Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3

Anne examined her reflection in the looking glass above the fireplace mantel. She was not a young girl anymore. At one and thirty, she hadn't been for some years.

But she liked what she saw. Her hair was an ordinary brown, but it shone healthily. Her eyes were clear and blue, her face mostly unlined and her nose straight. Her skin was unblemished and, when she took in a bit of fresh air and exercise, her cheeks flushed a becoming pink.

Mr. Weston was coming to Highbury today to take her for another walk. She invited him to call for her after their walk the prior week.

He lifted her hand to brush a kiss against the back of her gloved fingers, and her pulse pounded.

"I will await next Tuesday with bated breath, Miss Taylor."

Now she awaited him in the parlor downstairs, tugging at the sleeves of her perfectly fitted pelisse and brushing nonexistent lint off the fabric. She never fidgeted, had actually scolded Emma on numerous occasions not to fidget, but she could not seem to resist.

Her heart thumped with excitement and uncertainty. Had she done the right thing, inviting him to Highbury? Should she be encouraging his attentions in the first place?

Then the butler opened the door and Mr. Weston entered, his mouth curving in a warm smile when he saw her. Her doubts fled and a peaceful surety filled her. She stepped forward to meet him, aware of the servants watching their every move but no longer caring.

She had not told Emma, wishing to keep this for herself until she must explain to Emma why her "help" wasn't required. She and Mr. Weston were progressing rather nicely on their own, thank you very much.

As they took their first steps away from Highbury, Anne glanced over shyly, only to find his gaze already upon her. Her cheeks heated even as her lips formed a gentle smile. His warm chocolate eyes moved over her face, and she nervously searched for a conversational topic.

"Are we walking to the stream again?" she asked.

"If you like," he answered genially. "Although a favorite estate of mine is nearby, and it has lovely grounds. Do you wish to see it?"

He watched her anxiously, her answer obviously important to him. "I should be delighted, Mr. Weston."

The top of her head came to right about his nose, so that she had to look up to meet his gaze. But he was not so tall as to tower over her, which she liked. He matched his steps to hers, and she appreciated his thoughtful consideration.

"Tell me about the estate, Mr. Weston," she said as they entered the woods.

"Oh, Randalls is a lovely place! I've known its owner since our days together in the military. He and his family spend most of their time either in London or at their estate in Hertfordshire.

"I offered to watch over the place for him. A small staff maintains the home and grounds for occasional visits from the family or others. I stop by every so often to make sure they're faring well and to walk the grounds. I've always cherished it, and my regard has only grown over time." He bore a fond smile .

"What do you love about it?" She longed to hear more about this place that meant so much to him.

"The most delightful fountain graces the courtyard," he began, launching into an enthusiastic description of the estate that lasted until they drew close.

Mr. Weston's pace increased as they neared a clearing at the far edge of the woods. As they exited the clearing, the lovely vista ahead enchanted her.

Randalls was modest in size but well constructed in the Palladian style, with exquisitely designed gardens, a small pond, and the whimsically detailed fountain. As they walked the grounds, Mr. Weston pointed out what he would do if the estate were his.

Both grand and welcoming, something about the place called to her heart. She pictured strolling the gardens; choosing a place to plant vegetables and sifting through the warm dirt with her hands; sitting snugly behind one of the mullioned windows, watching snow fall outside as the fire crackling nearby kept her cozy.

"Would you like to see the inside?" asked Mr. Weston, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the prospect.

"Oh, yes, may we?"

A servant answered his rap on the door, greeting them and ushering them inside. Many furnishings had been removed by the owners, with most of the remaining furniture underneath holland covers. Faint rectangles and squares on the walls showed where paintings once hung, and some of the carpets and draperies were faded. It gave the place a slight air of desertion.

However, the workmanship of the home was clearly of fine quality, and the servants who remained did an impeccable job of keeping woodwork gleaming, corners free of cobwebs, and floors clean and shining.

"I know it's not as grand as Hartfield," Mr. Weston began humbly, "but I think it has a charm all its own. The land is fertile, and there are several tenant farms that could be let."

"It's a fine home," she reassured him, cheered by his answering smile .

He escorted her through the various rooms downstairs before showing her the upstairs, which included four bedchambers and a spacious suite to be shared by the master and mistress. Anne's stomach turned a flip at the intimacy they represented, and she hurried past.

As they returned downstairs to visit the conservatory, Anne found herself picturing what she would change and how she would fill the house if she lived there. She longed to be the mistress of her own home but had presumed such an opportunity had passed her by.

They entered the conservatory, finding it empty but in impeccable condition. Anne would grow lemons there. She could almost smell their bright citrus freshness. She would make lemonade, and lemon cream, and glazed lemon cake, and lemon pies...

She blushed as she realized Mr. Weston observed her closely.

"What do you think of Randalls, Miss Taylor?"

Anne smiled at him. "The home is beautiful, and the grounds are already so picturesque and rich with potential. It's easy to understand why you're so fond of it.

"And standing in this conservatory, I can't help but imagine lemon trees and think of all the wonderful things to be made with their bounty!"

Mr. Weston chuckled. The attractive creases at the corners of his eyes appeared, and Anne found herself unable to look away from him. "I'm so glad that you like it, Miss Taylor. Your opinion is important to me."

Her pulse skipped like a rock skimmed over the surface of Hartfield's lake. "Is it, Mr. Weston?" She held her breath as he stepped closer, studying her face.

A gentle tap at the doorway made both of them jump as they turned to find Mrs. Brown. "Shall I have a tea tray set out in the parlor, sir?" she asked Mr. Weston.

He stepped back from Anne at the appearance of the housekeeper, and disappointment surged through her. What had been about to happen? She'd had the distinct impression he wanted to kiss her, but now that moment seemed to have passed them by.

"Thank you, Mrs. Brown, but we are just about to leave." He turned to Anne, crooking his elbow. "Are you ready?"

As he escorted her from the conservatory, she couldn't help wishing they'd had just one more minute to themselves.

20 July 1813

Dear Mr. Weston,

Although I vowed not to reveal which food basket you should bid upon at next week's church auction, I have reconsidered. I would far prefer to spend the meal with you than with anyone else.

However, it would not be sporting if I told you outright how to recognize my basket. Instead, I shall leave you with this riddle to solve, and its answer will give you a hint.

Thomas smiled as he read the words. Her riddle was something to do with a ship - a clever nod to his London business interests -- and, he believed, a chicken. He determined to divine the answer and win Anne's company at the basket auction.

10 August 1813

My dear Miss Taylor,

Permit me to apologize once again for yesterday's overenthusiastic goats. I didn't realize Lord Sheffield possessed such rambunctious livestock. I vow I will protect you in future outings from further encounters with capricious caprines.

Speaking of goats, I understand that Lady Dalrymple is hosting a charitable gathering for the orphanage next month and would be honored if you would attend with me. Our attendance together should not be seen as untoward, as I'm courting you with honorable intentions. I know that we haven't spoken of our connection quite so plainly, but there are times when it is easier to put my feelings into writing, rather than try to speak about them.

Is it presumptuous to say that we're courting?

Please end my suspense and tell me that it's not.

Hopefully,

T. Weston

10 August 1813

Dear Mr. Weston,

I've been enjoying the time we've spent together, but I would not have dared to presume a courtship between us.

However, I share your intentions, and I'm relieved to say so via the written word, as I too sometimes find more ease in writing what I'm feeling. Although perhaps that is not evident in this note, since it seems I'm unable to marshal my thoughts concisely here.

Perhaps that's because I'm feeling a bit giddy over our new understanding, if it's not unbecoming for a woman of my... maturity, shall we say, to become giddy.

Affectionately,

Anne Taylor

11 August 1813

My lovely Anne,

(Might I call you Anne, just between the two of us? It's how I think of you already, and I crave this small intimacy, but will understand if you feel it inappropriate at this stage. I hope that, in turn, you will call me Thomas.)

I delight in any expression of your youthful exuberance, particularly if I'm the cause. I'll confess to a certain amount of giddiness myself, now that you have assuaged my worries. I can rest assured, knowing that we are of one mind about the matter .

Joyfully,

T. Weston

27 September 1813

Dearest Thomas,

Enclosed is the apology I demanded Emma write after her meddlesome questions last evening. She is nearly twenty years old and knows better than to baldly ask your intentions towards me, much less to hint at what they should be.

I know that you were amused, and touched by her protectiveness for me, but I cannot recall a time when I've been so embarrassed.

That Mr. Knightley was there to chastise her was useful, yet his presence added to my mortification.

Whatever is between us is between us, and we will be the ones to decide how it progresses. If it progresses.

Please know that I don't want to force you into any particular situation. I am content spending time with you.

Remorsefully,

Anne

27 September 1813

My Dear Anne,

I hold you blameless for Miss Woodhouse's remarks last evening. However, if you still feel responsible, know that I was neither offended nor upset by her words.

On the contrary, I'm grateful that you have such a staunch defender in her. You went far too long without an advocate, instead selflessly advocating for everyone else, without regard to your own situation.

Miss Woodhouse may at times be a touch too blunt, and she may meddle where her assistance isn't required, but I know that she means well. She has grown up surrounded by people who have cared for her every need, and while this has resulted in a bit of self-absorption, she makes admirable efforts to help those who are less fortunate.

You've done a superb job raising and guiding her, as much as her own mother would have done. She is exceedingly fortunate to have you.

As to our times together, I cherish them and hope that I will soon be able to say more on that front.

Lovingly,

Thomas