Searching
Hannah
“Miss Northrop.” The headmistress of the orphanage in Bath stood at the door of the classroom.
The children sat on benches in rows, the room darker than usual due to the clouds outside. The one dusty window didn’t allow an extraordinary amount of light into the space.
Hannah Northrop told the student she was assisting to continue writing their consonants. She smoothed her black hair in a tight bun as she crossed the room, the floorboards creaking beneath her, and then curtsied before the headmistress. “How may I be of assistance?”
“Follow me to my office, Hannah” the headmistress replied. “I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”
Hannah’s blue eyes widened as she swallowed. What could be wrong? The children were rarely asked to come to the office, and when they were, it was usually due to an infraction. Every once in a great while, a fortunate child may be adopted. But Hannah had given up hope for that long ago—she was far too old as a twenty-year-old assistant teacher at the orphanage where she’d grown up. She willed the butterflies in her stomach to land as she stood in front of the desk.
The headmistress handed her an envelope. “This is payment from the milliner shop owner for the latest jingle you wrote.”
Hannah pocketed the payment. She’d been creating advertisements and jingles for a few small shops in town. They didn’t pay much, but it was something, and she enjoyed writing them.
“I received a request from Miss Barclay,” the headmistress stated.
Hannah raised an eyebrow. Miss Barclay was her late aunt’s stepdaughter.
“She offers an excellent position to you as a governess with the family at Archer Hall,” the headmistress continued.
Hannah was quiet a moment as she wasn’t sure if this news should please or anger her. Her aunt’s family brought a ready mix of volatile emotions.
The headmistress’s eyes pinned her. “You need to accept this offer.”
Silence filled the room as Hannah weighed her options and considered how she should answer. “I’m surprised and thankful for the offer of employment. But is there a reason why I’m not given a choice in this particular matter?”
“Payments for your upkeep will cease since this offer has been extended to you. The orphanage can no longer justify keeping your place since we already have several instructors.”
Hannah’s heart thudded. My place here was never permanent and could’ve been halted at any time by my faceless guardian. It’s a wonder this day hasn’t come sooner. “I understand. Thank you for informing me. I’ll accept the offer directly and make immediate preparations to leave.”
“Very good.” The headmistress paused. “I wish you well in your new life.”
“Thank you.” I’ll need it.
Kenneth
Mr. Kenneth Barclay stormed out of his father’s study.
Lair. His evil lair.
Another meeting with his father, Percival Barclay, the Viscount of Putnam. Father is far too heavy-handed with business. Kenneth scowled. With people.
He thundered up the stone stairs to his quarters in Archer Hall, the sound reverberating in the large space. Once again, he was the one sent to deliver the message instead of his father. The messenger boy— that’s all Father sees me as. Twenty-five years old, and I’m still fetching and carrying like I’m twelve.
Kenneth intercepted his manservant in the corridor. “Inform the stable master to ready my horse for immediate departure.”
“Yes, sir. Might I remind you dinner will be served shortly.”
“I won’t be in attendance. I need—” Kenneth stopped short. If he stayed the night and left in the morning, he could finish the ship plan alterations and visit the builder while in London. At least that would give him a task of his own control of which to look forward.
I want to leave. Kenneth rubbed his face. Trapped. I need to find my place.
“I can arrange for dinner to be brought to your study,” his manservant said.
He’d probably heard the argument. Not that spats were an uncommon occurrence; Kenneth and his father rarely saw eye to eye.
“Do that,” Kenneth replied. “I’ll be a couple weeks in London and will send the address in case I need to be contacted.”
“Very good, sir.”
Kenneth continued down the corridor glancing out a window. It had been a chilly, dreary day and the remoteness of Archer Hall’s surroundings stared back at him as the forests in the distance were eclipsed by darkness.
He slammed the door to his own study, threw himself into his chair, and shut his eyes. What if I walked out of Archer Hall and never came back? Start fresh on my own?
He exhaled. I can’t. I’m heir to Putnam, and I need to shoulder that responsibility.
That’s my place, whether I like it or not.
Oliver
Oliver Vaughan, Earl of Vaughnryd, entered the secondary drawing room he and Lady Corwyn had dubbed the Project Heir room at her home in Derbyshire. Books, charts, and papers were strewn all over the place. A fire gave the room warmth and light, though the wall of windows on the east side allowed for plenty of sunshine to pour in.
He kissed her paper-thin cheek and frowned. She’s getting more fragile by the day.
Lady Corwyn’s light blue eyes beamed at him. “You have the records I wanted. Dependable, smart boy.” She patted his cheek. “Handsome too. Beautiful hazel eyes and all that dark hair. What are the ladies about these days? One should’ve snatched you up by now.”
Oliver shook his head. His lack of lady was becoming a weekly topic of discussion. “How was your doctor’s visit?”
“I’m fit as a fiddle.”
“Lady Corwyn,” he gently chided.
She pressed her lips into a thin line. “We need to find my heir now.”
Grace Northrup, Countess of Corwyn in her own right, was his nearest neighbor and practically family. His only family left. Oliver dreaded the time when she’ll leave him as well. He had deep roots here but wouldn’t be connected to anyone.
“Come, child,” Lady Corwyn said gently. “Let’s get to work and see what you’ve found.”
Oliver smiled. He’d always be a child to her, even though he was a grown man of twenty-six.
“Have you a new lady?” she asked.
Oliver chuckled. “Not since you asked last week.”
“You’re right to be choosy— no sense in marrying poorly and messing up the works. But if you wait too long, you’ll be doing this as well.”
Lady Corwyn was searching for someone to bequeath her massive inheritance and titles to. And she was right; he’ll need an heir for his estate, Vaughnryd. They might be closing in on one for her, but there was confusion in the last two to three generations. Too many people had the same or similar names, and the surname changed spelling.
Hopefully, these documents would help sort matters out.
