Chapter One
Summer, 1827
Thaddeus twitched the net curtains concealing him from his
neighbor’s view so that he could see her more clearly. Ah, she’s wearing
that blue dress again, he thought, smiling with pleasure, for the color
complemented Miss Amelia Horton’s complexion. The soft cotton gown’s long
sleeves protected her arms from the sun. The scooped neckline teased and
tantalized him with only a glimpse of creamy white skin.
She stood in her back garden tying a large dark-green
gardening apron around her increasing girth. She must be six months along
now, he thought, admiring the way her pink cheeks glowed in the early
morning sunlight. Momentarily, she would don the large straw hat she wore to
protect her complexion and then he wouldn’t be able to see her burnished
strawberry-blonde hair or the smattering of freckles that decorated her slender
nose. Oh, and there it goes, he thought, sighing in disappointment while
she tied the blue ribbons beneath her chin.
“Instead of sighin’ like a moonlin’, sir, ye should be out
in the garden and talkin’ to the wee lass,” said Angus, his manservant. He
glanced at his master as he gathered the breakfast things and Thaddeus smiled
weakly.
“Later. Maybe later.”
“Och, but ye say that nearly every day, sir,” the older man
complained. He had brilliant bushy red hair and a full beard. His shoulders
could carry an ox and his hands looked as if he could fell a bull with a single
punch. He’d served the Honorable Thaddeus Milborough for twelve years and
couldn’t ask for a better master. A quiet life he’d wanted and a quiet life
he’d got when they’d moved to Hinderwell on the Yorkshire coast five years
before so that the master could continue with his botany experiments. He tilted
his head and nodded toward the garden next door. “Ye’ve no need to be shy and
she’s not so hard to look at, even with the wee babe almost ready to come into
the world. What are ye waitin’ for?”
Thaddeus sighed again. He brushed his hand across the top of
his fine wavy chestnut hair and wondered what a woman like that would see in a
mild gentleman botanist like him.
“And ye are no goin’ bald like ye think, sir,” Angus
scoffed.
“My father had a receding hairline by the time he reached
forty,” Thaddeus pointed out, amused by his servant’s annoyance.
“As anyone can say, ye favor her ladyship, not your father!”
Thaddeus pushed his gold wire-framed spectacles up on his
bold nose and picked up his notebook from the dining room table. “Perhaps. But
Miss Horton’s beautiful and she gets more beautiful every day.”
Angus contemplated his master’s intelligent but occasionally
melancholic sharp face and thought that he looked more like a schoolteacher
than the youngest son of an Earl.
“Aye, sir. You’re right. But no man or woman of good
character will speak to her,” Angus pressed. “She must long for intelligent
conversation. That battle-axe who keeps house for her is no angel and no
blessing to the lass.”
* * * * *
In this character evaluation he wronged the good woman who
kept house for Miss Amelia Horton. Born out of wedlock herself, the fiftyish
woman knew the hardship that the young lady endured and would continue to
endure because of the little innocent that she carried. Gladys Edley, born and
raised in Yorkshire, had never before worked in a fine household but had been
hired as a maid-of-all-work by her mistress’s parents. Those two were as
unchristian a pair as had ever been born, in her opinion. Instead of setting it
about that the young mistress was a widow, they had let everyone know that she
was a fallen woman. There had been no call for passing that information on to
the curious villagers. No call at all.
Miss Amelia was as kind as she was beautiful. No complaint
passed her lips and she obeyed the doctor’s orders for her health and tried to
be cheerful and optimistic about her babe to come. Next to Mr.
Summer, 1827
Thaddeus twitched the net curtains concealing him from his
neighbor’s view so that he could see her more clearly. Ah, she’s wearing
that blue dress again, he thought, smiling with pleasure, for the color
complemented Miss Amelia Horton’s complexion. The soft cotton gown’s long
sleeves protected her arms from the sun. The scooped neckline teased and
tantalized him with only a glimpse of creamy white skin.
She stood in her back garden tying a large dark-green
gardening apron around her increasing girth. She must be six months along
now, he thought, admiring the way her pink cheeks glowed in the early
morning sunlight. Momentarily, she would don the large straw hat she wore to
protect her complexion and then he wouldn’t be able to see her burnished
strawberry-blonde hair or the smattering of freckles that decorated her slender
nose. Oh, and there it goes, he thought, sighing in disappointment while
she tied the blue ribbons beneath her chin.
“Instead of sighin’ like a moonlin’, sir, ye should be out
in the garden and talkin’ to the wee lass,” said Angus, his manservant. He
glanced at his master as he gathered the breakfast things and Thaddeus smiled
weakly.
“Later. Maybe later.”
“Och, but ye say that nearly every day, sir,” the older man
complained. He had brilliant bushy red hair and a full beard. His shoulders
could carry an ox and his hands looked as if he could fell a bull with a single
punch. He’d served the Honorable Thaddeus Milborough for twelve years and
couldn’t ask for a better master. A quiet life he’d wanted and a quiet life
he’d got when they’d moved to Hinderwell on the Yorkshire coast five years
before so that the master could continue with his botany experiments. He tilted
his head and nodded toward the garden next door. “Ye’ve no need to be shy and
she’s not so hard to look at, even with the wee babe almost ready to come into
the world. What are ye waitin’ for?”
Thaddeus sighed again. He brushed his hand across the top of
his fine wavy chestnut hair and wondered what a woman like that would see in a
mild gentleman botanist like him.
“And ye are no goin’ bald like ye think, sir,” Angus
scoffed.
“My father had a receding hairline by the time he reached
forty,” Thaddeus pointed out, amused by his servant’s annoyance.
“As anyone can say, ye favor her ladyship, not your father!”
Thaddeus pushed his gold wire-framed spectacles up on his
bold nose and picked up his notebook from the dining room table. “Perhaps. But
Miss Horton’s beautiful and she gets more beautiful every day.”
Angus contemplated his master’s intelligent but occasionally
melancholic sharp face and thought that he looked more like a schoolteacher
than the youngest son of an Earl.
“Aye, sir. You’re right. But no man or woman of good
character will speak to her,” Angus pressed. “She must long for intelligent
conversation. That battle-axe who keeps house for her is no angel and no
blessing to the lass.”
* * * * *
In this character evaluation he wronged the good woman who
kept house for Miss Amelia Horton. Born out of wedlock herself, the fiftyish
woman knew the hardship that the young lady endured and would continue to
endure because of the little innocent that she carried. Gladys Edley, born and
raised in Yorkshire, had never before worked in a fine household but had been
hired as a maid-of-all-work by her mistress’s parents. Those two were as
unchristian a pair as had ever been born, in her opinion. Instead of setting it
about that the young mistress was a widow, they had let everyone know that she
was a fallen woman. There had been no call for passing that information on to
the curious villagers. No call at all.
Miss Amelia was as kind as she was beautiful. No complaint
passed her lips and she obeyed the doctor’s orders for her health and tried to
be cheerful and optimistic about her babe to come. Next to Mr.
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