Chapter 6

Chapter Six

J ames secured the last basket in the sleigh, then turned around to find Miss Hartwell underfoot. “Pardon me, Miss Hartwell. I did not see you standing so near.”

A girlish giggle escaped, her youthful countenance glowing as though he had done something to make her feel special. “Mr. Bailey, it is I who should apologize. I would not wish for you to have tripped over my person.”

He certainly would not have wanted that either. Landing on the frozen earth tangled in a woman’s skirts would have been the end of his bachelorhood as he knew it. He had no intention of marrying anyone, unless it was Eleanor Dove.

“If you will excuse me, Miss Hartwell, I need to assist in coordinating the deliveries.” He tried to step to the side, attempting to circumvent further conversation, but found she was quite determined as she blocked his path.

Miss Hartwell removed one of her hands from her muff to twist a curl around her finger. “Do consider allowing me to join you and Mrs. Bailey in your carriage. It would be a privilege to accompany you for the deliveries.”

“How lovely.” It had been years since a woman had flirted with him with such gusto. Although he had no intention of returning her favor, it did boost his confidence a little to know he was someone’s preference. “My mother would appreciate your companionship. She complains I am poor company.”

The comment was anything but an encouragement to her advances. It was a simple truth. His mother did think he spent too much time brooding, and she often lamented over his lack of conversation. But Miss Hartwell took the statement as a compliment. She blushed, her face glistening like she’d sat too close to the fire.

“If you will excuse me.” He stepped to the side once more. “I will see to the final preparations.”

He planned to deliver twelve baskets, given the families were all his tenants. This would also alleviate the load for many of those in attendance. The tenant farms were closer to Granville House than other homes, so if he and his mother delivered the baskets together, no one need go out of their way and arrive home later than necessary.

Of course, he would not begrudge the company of others in the party. It was, after all, part of the festivities to spend the day chatting with his neighbors as they performed charitable acts. But with the inclement weather, he would simply prefer everyone kept close to their homes in case the flurries turned to a blistering storm.

The snow had started the morning before, and continued to fall from the heavens as though Mother Nature had decided to send two years’ worth of snow overnight. Piles of the cold, wet substance sat upon his hat and shoulders after only moments of standing still. If he stayed in that position, he would be a snowman within the hour.

“Mother, have you sufficiently offered farewell to everyone so we may leave?” He knew his mother would walk from one person to the next, taking their hands in hers to have a personal conversation before they left.

“We cannot leave. Not without Lord Montefeltro and Eleanor, and I heard Miss Hartwell would prefer our sleigh as well.”

James closed his eyes as he grumbled a curse. A gust of cold air rushed under his hat, tipping it forward and off his head. By the time he had retrieved it, his desire to kick the back of the sleigh had passed. It was for the best. He likely would have injured a toe.

Gulping down the whirl of sick building in his stomach, James put on an air of controlled calmness, his face as impassive as he could muster. “Would it not be best for them to deliver baskets near Dove Hall? It will be dark soon. Best not to be caught out of doors in this weather so late at night.”

“Nonsense. They will ride with us. If the hour is late when we are finished, we have more than enough rooms at Granville House to keep them overnight.”

There was no reason to argue with his mother. Whatever game she was playing, it would not be resolved in front of Dove Hall. If he were to survive this outing, he would have to prepare himself against Miss Dove’s finer qualities, the ones that made every muscle relax as though he were sitting in front of a fire with a cup of tea and a plate of the best gingerbread biscuits in all of England.

Pulling his greatcoat tight around himself, he looked to the front door to find Montefeltro and Eleanor walking side by side, her arm gracefully tucked through his. James grumbled, his patience wearing thin. “Let us get on with it.”

His mother flitted about for another quarter of an hour. She promised the vicar they would send boxes of clothing to the church for sorting. Families in need would find their way to the church over the next ten days to dig through mounds of clothing and necessities, each taking what they would need over the next year.

James normally would have walked next to his mother, participating in these conversations, but this time he stood next to the sleigh, busying himself by situating blankets and baskets that were already perfectly placed and didn’t need adjustment. Anything to keep himself occupied until they could leave on what was certain to be a day of painful memories.

He wished all his memories could be washed away as quickly as mud could be removed from the soles of his boots. But it was impossible to do so without taking a part of the good within himself with the bad. Eleanor Dove was his past. He only wished he knew the right course of action where she was concerned. He impatiently awaited responses from his friends. One would do. It would be greedy to expect all three to respond with haste.

The letters had only been sent out that morning. Robert would be the first to receive his letter. He imagined his friend breaking the seal only to give it the greatest of thought before responding. It was more than likely that Daniel’s response would arrive first. He would laugh heartily at James’s predicament. Not out of spite or cruelty, but simply due to his jovial attitude toward life. James expected a bit of teasing from his friend and would likely be disappointed if the letter were far too serious upon its arrival.

Montefeltro leaned toward Eleanor and whispered something in her ear, and she smiled, her face bright, her eyes sparkling as though God had placed the secrets of his grandest creations within her irises. When Montefeltro tucked an errant strand of hair behind Eleanor’s ear, James was certain his sensibilities could take no more. He couldn’t stand there, gaping at the woman he loved, while her intended caressed her face as though he were ready to steal a kiss.

Stomping across the yard, he took hold of his mother’s arm, tucking it into his own. “We must leave if we are to deliver the baskets this day.”

His mother nodded. “Well, if you think it is time.”

He sighed, the heaviness of retrospect settling further into his chest. He was a fool. Anyone in this courtyard who had an eye for spotting tension would realize his dilemma. They would likely say he deserved all of it for letting Eleanor Dove slip through his fingers.

James assisted his mother into the sleigh, and then waited while Miss Hartwell, Eleanor, and Montefeltro settled in, Eleanor and Miss Hartwell on either side of his mother. A release of pent-up air rose like a puff of smoke as he silently sent a prayer of thanks to the heavens that he wouldn’t have to endure watching continued interludes between the two lovers.

His mother engaged Eleanor in a lengthy conversation about her time in London. Miss Hartwell joined in the conversation, adding her knowledge of the city and balls throughout. He listened, not caring to join in with any of his observations—although, he had a few.

First, James disliked London. It was overpopulated, and the streets smelled of rotting fish and horse manure. The smells in winter weren’t as repugnant as during the heat of the summer. But it was still insufferable, no matter the time of year. Second, the fashionable season was for peacocks to prance around with their unnecessary walking sticks and inflated senses of high fashion, feathers and all. It was a time for people to parade through ballrooms as they attempted to convince the ton that their coffers were brimming with gold, far above those of their neighbors.

Eleanor bounced in her seat as she slightly turned, tucking one leg behind the other so she could comfortably chat and take hold of his mother’s hands. He adored her ability to converse with people as though they had always been friends. Although Eleanor hadn’t visited with his mother for years, it was as though they had never parted. “Mrs. Bailey, you must go to London for the spring season. I implore you to spend a day walking through Hyde Park during the fashionable hour. It is a most peaceful and beautiful place.”

“I can imagine it has changed since I was last there.” His mother laughed, a bit of mischief shining in her eyes. “It has been so long since we last attended a season. Perhaps I should convince James to go this next year. He does need a wife.”

James couldn’t help himself. The words spilled out before he could snap his mouth shut and hold all his uncivilized thoughts inside. “Mother, what Miss Dove has failed to mention is Hyde Park is the place where those who are too high in the instep go to display their wealth. Dandies with lace trimmings on their shirts, bright pink frock coats, and robin’s-egg blue pantaloons. Women with over-trimmed bonnets and the latest fashions from Paris. All these people strutting along Rotten Row, mingling with piles of horse excrement upon the pathway.” He finished with a final grumble. “I would not fit into that Society, nor would anyone who enjoys such things belong in Emerald Falls.”

His statement was met with silence. The tension thick as Eleanor, Miss Hartwell, and his mother stared at him with blank expressions. Their lack of response told him he had gone too far. Those thoughts should have been kept silent. This was a lesson he had learned as a child, but as he’d grown older with more life experiences, he had adopted a nonchalant attitude toward saying whatever struck his fancy.

Just as he was ready to offer a half-hearted obligatory apology, Montefeltro burst into laughter. For a moment, James wondered if he had spoken too fast for the man to understand. English was, after all, a second or third language for the count. Montefeltro patted James’s leg as he nodded his head in agreement. “You have perfectly described my time in your fair city. I would not wish to spend another summer in London. Not for all the gold in King George’s coffers.” To emphasize his words, he pinched the brim of his nose as though he could smell the stink wafting over the miles between Emerald Falls and London.

James chuckled and was saved an immediate apology as the sleigh stopped in front of the first tenant farm. He jumped out, avoiding the reproving glare from the three women. He allowed Montefeltro to be the gentleman who helped the ladies step out while he gathered a pile of blankets and a basket. With the help of the other four, they carried the gifts up the short walkway.

Before they could reach the threshold, six children burst through the door, the youngest running straight to James. He bent down and placed the basket on the ground before taking little Anna Spindle into his arms. He stood and tossed her lightly into the air as she squealed with delight.

As he crouched down to set her once more upon the ground, Thomas Spindle wrapped his arms around James’s neck for a ride on his back. And so, while the gifts were delivered to Mr. and Mrs. Spindle, James entertained their children, joining with them as they laughed and ran in the snow. This was his favorite part of Boxing Day. He enjoyed taking the gifts around, but it was the delight of the children and the welcome he received from the little urchins that instilled the joy of the season in his very being.

When they were back in the sleigh, departing for the next farm, James noticed Eleanor’s concentrated gaze upon him. He owed her an apology, and it seemed she had not forgotten. Opening his mouth, he didn’t know exactly what to say. He couldn’t take back his words because they were his true feelings. But he could have softened his response.

Before he could speak, Eleanor cleared her throat. “You are right, Mr. Bailey. Men like you do not belong in London.”

James quirked an eyebrow at her. She had twisted his words. “I owe you an apology, Miss Dove.”

“Your words were honest. It would be an injustice to your integrity to retract them now.” Eleanor turned her head away from the group, staring out at the snowy landscape.

“Honest or not, I was in the wrong.” His words held more meaning than he wanted anyone other than Eleanor to understand. It was a poor attempt at apologizing for their argument of two years previous, but it was his first of what he hoped would be another.

He had been wrong to end their courtship. He’d known it the moment the words had left his mouth, yet as the brash fool he had been, he’d spilled every internal thought at her feet without reserve. Sometimes honest statements were best kept silent, especially when based on incomplete information.

They continued to the next assigned home. The baskets brought joy to the children’s faces with sugary treats. He was thankful the farmers accepted the baskets as what they were: an offering for the season. Winter could be hard in the northern part of England. There was no reason to increase the hardship with a lack of blankets and necessities.

They were invited into each home, and offerings of steaming cups of wassail sustained them as the bricks under the seats cooled. As they sat visiting for a few moments with Mr. and Mrs. Fleming, James had the bricks from the sleigh set into the fire to reheat. The Flemings were Scottish and had been his tenants for less than a year, as they had previously rented from the Duke of Rothes. He knew very little about this family and hoped to gain more insight with a longer visit.

“It will not be long before the snow melts, bringing with it spring planting season,” James said as he took a sip of wassail.

“Aye, ah admit it’s a bonnie prospect tae start afresh wi’ this braw house an’ land. Ma Freya an’ me are right thankfu’ tae ye, Mr. Bailey. We cannae express how muckle our lives have improved since movin’ intae this fine home.” Gavin Fleming nodded toward his wife and then held his hands as though he were displaying a grand estate.

Gavin and his wife Freya had lived in one of Rothes’s run down farms for nearly five years before they had learned of a farm opening on Bailey land. Thankfully, James had been able to accommodate them. Soon after they had moved in, their first child had been born. As the little baby let out a howl to indicate she had wakened, James was surprised to see Freya offer the little one to Eleanor.

Eleanor hesitated at first, but once the little bundle was securely in her arms, she gently bounced and cooed until the crying stopped.

“Ye’ll make a braw mother,” Freya said, her eyes firmly settled upon her little girl.

“What is her name?” Eleanor asked, her cheeks heating. James had always known Eleanor would be a natural at motherhood. He’d been right. He decided as much while she hummed a merry tune that instantly calmed the baby’s movements.

“Isla.”

“How beautiful.”

James sat back in his chair. He crossed one leg over the other, a hint of a smile playing on his face as he took in the beauty that was Eleanor Dove. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine Eleanor sitting by the fire in the parlor at Granville House, their child in her arms. It was the perfect daydream, but perfection had never been attainable. Not for him, at least. There were men like Montefeltro who always seemed to make situations work when James could not.

A loud thud behind him pulled James out of his trance. As he turned, he chuckled at the sight of a large grey cat slinking across the room to rub against Gavin’s leg. This was their indication that it was time to leave. The night would only grow colder, the sun would set, and then they would have to keep Miss Hartwell, Montefeltro, and Eleanor at Granville House.

It wasn’t the duty of host that stopped him from making the offer. He simply didn’t trust his sensibilities to be near Eleanor for longer than a few hours. Even then, he was poking holes in the protective wall he’d built around his heart. Pulling out bricks, one at a time, until everyone would see through to realize he was still very much in love.