Chapter 8
He was rather certain that he should not be this excitable regarding his return to Leadworth. Oh, it was a charming place, of course, but it hardly had the invigorating pace of London, or the wonders of the continent. Really, barely anything happened, with the exclusion of several balls and dances. Nevertheless, he was restless on his journey, jigging his leg up and down as he travelled along cobblestone roads and dirt tracks through the countryside in an old carriage.
After a while, he could not stand the slowness of his journey a moment further. Once they stopped off at an inn to rest for the night, he told the driver of his carriage that he would be requiring his services no longer; though he did need to borrow a horse. He had left Arthur at a friend's residence near London, after an injury had rendered him unable to make the long trek to Leadworth. The driver gladly lent Mr Smith a fine black horse for a rather handsome amount of money, and agreed to continue through at his slower pace with Mr Smith's minimal luggage to arrive a little after Mr Smith would on his speedier mode of transport.
Mr Smith was all set to ride his hired horse the following morning, after spending an impatient time at the inn sketching through the night with a pencil in one hand and a drink in the other, in an attempt to ward off boredom. Indeed, it was only upon his wakening that he realised that the several drawings he had composed – which he had slept amongst, upright in an armchair, just as he was situated the night before – were all of a certain young lady. He tried not to acknowledge this, simply clearing his throat and putting the papers aside; this did not, however, prevent him from picking said papers back up and placing them, carefully folded, into the breast pocket of his jacket. It was not as though anyone but him would ever see them, after all, and he had depicted her likeness so very, very well on the page – at least he thought he had, from what his memory dictated. He thought that such reminders would be useful to keep a hold of, for the next time he had to depart for an extensive period of time.
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The House was a flurry of activity. Miss Peth had been instructed by Mrs Noble to ensure she and the rest of the housemaids had swept and dusted every corner of every room and plumped every cushion and pruned every plant. Mrs Tyler sat on a chaise in the drawing room and surveyed all this arbitrary nonsense with contempt.
"He is not some sort of Lord, Sylvia," she tutted, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "You needn't go to all this trouble!"
"Mrs Tyler, he is a guest! And we must treat him as such!"
"You must confess, though, Mother – you never go to this much trouble for any other guests we have," remarked Miss Noble, upon entering the room.
"He is a wealthy man!" Mrs Noble exclaimed. "I'm surprised at your lack of interest in him, Mrs Tyler! He would be a perfect match for young Rose and you know it! Why are you so reluctant to see his good attributes?"
Miss Noble raised an eyebrow at this. "That's...actually a good point. Mrs Tyler, why on Earth do you dislike the poor man so much? I'm aware he can be a bit of an arrogant muppet at times, but he has a good heart, and it cannot have escaped your notice that last time he graced us with his presence, he couldn't take his eyes off Ro - "
"A-hem," coughed Miss Tyler, stepping into the drawing room to hear what all the fuss was about. "Donna, don't encourage them. Mr Smith and I are merely friends!"
Miss Noble snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. "Oh, of course, yes; just as Mr Temple and I are 'merely friends...' at the moment!" Then she laughed loudly, and her friend scowled at her playfully, and Mrs Noble despaired at them both for being so unlike the normal young ladies of Leadworth, and Mrs Tyler yawned and began sewing.
"Now, Mother is right, you do not have to go to so much trouble just to entertain a friend," Miss Tyler said to Mrs Noble, trying to calm her down as she flitted about the room. "I had not realised you had taken to him so, in any case."
"Oh, I find him completely frustrating," admitted Mrs Noble.
"Aha! Thank you!" cried Mrs Tyler triumphantly.
"But," continued Mrs Noble, as though her friend had not interrupted, "He is a wealthy man and we have plans, have we not, Miss Tyler?"
Miss Tyler's brow furrowed deeply and she sighed. "Oh, if you are going to begin with the whole marriage thing again, Aunt Sylvia, then I shall leave the room and not return until he's gone back to London!"
"She can find a much better suitor than him!" announced Mrs Tyler, looking up from her sewing. "Now that Mr Harkness, he's a nice fellow. When is he coming back?"
"Oh, not until next month, Mother," Miss Tyler replied with a smile.
"Will you two hush about Mr Harkness for a moment," tutted Mrs Noble. "Rose, dear, I was not speaking of you marrying Mr Smith...merely, using his wealth to your advantage – you know, with your idea?"
"What idea?" asked Mrs Tyler.
"Oh," Miss Tyler realised, not answering her mother. "Well, no, I could never ask him such a thing. How improper...but hold on, when I spoke of this idea before, you told me it would be unfeasible, Aunt Sylvia – that a woman would not be able to do such a thing, or acquire any support in the matter."
"I have been thinking it over," explained Mrs Noble. "And I sincerely believe that you and Donna may be able to work something out regarding the running of the place, were Mr Smith able to provide Mr Temple with some financial support."
Miss Noble shrugged. "I suppose we could ask him if he would like to invest. Mr Temple won't mind us trying."
"But – but - " stammered Miss Tyler, unable to convey why she felt unsettled by the notion.
"What is it?"
"Yes exactly!" interrupted Mrs Tyler. "What is this secret you three are privy too, hmm?"
"Never you mind, Jacqueline," huffed Mrs Noble. "You would only discourage them."
"Why? What is it?" she persisted.
"Something that would likely make me independent, Mother, and in no need of marriage," Miss Tyler said pointedly.
Mrs Tyler frowned. "What on Earth could you do that would mean you don't need marriage?" she asked, genuinely baffled.
Her daughter sighed, and was about to reply with something rather witty when they heard the distinct sound of a horse trotting across the gravel at the front of the house.
"Oh my! Stations, everyone!" cried Mrs Noble. "The wealthy potential-benefactor has arrived!"
"Mother," hissed Miss Noble. "Don't go saying things like that when he's around, all right? Leave the business discussions between Grandad, Mr Temple and him, yes?"
"Very well," Mrs Noble nodded. "Now go and greet him! And be nice!"
"He's my friend! I'm always nice," scoffed Miss Noble. She shrugged. "Mostly."
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