The Steward of Blackwood Hall

Chapter nineteen - Sir Henry arrives at Woodside

The wheels of the chaise rattled over the uneven road as Mountford slapped a gloved hand on his knee. "You have not yet given me an adequate explanation for your abominable behaviour this morning."

Fielding pursed his lips as he stared through the window at the darkening autumn sky, refusing to voice the first response that came to mind.

"Why did you not wait for me? I dressed with unseemly haste and was only a little late."

The whine in his friend's voice pushed Fielding beyond the limit of his patience. "You sound astonishingly like your sister, Mountford. If you are determined to complain, at least strive to do so in a manner more worthy of your sex. I needed to speak to Mr. Latimer on an urgent matter of business, and had no intention of delaying the discussion to suit any convenience of yours. You can either accept my apology or not, but you will hardly make yourself a pleasing guest if you insist on sulking all evening."

They continued their journey in silence. Although he understood Mountford's anger at being left behind, any lingering resentment would be of short duration, and Fielding was otherwise satisfied with his morning's work. Despite the discomfort involved in holding such an interview with a gentleman he was scarcely acquainted with, the result was the best he could have wished for. All that remained now was to seek another private moment with Anabelle and hope she would this time return a favourable response.

Given his own feelings, and those he believed Anabelle to possess, he would accept no other outcome.

His friend shifted in his seat, looking past the postilion to check on their progress. Although Mountford had been into Haltford once or twice since he inherited Blackwood, he had not yet travelled much beyond the town. As a result, everything they now passed was new to him.

Yet for Fielding their route already held memories. This was the road he walked with Anabelle as she accompanied him upon his first visit to Woodside. These were the same black gates they passed through. The older servant who opened the door of the chaise had taken his horse only this morning.

As he stepped down, Fielding stared at the familiar black front door. He had no clearer idea whether Anabelle would welcome his presence this evening than he had that morning. A rare twinge of nerves stiffened his resolve, and he consciously straightened his back and raised his chin.

"A tidy looking place," Mountford said as he alit from the chaise beside him. "You did say we would be dining with the whole family, including the daughters?"

"The elder daughters, I presume." For a moment Fielding wondered whether he was doing the right thing, introducing Mountford to Anabelle, but then he shook his head.

Whatever the events of this evening, he had to believe Anabelle loved him.

~<>~@~<>~

Anabelle studied her pale reflection in the dressing mirror as the girl placed a final comb in her hair. She had always prided herself on her discernment and judgement of character, and it was humbling indeed to discover that her powers of penetration were no less prone to fault than anyone else. With any other subject, the mistake—held up to the light by her father—would have been embarrassing, but she might have laughed it off soon enough.

As her error involved Mr. Fielding, and strongly influenced her decision to reject his marriage proposal, she found very little to laugh about.

Her father knew of Mr. Fielding's true situation, and had said nothing, but she could not accuse him as the sole architect of her misfortunes. She was responsible for spreading the belief that Mr. Fielding was a steward, and as the day passed she resigned herself to accept whatever consequences might arise, but the decision brought her no peace. Anabelle could not settle her mind until she satisfied herself that Mr. Fielding bore her no ill feeling.