Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
I appreciate her visit and the sentiment behind it, but I really don’t want company, not in the state and mindset I’m in. I hope she will leave once I’ve taken her gift, but she steps closer, peering past me into the cottage’s chaos.
“Oh, you’re making good progress.”
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
She pulls her neck back. “Your granny never liked to throw anything out, so it’s going to be a lot of work for you to clear the house. You should hire one of those house clearance outfits. They’ll just come and take everything away in one afternoon.”
“It’s okay. I don’t want to throw out anything precious.”
She looks doubtful that there could be anything of value amongst my grandma’s belongings. “Yes, of course, there might be something of sentimental value. Anyway, you’ll definitely need to relax and decompress after all this effort. Why don’t you come and join the baking committee? We meet every Thursday. Nothing fancy, just cakes, scones, a bit of chatter.”
Her eyes are bright and expectant, but I hesitate and glance at the chocolate cake in my hand. I can bake pies and muffins, but my baking skills can’t match up to this level of cake making. Still, the villagers have been kind so far, first Ann’s pub invite, now this. Maybe it’s a sign I need to open up and embrace my new life.
“Sure,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “I’ll give it a try. Thanks for the invite.”
She nods and beams but doesn’t make any move to leave, and I can’t help but immediately suspect that she’s got an agenda, although I cannot possibly imagine what it could be. She turns toward the manor, and her tone shifts, becoming gossipy, conspiratorial.
“Have you met him yet? Your neighbor?” I understand clearly now. My stomach twists as I think of him, his smile in the village center, full of charm and big trouble.
“Yeah,” I say shortly, keeping my voice flat to shut it down. “Briefly.”
Cecelia’s eyes gleam like she’s struck gold. “Oh, he wasn’t pleasant, was he? “You’ll definitely want to watch him.”
“What do you mean?” I can’t resist asking.
She leans in, her voice dropping. “He’s been after this place for years. He even tried to buy it from your grandmother. It’s odd that he hasn’t approached you yet. I was sure he would have, since your grandma wouldn’t budge, bless her. You know, she hated his guts.”
I stiffen, picturing Hugh looming over a frail old lady. Waving his checkbook. It sours my mood fast.
But Cecelia doesn’t notice, and she barrels on venomously. “He’s a right piece of work when he doesn’t get his way. A nasty womanizer. He sees every woman in his orbit as fair game to be charmed and conquered. Believe me when I say that he will stoop to anything to get your land, and if he can get you in his bed, even better. Mark my words, he’ll be turning on the charm soon. Best if you keep your distance because he is very experienced and it’ll be all too easy for you to fall prey to him.”
Her assumptions that I am easy pickings annoy me, but what draws my attention even more is how her opinion clashes with Ann’s. Ann said that Hugh was the quiet duke, keeping to himself, riding his horses, training his hawks and absolutely not chasing any women from the village. But here Cecelia is saying the exact opposite. Is Ann just too young and smitten to realize what Cecelia, who is clearly more sophisticated, perceives? What exactly is the truth?
I decide that I don’t really care. Painting my living room is what I would like to get done before evening comes. My jaw tightens as unease curls in my gut. To be honest, Cecelia’s vibe feels off, all nosy glee, like she’s fishing for dirt, and I don’t trust her. I don’t trust him either, but trash-talking him with her feels wrong, like stepping into a trap.
I shrug and hope she’ll take the hint that I’m not interested in gossiping with her about Hugh. “Good to know, thanks for the advice,” I say coolly.
She opens her mouth, ready to dig deeper, but thank God, my phone shrieks from the counter, loud enough to make us both jump.
“Sorry, but I have to get that,” I say, already stepping back, the cake still awkwardly held up in my hands. “Thank you though, for stopping by.”
She’s clearly reluctant, but has no choice but to mutter her goodbyes and leave. I shut the door, relief washing over me. I really didn’t like that woman. Setting the cake down, I go over to grab the phone, expecting it to be Sandy, but to my surprise, it’s not her. It’s Mr. Sherridan from the antique shop.
“Miss Hutton?” he asks gravely.
I’m so excited to hear from him I stumble over my words as I answer. “Yes, it’s me. This is her. This is me. I can pick up the lamp today? I was waiting for your call.”