Will She Be Mine Read Free

reet,” Amelia ventured, earning her a
chuckle, then a scolding for talking common .
    She’d never had a servant like Mrs. Edley before. The woman
didn’t seem to know her place and she occasionally spoke with an impertinence
that wouldn’t normally be tolerated. The darling woman treated her charge as if
she’d grown old in the service of the family instead of entering service just
four months before. Coming as she did from a farming life, she’d told Amelia
that keeping house for her was the easiest work she’d ever done.
    Amelia retired to the front parlor, which doubled as a sort
of library. Only sort of a library because the only books the room contained
were those of an improving nature. Occasionally a package arrived from her
parents and invariably it contained several tomes full of religious
instruction. She hated the books but did not dare to throw them out for fear
that her parents would visit and find her out. Every few packages contained another
Bible too. There were six lined up neatly beside the rest of the books. The
only copy she valued was the one she kept beside her bed—her godmother’s
confirmation gift. How many did they think she needed? As soon as she had a
dozen she was going to give them to the vicar’s wife for the African missionary
effort. Her parents could hardly object to that purpose.
    The mantel clock chimed six o’clock. Mr. Shufflebottom’s
letter said that he would arrive this evening by six and he was always
punctual. She dreaded meetings with her solicitor. He was the family lawyer and
knew every family secret and was exactly the type of smug, self-satisfied
individual she detested. The knocker sounded and her palms began to sweat.
     
    Thaddeus returned to his plants after his dinner and worked
contentedly through the early evening. He’d relocated a garden table from
beneath the beech tree to its current location beside a young Araucaria
araucana , a monkey puzzle tree, because from this spot he had a clear view
through his back gate. Angus, surprisingly, had been the one to suggest the
move.
    While he sat making notes at the table, he heard the scrape
of Miss Horton’s gate and caught site of her fairly stomping across the public
footpath to the stone bench that permitted anyone with the inclination to enjoy
the view beyond the farmer’s fields to the sea. He set aside his notebook and
watched her. She sat down on the bench, then stood up and walked around it with
her hands on her hips. She arched her back so that her gravid belly extended
while she pressed her hands to the small of her back. Then she sat down on the
bench again.
    The gate at the bottom of his garden made no sound when he
opened it but he doubted she would have noticed his approach anyway, because by
this time she was crying. His heart ached for her. Before he could reach her
side with his handkerchief, she’d swiped the backs of her hands across her
cheeks. He held the linen square out over her shoulder regardless.
    “Miss Horton? Please, use my handkerchief.”
    “Oh!” she cried, startled, half turning toward him. She
snatched the large white cloth and scrubbed at her face before heartily blowing
her nose. “Please do not think that I am crying because I am sad, sir. That is
certainly not the case!”
    “You appear to be most decidedly angry,” Thaddeus commented,
moving around to the front of the bench so he could look at her. She cast him a
wet darkling look and she appeared so adorable that he wanted to gather her in
his arms and lay her head down upon his shoulder. However, that would not do so
he did nothing but gaze sympathetically at her.
    “I could rip and tear,” she admitted, twisting the damp
handkerchief this way and that. “Mr. Milborough, you are very kind to listen to
me, but��”
    “I know. It is none of my business. Never mind,” he said
kindly, smiling down at her. “Tell me anyway. You need to vent your spleen and
I can bear it.” Still she hesitated. Thaddeus sat at