode off.
She stood there, awash with an array of feelings. Flattered. Irritated by his jab at Brindale. Curious as to what he meant by her resisting Robert, said in a way she could only call flirting. It was only when the noise of Sarah banging a spoon against the Dutch oven from inside the house reached her that she realized Mr. Wilmot had called her Miss Marianne again, though she had asked him not to. And she had not thought to inquire what brought him riding onto this part of the estate.
Before another hour had passed with her still performing small tasks in the garden, Robert came to visit. He used to come often when she was living at the castle on her own, but not every day as he was doing now that Mr. Osborne was at Brindale and she resided in the cottage. Her first thought was that she would not want Mr. Wilmot to see Robert ride up and confirm his suspicions, but she dismissed the notion. Here was proof she had a true friend who had known her nearly her whole life, and who was solicitous of her well-being. After exchanging a greeting, Marianne waved him to come inside. Now that she had Sarah, she was able to put something on the tea tray she need not be ashamed of.
“I came to warn you to stay away from the castle,” he said in his familiar way before he had scarcely entered the drawing room. Miss Fife was upstairs deciding upon which bedroom might better suit her than the one she was in, so they were alone.
His words left Marianne at a loss. “Why?”
“Osborne has friends from London in town, and I think you can’t be too careful in their presence.” He threw himself down in one of the chairs.
“But they are gentlemen, as you say. Therefore I think I need not fear. One of them rode by the cottage this morning, and when he stopped to talk, he behaved most properly.”
