Merely the Groom by Rebecca Hagan Lee
“You want to offer us positions here?” Sarah wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly.
“I wish to offer you a position,” he said.
“What about my aunt?” Sarah asked.
“We’ve no need of your aunt,” he replied. “Besides, she can claim a home with Lord Dunbridge. The position I’m offering is for you alone, Miss Eckersley.”
Sarah frowned. “What sort of position?”
“Mrs. Tinsley and I require a qualified governess for our children.”
“You’re asking me to be governess to your children?” He nodded and smiled. “Yes, of course, at twelve pounds annual, plus room and board. You would have to vacate this room, of course.” He glanced around the bedchamber. “And claim the little room in the attic, but you would join our household as governess to Polly, Pippa, and Paul.” He patted Pippa on the head in much the same way as Sarah had watched Mrs. Tinsley do earlier.
Pippa beamed up at her father.
“I can tell Pippa adores you already.”
“Pippa abhors me already,” Sarah said. “And the feeling is mutual.”
The reverend gasped. “How dare you?”
“How dare you?” Sarah shot back. “How dare you displace me—the daughter of a fellow clergyman—from my home without so much as a word of condolence or the courtesy of a note informing me that you were about to do so? How dare you cart my father’s possessions from his room to the front gate without a single expression of remorse or apology? And how dare you suggest that I remove myself to London to live with a man with whom I am barely acquainted, then offer me a position as governess to your horridly ill-mannered children in the same breath?”
“Get out.” Reverend Tinsley was so angry his entire body vibrated with the effort to keep his temper in check. “Get out of my house.”
“Your house, Mr. Tinsley?” Sarah queried. “Don’t you mean God’s house?”
“Get out.” The good reverend came within a hairsbreadth of shaking her, but managed to retain control of his senses. “Now.” His face was crimson and his body stiff with suppressed rage. “Gather your personal items and leave before I instruct the laborers to escort you and your baggage out.” Opening the door to her wardrobe, Reverend Tinsley removed an armload of Sarah’s dresses, then opened the window and tossed them out. He stared down at the heap of pastel muslins with an expression of deep satisfaction on his face. “There now,” he told Sarah. “That should help speed the packing process and get you on your way.”
Mrs. Tinsley stood gape-mouthed as her husband gathered another armload of Sarah’s clothing and threw it out the window and Pippa began wailing for Admiral Nelson once again.
“Sarah?” Lady Dunbridge stood in the doorway with Precious in her arms. “Reverend Tinsley? What on earth is going on in here?” Precious growled a low, throaty warning and Lady Dunbridge held her higher, out of reach of the Tinsleys’ little boy, who had grabbed a fistful of Lady Dunbridge’s skirts. “Why are you throwing Sarah’s garments out the window? Why has this ill-mannered child laid claim to my spaniel and why does that one keep screaming for Admiral Nelson?”
“The reverend is demonstrating from whom his daughter and his son get their charming manners,” Sarah offered, snagging Budgie’s cage stand before Pippa could knock it to the floor.
“What?” Lady Dunbridge cried in outrage.
“Take him!” Sarah thrust Budgie’s cage and stand into her aunt’s arms. “Save him from a fate worse than death. Take him before she”—she nodded toward Pippa—“claims him and names him Admiral Nelson. I’ll save whatever else I can manage.”
Struggling to hold a squirming, growling King Charles spaniel and a parakeet in a cage, Lady Dunbridge took one look at the reverend’s crimson face and thrust Budgie’s cage and stand back at Sarah. “You take him and go. I’ll save whatever else I can manage.”
“But…”
“Go, Sarah, before your clothes and everything else you own are scattered all across Helford Green.”
Sarah had left the rectory and gone straight to the magistrate.
Nimrod Perkins, the magistrate, a tall, rotund man with dark brown eyes, a head full of thick black hair, and a perpetual smile, met Sarah at his front door.
“The new rector and his family have arrived,” Sarah announced without preamble.
“I heard,” the magistrate told her. “I was on my way there.”
“To do what?” Sarah asked. “Watch as he removes me from my home? You guaranteed we would have thirty days’ notice after the living was awarded.”
“I know I did, Miss Eckersley, but when Lord Dunbridge temporarily ceded the living back to the Church, the matter was taken out of my hands.”
“That is no excuse,” Sarah protested. “You were charged with the responsibility of looking out for me and for Lady Dunbridge. We trusted you.”
“There was nothing I could do,” he said. “Bishop Fulton and Lord Dunbridge assured me that you and Lady Dunbridge would be removing to London. They assured me that you and Lady Dunbridge would not be evicted, but would have ample time to move out of the rectory.”
“They lied.”
The magistrate gasped. “Miss Eckersley, one should not accuse a viscount and a bishop of lying. Especially when one is speaking to a magistrate.”
“We are being evicted,” Sarah said.
“What?”
“Go to the rectory and see for yourself,” she advised. “Reverend Tinsley is tossing my clothing and all our personal belongings out the window onto the lawn even as we speak.” She stared at the magistrate who had failed to protect her, then held up Budgie’s cage. “I barely managed to save my budgerigar from a similar fate.”
“Does Lord Dunbridge know about this?” Squire Perkins asked. “Surely he wouldn’t allow his betrothed and his aunt by marriage to be evicted from the rectory he owns?”
“Of course he knows about it,” Sarah replied. “He arranged to temporarily cede the living to the Church so his hands would be clean. So he can bemoan the fact that there was nothing he could do to prevent our eviction. So he could force us into accepting his hospitality.”
“But he’s your betrothed,” the magistrate insisted.
“He’s not my betrothed.” Sarah’s voice vibrated with anger and frustration. “He never formally asked my father for my hand, he simply mentioned the possibility. Papa refused to consider it. And so did I. Believe me when I tell you that I am not going to marry Lord Dunbridge.”
After Sarah’s father died, Viscount Dunbridge had tried again. This time, he had spoken directly to Sarah, informing her that he intended to have her as his wife at the end of the season. Sarah had flatly rejected his offer, refusing to consider the possibility, but apparently Reggie hadn’t been persuaded that she meant it.
“You have to marry someone,” Squire Perkins told her. “It might as well be a young, wealthy viscount with connections to your family. Come, Miss Eckersley, surely you see the advantages to that? It’s a perfect match.”
“There’s nothing perfect about it,” Sarah pronounced. “And I won’t consider it.”
“You are an unmarried female with no male relation to look out for you except Lord Dunbridge.”
“He is related to my maternal aunt through her marriage to his uncle,” Sarah clarified. “He’s no relation to me.”
“All the better,” the magistrate said. “And as I’ve been charged with the duty of finding a husband or guardian for you.”
“You’ve already shown yourself to be negligent in your duty.” Sarah all but stomped her foot in objection. “I’ll find my own husband or guardian.”
Squire Perkins took exception to her tone. “And you’ve already shown yourself to be incapable of finding a husband.”
“Not incapable,” Sarah corrected. “Just unwilling.”
“Incapable or unwilling, you’ve had two unsuccessful seasons, Miss Eckersley. Do you wish to be permanently on the shelf?”
“I do if the onl
“You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean it,” Sarah retorted. “Lord Dunbridge is evicting me from my home! He lied to you and a bishop in order to accomplish it. And you expect me to want to marry him? To think he’s a perfect match?”
“If he’s evicting you from your home, he ought to provide you with another one,” the magistrate stubbornly insisted. “And indeed, he promised to do just that. The viscount wants to marry you. That’s something to think about, Miss Eckersley. You may not have many more opportunities to catch a suitable husband.”
“That’s all the more reason you should allow me one more chance before you decide I should become the next Viscountess Dunbridge,” Sarah told him. “You owe me that much consideration for failing to protect me otherwise.”
Squire Perkins puffed up like an adder in surprise at having Miss Eckersley speak so forthrightly and at having her accuse him of not performing his duty. But he acknowledged the truth in her words. He had been her father’s friend and as the local magistrate, he had been charged with the duty of looking out for Miss Eckersley and Lady Dunbridge’s interests. He had assured them that they would be given ample opportunity to relocate, but he had allowed Viscount Dunbridge and Bishop Fulton to persuade him otherwise without consulting either of the ladies. However much he hated to admit it, Squire Perkins did owe Miss Eckersley some concessions for having failed her.
“All right,” he declared at last, “I’ll grant you thirty days in which to find a husband or a guardian for yourself or I will find one for you.”
“Thirty days in London during the season,” Sarah amended.
“The first thirty days of the London season,” he concluded.
Sarah offered him her hand. “Agreed.”
Squire Perkins accepted her hand and shook it in a firm businesslike manner. “Agreed.”
“Thank you, Squire Perkins.” Sarah gave the magistrate a beautiful smile. “Now, if you would be so kind as to put our agreement in writing…”
He had grumbled about it, but the magistrate had put their verbal agreement in writing, had it signed, witnessed, and sealed, and had handed it over to Sarah. Squire Perkins had also summoned Mr. Birdwell, the village coachman, and hired him to take them back to the rectory.
Together Sarah, Aunt Etta, Squire Perkins, and Mr. Birdwell had loaded Mr. Birdwell’s coach with traveling trunks full of clothing and Sarah’s mother’s china, books and papers that had belonged to her father, a cloth doll, a diary, and small keepsakes of happier days that had been deposited in heaps by the front gate.
When they had fitted Budgie and everything else they could fit into Mr. Birdwell’s coach, Sarah hired the coach and workmen who had brought the Tinsley family from Bristol to load the remainder of her and Lady Dunbridge’s personal possessions and small furniture onto the coach and deliver it to Ibbetson’s Hotel in London.
“Come, Sarah.” Lady Dunbridge opened the front gate. She smiled as the brass door key jangled against the painted wrought iron, then took her niece by the arm and led her through the gate and down the walkway. “Mr. Birdwell is waiting. It’s time to go.”
Sarah hesitated. She had been so bold at the magistrate’s house, so full of righteous indignation, and so sure of herself, but suddenly, all she felt was lost. She looked back over her shoulder at the closed front door of the rectory, smelled the fragrance of the early blooming roses growing beside it and the scent of the mint in the garden wafting on the breeze, and was filled with trepidation.
“I was born here,” Sarah whispered, her voice quivering with emotion. “It’s the only home I’ve ever known. I can’t leave.” She turned to her aunt with tears in her eyes. “All my memories are here.”
“No, my dear,” Lady Dunbridge said. “Your memories are in your heart and in your head.” She led Sarah to the coach. “The rectory is just the place where they were made. And it will always be here.”
“But it won’t be the same.”
“No, it won’t,” Lady Dunbridge agreed. “But, my dear, nothing ever stays the same. Things must change in order to grow and survive. We must change in order to grow and survive.”
“What shall we do in London?” Sarah asked as she climbed into the coach and settled onto the seat.
“We start over,” Lady Dunbridge replied matter-of-factly, settling herself and Precious onto the seat. “We begin again and build another life for ourselves.”
“How?”
“By doing what we should have done years ago,” Lady Dunbridge answered. “By finding you a husband and a home of your own.”
“Then you’d better pray for a miracle,” Sarah told her. “Because I’ve only got thirty days to convince the man of my dreams that I’m the woman of his.”
Hardly a Husband, Book 3 in the “Free Fellows League” Series
Coming August 4th 2015
Barely a Bride
Book 1 in the “Free Fellows League” Series
Available Now
Merely the Groom
Book 2 in the “Free Fellows League” Series
Available Now
Truly a Wife, Book 4 in the “Free Fellows League” Series
Coming August 4th 2015
And look for A Bachelor Still, the brand new book in the “Free Fellows League” Series Coming late August 2015!
Rebecca Hagan Lee, Merely the Groom
(Series: Free Fellows League # 2)