Will She Be Mine

  Will She Be Mine?

  Jessica L. Jackson

  Blush sensuality level: This is a suggestive romance (loves scenes are not graphic).

  Thaddeus Milborough, the youngest son of an earl, lives quietly in North Yorkshire, patiently tending his tea roses. The prettiest blossom of all is his new neighbor Amelia Horton—lovely, alone and decidedly pregnant.

  When Amelia’s parents sent her away, they made no pretence that she was a respectable widow. All of Hinderwell knows her baby is illegitimate. Shunned by her neighbours and far from the home she once knew, her only solace is the kindness of the gentleman next door. But surely he would not involve himself with a fallen woman and another man’s child.

  When love blooms among the roses, Thaddeus and Amelia must overcome the villagers’ scorn if they can ever hope to be a happy family.

  A Blush® historical romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Will She Be Mine?

  Jessica L. Jackson

  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. Milborough’s, their nearest neighbor, their garden was the most beautiful one in Hinderwell—or Runswick Bay, for that matter—and it was all on account of her dear mistress’s efforts.

  Gladys looked across the side garden to the big cottage next door. She thought she caught the twitching of the curtains and knew that Mr. Milborough had been watching Miss Amelia again. That man, she thought, carrying the dishwater outside to be thrown beneath the yew tree, he needs to come over and meet Miss Amelia instead of making eyes at her through gaps in net curtains. And his manservant, Angus McLeod—daft as a brush, that one. A great gormless hulk of a man better fit for farming than as a gentleman’s servant.

  “Miss Amelia?” Gladys called. Her mistress turned from where she contemplated the bank of roses at the end of the garden.

  “Yes, Mrs. Edley?”

  “‘Tis past time for me to go to the butcher’s. Will you be all right?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Gladys didn’t like to leave her on her own but errands had to be run. “I’ll be chuffed if I can get me some calf’s liver.”

  “Do not trouble yourself, Mrs. Edley.”

  “You know what the doctor’s said, mum. You’re to have calf’s liver once a week, sithee.”

  “Yes, I see.” Her mistress laughed softly, clearly pleased to be making inroads into proper Yorkshire speech.

  Gladys nodded and went to collect her shopping basket. When she stepped out of their roomy home, containing as it did a front parlor, a dining parlor, a workroom, a big kitchen, two decent bedrooms and two small ones, plus her own rooms in the attic, the woman walked straight up to Angus McLeod, who stood at the end of the front garden as though waiting for her.

  When she reached the gate Angus opened it for her. “There thou art, thou gormless lump,” Gladys said by way of greeting. She passed through and stood before him, folding her arms under her ample bosom. “I’ve summat to tell thee.”

  “Mrs. Edley,” Angus said through his teeth. She was a comely, buxom woman, but she had a mouth on her that would curl a donkey’s tail. “I’ve somethin’ I’ve been meanin’ to speak with ye about too.”

  “I’ll be going first,” Gladys informed him.

  He lifted his soft cap and indicated that they should begin to walk toward the market. Best to let her have her own way, he thought.

  “It’s to do with your master and me mistress.”

  “Aye?”

  “She needs an ‘usband…”

  “And he needs a wife,” he finished. She smiled and looked up at him, placing one finger alongside her nose. He repeated her gesture and they both nodded emphatically and a pact was formed.

  Chapter Two

  Thaddeus, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows and wearing a green gardening apron of his own, puttered about among his rose specimens at the bottom of the garden. He wore a woven straw hat too, but his had a red-checkered cotton band around the crown above the large floppy brim
. It wasn’t a stylish hat and he shuddered to think what his father would say if he saw him, but he had no care for style anymore. Living in Hinderwell allowed him to do as he pleased. Other than the occasional invitation to the Earl of Mulgrave’s home near Whitby and tea with the vicar every second Sunday, he was left mostly to his own devices.

  The local squire had an interest in horticulture and so would drop in, usually inconveniently, and expect him to discuss the squire’s efforts to perfect a stringless variety of Phaseolus vulgaris—the common French green bean. This might have been a fascinating discussion if the squire actually knew what he was about, but unfortunately the squire mostly boasted and puffed of his near successes.

  Occasionally Thaddeus’ family came for a visit and once a year he joined his cousin, Lord Leakesly, for a few weeks hunting close to Thirske. Gay to the point of dissipation, in fact, he thought with a chuckle.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  Thaddeus froze. That soft voice. He rarely had the good fortune to hear it. She had spoken to him precisely six times since her arrival in Hinderwell four months previously. He had memorized each utterance. “Good morning” three times. “Good afternoon” twice. And on one memorable occasion when she had bumped into him on the street outside his house, “Pardon me. I’m so clumsy these days.”

  “Excuse me, Mr. Milborough? I wonder if you would mind giving me some advice?”

  Thaddeus turned abruptly, setting his hat brim flopping about alarmingly. He closed his eyes and cursed his choice of headgear. What had seemed sensible and comfortable for five years suddenly became the type of hat only a fool would wear. The woman whom he longed for and dreamed of and thought constantly about currently stood at the tall iron gate that separated his back garden from the public foot path leading down to Runswick Bay and to the North Sea. She had a similar gate, which usually squeaked loudly when opened. He must have been wool-gathering not to have heard it. Her straw sunhat made her look more charming than ever. He had to say something!

  “Miss Horton?” Brilliantly said, he thought in disgust. He pulled off his hat and gave her a small bow. Damn, now she can see that I’m losing my hair. Thaddeus rushed forward and opened the gate for her. “Please, won’t you come in?”

  “Regretfully, no,” she replied, smiling ruefully.

  Too late he remembered to have some regard for her reputation. “Of course.”

  She gave him a real smile of gratitude for his understanding and when he smiled back she wondered if he realized how his smile quite transformed his face. The moment his lips rose into a grin two dimples appeared, giving him a certain boyish charm that made him look younger. His dimples had been one of the first things Amelia had noticed about him when she’d moved here. For days after their first polite greeting outside their homes she had considered herself fickle and capricious for being so attracted to her neighbor so soon after her only disastrous foray into the arena of romantic love. Could she be as wanton as her parents accused?

  After their second encounter, she’d also noticed that his blue eyes were a striking clear-turquoise. Again she’d berated herself for finding pleasure in their charm. That charm was readily apparent today, too, for his spectacles had slipped down his nose and he was looking over their tops at her.

  “How can I advise you, Miss Horton?”

  She blushed and looked down, catching sight of his strong tanned forearms. Goodness, I must be as dissolute as Mama and Papa believe, she thought wretchedly. My heart is fluttering like an excited bird merely at the sight of the man’s bare arms!

  “What is it?” her neighbor asked. He followed her gaze and flushed. “Oh, I do apologize,” he said, turning his back to roll down his sleeves.

  “Not at all. I shouldn’t have disturbed you while you were working,” she insisted, taking a step back. He turned and saw the action and rushed through the gate.

  “Please. Think nothing of it,” he urged. “I make no mind of it, I assure you. How may I be of assistance?”

  She held out one of her gloved hands and showed him the rose leaves she had picked. Purplish-black dots marred their glossy green surfaces.

  “Ah. That’s Diplocarpon rosae, I’m afraid,” he said, taking care not to touch it. “Black spot. A fungus.”

  “It sounds serious.” Amelia’s eyebrows rose and she bit her bottom lip while she attempted to gravely consider the problem while at the same time ignoring the unaccountable attraction she felt for this tall, slender, scholarly man. He was nothing like the lover who had left her with child and then laughed when she’d expected him to marry her. “Mr. Milborough?”

  Thaddeus tore his gaze away from her lips and concentrated once more on the rose leaves. “It is. Indeed, yes.”

  “Is there anything I can do to stop the spread of the fungus? I have found it on only two of my rose bushes.”

  A sea breeze teased a few strands of hair out from beneath Amelia’s bonnet and set them afloat. She took off her glove to push the hair back beneath her hat. Thaddeus watched her every move, admiring her graceful fingers before she replaced her glove.

  “Um,” he said, adjusting his spectacles so that they sat properly on his nose. “I suggest that you gather up any leaves left over from last year and any new ones that you find and burn them. If you discover any lesions on your plant stems, the stems must be cut out and burnt too. It is essential, Miss Horton, that you avoid touching any of your other roses while you are working with the infected ones.” He frowned and folded his arms.

  His muscles strained against the soft cambric material of his shirt, distracting Amelia from his directions. She blinked several times and forced herself to concentrate.

  “Unfortunately, this fungus is very resistant and is likely to return. You must remain vigilant. Also, boil your gloves when you are finished.”

  “Boil my gloves, sir?” Amelia hated her breathy voice and took another step backward. “Thank you. I will do so. You’ve been most kind.”

  “You are very welcome, Miss Horton,” he said, bowing to her as she hastened away.

  He wondered what had startled her. He didn’t think he’d done anything threatening. Thaddeus put his hat back on and returned to his roses. Several times he looked over at the gate, hoping she’d be standing there, but she didn’t return.

  “You are a fool, Thaddeus Milborough,” he whispered beneath his breath. “A complete and utter fool.”

  Amelia stared unseeing at the offending fungus on her bushes. There had been something unique about Mr. Milborough. What was it? She shook herself and started to remove the infected foliage. It was not until she had cleared most of one bush that she understood. He had looked at her as a person, not at her swollen abdomen. The baby kicked within her and she patted her stomach.

  “That has not happened in a while, has it, little one?” A grateful tear welled up but she did not let it fall but rather kept it close, as a witness that not everyone found her unworthy of their regard.

  Chapter Three

  Amelia sat at dinner toying with the last half of a slab of boiled calf’s liver already cold on her plate. To oblige Mrs. Edley she had eaten some but she thought if she tried to take one more bite she would part company with the first half. The fried onions had congealed into an unappetizing glop which she’d hidden under the liver. The color of Thaddeus Milborough’s eyes occupied her thoughts. Such a delightful shade of greenish-blue, she thought, letting out a sigh. She thought of his strong, tanned forearms and wondered what his bare hands looked like.

  “Is that all you’re eating this night, mum?”

  Amelia started guiltily and flushed. She put down her fork and leaned away from the table.

  “Yes, Mrs. Edley. Thank you.”

  “Humph,” her henchwoman commented, picking up the plate. “Happen we should be getting ourselves a dog, mum, so as not to be throwing out so much food.”

  “Or a pig, perhaps?”

  “Not near ‘nough room in the garden for a pig,” was the reply. Before she
left the dining parlor, Mrs. Edley turned around. “And what was you burning in the garden afore?”

  “Rose leaves. I asked Mr. Milborough about the spots on my rose bush leaves,” she explained airily, as though this was a commonplace occurrence. A glance at Mrs. Edley‘s knowing grin brought on a blush. “He said that a fungus has infected the bushes and that I should burn all the diseased leaves and stems. It may still come back, though,” Amelia added thoughtfully. “I expected roses would be easy to grow.”

  “Nothing worth doing is easy, no doubt,” Mrs. Edley replied philosophically. “And roses are no different, sithee.”

  “Happen you’re 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.