Page 23 of An Amiable Foe
“Do not give it another thought. Anything I might have needed, I have done very well without.” Mr. Osborne looked around at the other gentlemen and gestured to the chair beside him. “Will you please sit?”
He indicated the chair closest to her mother’s desk, her favorite one in a pale blue embroidered silk that had no match. The gentlemen resumed their seats, and she swiveled to face Mr. Osborne. “Did you go to the cottage?”
“I did.” He glanced at the friend who had come into the drawing room first after their arrival that morning. From the little she had observed of him, he spoke the least. It seemed he looked at the world through hooded eyes, but somehow did not intimidate her the way Mr. Osborne’s other two friends did.
“I regret to tell you this, but Raife and I discovered evidence that someone indeed attempted to break in. That means it was not an accidental poacher, but rather a purposeful attempt to gain entry. I do not feel it prudent for you to return there this evening.”
He studied her face before continuing. “We will need to investigate the situation further and contrive a way to better secure the cottage before you do, so I hope I might persuade you to stay at Brindale. You may continue to use my room, of course. I’ve had the servants prepare rooms for me to use on this floor.”
Marianne’s eyes met his, which appeared almost blue rather than gray with the warmth she saw there. His offer was generous. He would be exchanging his own bedroom upstairs—she had begun to accept his right to the castle, beginning with his appropriation of her parents’ room—for a room that would not be as private or as comfortable. The gesture touched her.
“As much as I fear to inconvenience you, I cannot refuse. The thought of returning to the cottage gives me cold shivers. But”—she raised her eyes shyly to his—“surely, I can have one of the other rooms made up. I cannot be quite comfortable at the thought of taking yours.”
Mr. Osborne was shaking his head before she had finished her sentence, the handsome crease in his jaw pronounced. “I will not hear of it, so there is no sense in pursuing the idea.”
After a beat, Marianne smiled. “Very well, then.” She allowed her gaze to roam around her mother’s sitting room, happy to be back in such a familiar place. “I will not try to dissuade you.”
“Now, our dinners will be much more interesting,” Mr. Wilmot said.
His hair was the color of burnt caramel, and it fell over his brow. There was a crease on one side of his mouth when he smiled, and he did so now, pointedly in her direction. She could not help but return it, grateful he made her feel welcome rather than a nuisance—which she must surely be, possessing none of the societal arts.
“’Tis the truth,” the gentleman called Neck added. She could not remember his proper name and would have to ask Mr. Osborne. She couldn’t call him by such a familiar appellation. “Although I’m sorry for the circumstances that led to your stay here, you will be a welcome addition.”
Raife, or Mr. Raife—she wasn’t sure of his name either—said nothing.
“What did you find at the cottage?” she asked, turning her attention back to Mr. Osborne.
“This.” Mr. Osborne stood and retrieved a metal object and handed it to her. There were blue decorative markings that extended from the metal to bits of broken-off wood. “Do you recognize it?” She shook her head, and he resumed his seat.
“The object was on the floor, near where the broken glass lay, and it appears someone used a gentleman’s cane to break the window. It must have been separated from the rest in the process.”
Marianne handed it back as she tried to decipher the implications. “A gentleman’s cane? Does this mean that the intruder was a gentleman?”
“More likely a cane that had been stolen and used for the purpose,” Neck replied.
Marianne’s insides had gone icy with horror at what might have happened to them.
“I’ve never been afraid to live on my own. How dreadful that this would occur on my first attempt to do so. I cannot stay in the castle forever, but I fear I shall not be at ease in the cottage either—at least not until the culprit is caught, or perhaps I’ve hired a manservant there.”
“Do not refine too much upon it,” Mr. Wilmot said in a light tone.
Mr. Osborne seemed to understand her fears more thoroughly. “I will do everything in my power to ensure you are safe, Miss Edgewood. And we will not have you move back into the cottage until we have bolstered its security and hired a footman. You must simply trust me on this.”
“I do.” When their gaze met, her smile came naturally. “Mr. Osborne, I’ve been thinking. If I cannot move back to the cottage right away, I must go there to retrieve some of my more pressing items. Might we do so today?”
Mr. Wilmot raised a hand in protest. “You must eat first. We can’t have you fainting from hunger.” He focused his charm on her, and her neck prickled in awareness. “And then I will accompany you myself to the cottage to get your things.”
Marianne responded with a slight smile. She did not want Mr. Wilmot to think she was too easily won; and besides, she rather thought she would prefer to go with Mr. Osborne, who was more closely connected with her situation. “Very well. I will see about getting something to eat.”
“Allow me to do that for you,” Mr. Wilmot said, getting out of his seat.
“No, you must allow me.” Mr. Osborne rushed to his feet and went to the door. “I will speak to the cook.”
A short while later, he returned and his request was quickly followed by a tray, loaded with simple foods. Marianne tucked into them with relish, realizing as her mouth watered when she lifted the bread and cheese to it how hungry she was. When Annabel came afterwards to remove the tray, Marianne asked her if Miss Fife had received anything to eat and was assured she had. Still, she thought it best to go to see her companion, especially if she was truly immobile.
“I will pay a quick visit to Miss Fife, and then I will be ready to set out to the cottage.” Marianne directed her words toward Mr. Wilmot, but Mr. Osborne was back on his feet.
“I will go with you as well.”
