Snowflakes and Wallflowers E-Book

Lauren Smith

• Herausgeber: Lauren Smith
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Seitenzahl: 156

Beschreibung

Becoming the Earl of Castleton wasn’t something Arthur Brynnwood was expecting. Yes, his great-uncle was old, but Arthur had always imagined him living forever. But after he learned of his great-uncle’s passing he went from being just another gentleman to one of the highly sought-after prizes by matchmaking mamas of the ton. Suddenly the responsibility of running such a vast estate was thrust on Arthur’s shoulders. The estate accounts were a mess and it was clear his uncle’s steward had been embezzling from his uncle for years. When he arrives at the castle and sees the gross mismanagement of the properties he loses his temper and orders the new steward to let people know their rent was rising–either pay or move.

To his surprise a lovely young woman named Matilda comes to him the next day, pleading prettily for leniency for herself and her ailing aunt who had been living in a cottage free for years. Too used to the wiles of women, Arthur remains unmoved by her words and tells her coldly there will be no reconsideration of his orders. He is the new Earl of Castleton and he will be obeyed. The next thing he knows, he’s choking on a snowball thrown at his face and Matilda is marching away, back straight and head held proudly high. Once again, his temper explodes. He grabs her and wrestles the shrieking, kicking woman to a bedchamber and locks her in until he decides what to do with her.

He finds himself intrigued and reluctantly impressed by her show of spirit. She’s not the usual, simpering, coy type of woman who all but worships at his feet in London. And her beauty . . . he feels an unexpected lust when he imagines her long, russet hair and eyes the color of good whiskey. Deciding it’s been too long since he’s had a mistress, he knows exactly how to solve the problem of Matilda: he’ll allow her free use of the cottage she lives in for the rest of her life in exchange for being his mistress this Christmas season…

Leseprobe

SNOWFLAKES AND WALLFLOWERS

Christmas Wallflowers

LAUREN SMITH

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

About the Author

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2022 by Lauren Smith

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitutes unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at [email protected]. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-958196-07-6 (e-book edition)

ISBN: 978-1-958196-08-3 (print edition)

Created with Vellum

CHAPTER1

Cornwall, England, December 1822

Matilda Matthews’s day was ruined by a terrible downpour of icy rain that shrouded her home Meadow Cross, the little cottage on the edge of the Earl of Castleton’s estate where she had lived her entire life. She had hoped for snow; it was certainly cold enough.

A wall of unpleasant gray clouds and sleet had cast a pallid tone to the skies and ice shimmered on the rippling ivy that climbed up the cottage walls. They’d had such a late fall that the ivy on the walls had stayed green far longer than usual, but come tomorrow it would begin to wither beneath the frost. Not for the first time, Matilda was thankful for her Aunt Florence’s beautiful paintings of spring flowers that hung upon the walls of their little cottage. She and her aunt had called the paintings “the wallflowers.” For a few moments, one could look upon them and believe it was spring and not a bitterly cold winter.

Matilda gazed out the window with a weary sigh. She had wanted to go to the village today, but it was far too wintry to set foot outdoors. Her Aunt Florence had insisted she stay home where it was safe and warm, and she’d had to agree that was wise, no matter trapped she felt indoors.

“What is it, dear?” Florence spoke from where she sat in an armchair by the small fire. She had been ill for the past week, which worried Matilda greatly.

“Oh, nothing,” Matilda said. “I just wish it hadn’t rained.”

The two lived a quiet life, one she loved, but every so often, she craved a little more excitement. She wanted to at least visit the shops in the village and mingle with her friends there, even though she had no money to spend. They lived on a very small yearly income left in a trust by Matilda’s father, who had been the steward of the Castleton estate. He and the late earl, Bernard Brynnwood, had been close friends despite their age difference, and when her father had died, Bernard had set money aside each year for Matilda and Florence to live on. The earl had given them the use of Meadow Cross cottage for life. He charged them no rent, and his only wish was that, weather and health permitting, they would join him once a week for a nice dinner at his grand house a short way across the field, beyond a small patch of woods. Those dinners had always been enjoyable, and the old earl was as sweet to her as any doting grandfather, despite the fact that she was not a blood relation to him. But the earl had died two weeks ago, and their future was now uncertain.

Matilda splayed a hand on the glass windowpane and peered at the rain. She blinked, and suddenly it was snowing. In just a few moments, the rain had turned to thick thumb-sized clumps of snowflakes which drifted down so heavily, it was almost impossible to see anything beyond the small fence that bordered the garden in front of the cottage. Something dark moved in the snow, a hazy shape that grew larger as it drew closer.

Was it a figure in a cloak coming into the garden toward the cottage? She started toward the door, hoping to intercept the visitor, when she heard a rapid knock. She opened the door and saw the figure was already rushing away through the snow. Confused, she glanced about and then down at the ground. A letter sat on the edge of the doorway. Matilda bent and retrieved it. She turned the letter over to see the wax seal of the house of Castleton. She quickly shut the door and broke the seal. Since the passing of the old earl, she and Florence had been waiting to hear from the new earl, Bernard’s grandnephew.

“Who was at the door?” Florence asked.

“I’m not sure. But they delivered a letter from His Lordship.” She unfolded the parchment and read the words silently to herself.

To the residence of Meadow Cross cottage,

Arthur Brynnwood, the new Earl of Castleton, is the owner of Meadow Cross cottage where you now reside. He requests your immediate departure forthwith unless you are willing to pay one pound a month in rent. You have five days to collect all objects and furnishings which belong to you and to vacate the cottage. All questions can be directed to Lord Castleton or his new steward, Henry Fulton.

Sincerely,

Mr. Fulton

Matilda read the letter twice more, her confusion and distress growing so strong that her hands trembled. She and Aunt Florence couldn’t leave. Their annual income only covered food, firewood, a bit of coal, and other small but vital necessities. It could not cover his proposed rent here, let alone rent at a new place, assuming they could even find one. Cornwall was not a hospitable land this time of year, and there were few places to let at this time.

They had no other family or connections who might take them in. Even though Matilda was twenty years old, she felt ancient with her worries.

“Mattie, what is it? What does it say?” Her aunt’s question was punctuated by a violent sneeze at the end.

“It… it’s a letter from Arthur Brynnwood, the new earl. He is asserting a monthly rent of one pound… or else we must be gone from Meadow Cross cottage in five days.”

“He what?” Florence dissolved into a coughing fit. “He cannot do that… surely…”

“Unfortunately, as the new earl, he has every legal right.” Matilda’s reply was quiet, but her mind let out a desperate scream. What were they to do?

“Surely he can be reasoned with? Bernard was always so generous with us. I’m sure we need only remind his grandnephew of Bernard’s promise to us.”

“I’m not sure we can count on this man to be as compassionate.” Matilda feared he might be quite the opposite, given the abrupt tone of his steward’s letter.

“Perhaps I ought to speak with him,” Florence said. She started to rise from her chair, only to bow forward with a mighty cough. She withdrew a handkerchief and covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

Matilda caught her aunt and gently helped her back into the faded armchair.

“Your cold is getting worse. I think you need to stay here. I’ll speak to him.”

Perhaps if she batted her lashes and did her best to flatter his ego, this arrogant man would show some mercy and allow them to stay.

“You mustn’t be cross with him, Mattie. You said it yourself—this is his land, not ours.”

Matilda’s lips pressed into a firm line. Snow frosted the edge of the windows, and a chill wind whistled eerily down the chimney, making their small fire sputter and spark.

Five days. That was all she had to convince him to change his mind. With no time to waste, she would have to brave the weather She kissed her aunt’s cheek, tucked a thick woolen blanket around her, and made her a cup of warm tea.

Matilda fetched her cloak from a hook by the door and found her thickest gloves that had the fewest holes in them. She already wore her walking boots in hopes that she’d been able to go to town. That had been before the storm had arrived of course. She hadn’t bothered to change back into her slippers and now she was glad for it since it would save her time.

She tucked a stray wisp of her russet hair beneath the hood of her cloak and headed for the door. It was madness to walk to Castleton house in this weather, but what choice did she have?

“Do be careful, love,” her aunt called out before she opened the front door to face the icy winter.

The walk to the earl’s home was bitterly cold, and her threadbare blue woolen gown was patched from years of frequent wear. She was soaked to the bone and frost coated her lashes long before she reached the woods and the narrow path that led to the grand house.

It was late afternoon by the time she reached Castleton Hall. The snowfall had created a gray dusk that would soon give way to the sweeping darkness of nightfall. Matilda climbed the steps to the large oak front door, her toes and fingers as numb as ice. Warm lights emanated from the windows on the ground floor in contrast to the gloomy, cold world outside. She grasped the brass knocker and rapped it hard three times.

At first she feared no one had heard her, and it was only when she raised her head to try again that the door opened and the elderly butler, Mr. Stodgens, answered. He usually offered her a warm smile, but this time he looked weary and there was no hint of a smile on his face. She knew that losing Bernard Brynnwood had been hard on the butler. He’d had started at Castleton Hall as a young footman, where he had served Bernard for over thirty years. He had been completely devoted to His Lordship.

Mr. Stodgens squinted at her in surprise.

“Good heavens, Miss Matthews. What are you doing out in this weather?”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stodgens. I was wondering if His Lordship would grant me a brief audience?” She did her best to hide her chattering teeth, but the butler noticed.

“He won’t like it, but you had better come in. I shall inform His Lordship that you are here.” Stodgens motioned for her to enter. She lifted her skirts above her boots and stepped into the grand entryway.

The house’s interior had fine Italian marble columns and the walls were decorated with lovely tapestries of pastoral scenes depicting flowing meadows and lovelorn maidens of a bygone era gliding in swings or sitting with handsome gentlemen. It was one of the few homes in the region that bore such art, and Matilda had always adored touring the home’s corridors to see its paintings, sculptures, and tapestries.

“Come into the evening room and warm yourself by the fire, Miss Matthews.” The butler led her to a room with green wallpaper and gilded paintings of Castleton ancestors hanging upon the walls. She took a seat in the wingback chair by the fire and extended her hands toward the healthy flames, eager to banish the chill from her limbs.

After several minutes, the butler returned and informed her that she was to be escorted to the earl’s private study. When she reached the study and stepped inside, the sight that greeted her was an unexpected one.

A tall, well-built man stood behind a rosewood desk, his arms crossed over his chest, face fixed firmly in a scowl as Matilda entered his domain. He had a strong jaw and chin, with an aquiline nose and a pair of dark slashes for eyebrows over a pair of smoky gray eyes that sharpened on her in a predatory way.

Lord Arthur Brynnwood was a most striking and handsome man, Matilda decided, with his wild mane of dark hair unsettling arrogance. It was clear her presence at Castleton Hall was not welcome.

“Good evening, my lord,” she said, her voice surprisingly calm.

She wondered how she must have appeared to him, half drowned in mud, her hair escaping her coiffure as she lowered the hood of her cloak. She had done her best not to drag the wintry muck of the outdoors into his home, but she knew she must have. She was a peasant in front of a prince.

Lord Brynnwood wore black trousers and a silver waistcoat embroidered with green ivy patterns, which accented his broad shoulders and narrow hips. His white lawn shirt billowed out at the sleeves and his cravat was folded crisply to perfection. It had never been clearer to Matilda that the two of them were from different worlds, as different as a bird and a fish. Could creatures from the air and sea find a way to communicate? Matilda desperately hoped so.

“Stodgens said you are Miss Matilda Matthews, resident of Meadow Cross cottage, for the moment.”

She frowned slightly.

“I am, my lord,” she answered, keeping her voice soft despite the slow rising anger at his arrogant treatment.

“Good. Then you received my notice of your eviction five days from now. Unless, of course, you can pay the designated rent?”

It was growing harder and harder to control her temper.

“I did. It was your notice which brought me here. I must ask you to reconsider your decision to evict my aunt and me.”

The earl’s eyes narrowed and his lips twitched in an unpleasant smile.

“Are you asking me not to have you thrown off my property, Miss Matthews?”

“I am,” she admitted. It would be foolish to remind him of the promise his great-uncle had made to her and Aunt Florence. He was not bound by them.

“I suppose you have a list of reasons that you would like to tell me in hopes that I might find mercy in my black heart to let you remain at Meadow Cross?”

Matilda was astonished at the cool amusement in his tone. Were their lives a game to him? Before she could think better of it, she found herself coming toe to toe with him, angry and unafraid.

“Your great-uncle allowed my aunt and me to stay at the cottage because we have little income, no major support, and no connections. He valued my father, who had once been his steward, and promised him he would take care of us. I had hoped to find you were the same sort of man with a sense of honor and duty. I see that I am mistaken. Excuse me, my lord, but I have a long walk back to the cottage and if you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing quite fiercely.”

Matilda spun on her heel and was halfway out of the room when he called after her.

“You walked here?”

She spun back to face him. “Of course I did. If we could afford a pound a month, we might have had some other form of conveyance other than our own two feet!” On that note, she stormed down the corridor muttering to herself. She reached the front door, which Stodgens hastily opened.

“So very sorry, Miss Matthews.”

“It’s quite all right, Mr. Stodgens. Your master is the monster, not you.” She stepped out into the snowy night. She was only a dozen feet away when she heard Lord Castleton call out from the doorway.

“If you ask me sweetly, Miss Matthews, I might be convinced it’s worth the trouble to have my coach take you home.”

Matilda stopped dead and drew in a fortifying breath before she turned around.

“I’m afraid I’m all out of sweetness, my lord.” She emphasized the word in her most honeyed tone. “Unless you are willing to allow my aunt and me to stay at Meadow Cross, we have nothing to discuss.”

Castleton lounged in the doorway of his home, his arms crossed and face smug.

“No, I’m afraid not. I am the lord of this estate now, and I plan to see it do more than crumble from neglect as it had under my great-uncle. I have made my decision and it will be upheld. Five days are all you have to come up with the rent before I have you tossed out.”

Matilda was never quite sure what made her do what she did next. It was rash, but she had been pushed to her limit. It was also immature, but then so was everything about this man’s attitude. It was wrong, but at that moment she did not give a toss one way or the other.

She bent down, grabbing a slushy pile of snow in her gloved hands, packed it hard into a ball and, with no warning to her intended victim, hurled it directly at his head.

The slushy, icy mixture hit him square in the face and exploded. He lost his footing and fell onto his backside, laying half in the doorway of Castleton Hall.

“Bloody hell!” He roared and swiped a hand over his face, sending wet snow down the fine waistcoat he wore. She stared at him as he sat up and glared at her.

“Oh dear …” Matilda gasped as her sanity restored itself. She lifted her skirt above her knees and started to sprint down the road. She was breathing hard as she struggled through the snow. His harsh breaths and heavy, booted steps grew ever closer as he chased her.

“Come back here, Miss Matthews!” he shouted.

Suddenly she tripped, plummeting facedown into the snow just as he slammed down on top of her. She struggled and managed to elbow him. He grunted and flipped onto her back beneath him. He lay fully on top of her, his gray eyes bright as he stared down at her.

“Aren’t you a little polecat?” he growled as he pinned her wrists over her head in the snow. She was so furious and frightened, lying with the wet and cold seeping into her back beneath her.

“A woman shows the slightest courage and you deem her a polecat? You’re no gentleman!” she snarled back.

The frown on his face vanished and he suddenly smiled. “I have never claimed to be a gentleman, only the lord of this land. And the fact is, I like polecats.” His gaze drooped and she realized too late he was going to kiss her. The instant his lips touched hers, she lifted her knee hard into his stomach. His eyes bulged as a loud groan escaped him.