Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Very good. Would you like to be shown to your room so you may rest?” he asked as we made our way toward the entrance.
I thought of Uncle Alfred and Lord Ashington being stuck with him for several more hours. He was sure to have many questions about the grounds. “If it’s not too much trouble, I thought perhaps you might show me around. A walk outside after so much sitting would be lovely.”
A smile lifted the corners of his mouth and I wasn’t sure if it was in relief that he was free of Uncle Alfred or that he liked the idea of a walk. Whatever the case, it was the right thing to say. “Of course,” he replied.
I wanted to ask if Whitney could come too, but I didn’t. After such a long time in the carriage, she would need to stretch out her leg and rest for a while. It always cramped up and bothered her after travel.
When we stepped inside Chatwick Hall, I decided Aunt Harriet was wrong. Surely even Buckingham Palace wasn’t as majestic as this. I stopped and took in the stately entrance, marble floors, priceless works of art, and domed ceiling.
“Welcome to Chatwick Hall,” Lord Ashington said as we all stood in wonder. Even Uncle Alfred seemed at a loss for words.
What it must have been like to grow up here. How often did one get lost? I noticed then several maids were waiting quietly beside the staircase. There were three younger girls and one older woman who appeared to be the one in charge. I smiled at them and then wondered if they got lost in this home.
“After a long day of travel, I am sure you could all use a rest and time to freshen up. Agnes,” he waved toward the older lady who stepped forward, “will make sure everyone finds their room and your things are put away. If you should need anything, just ask.”
Aunt Harriet thanked Lord Ashington again and went toward Agnes, clearly ready to find a room and get some rest. Whitney followed her and I noticed her limp was slightly worse from the stress of travel. She would never ask for help or mention her discomfort. My leaving her so soon after our arrival would be difficult. She may need some help.
“What can I do to help?” Lord Ashington asked in a low voice beside me.
Startled, I hadn’t realized he was so close, and I turned to see him watching Whitney as she walked slowly behind Aunt Harriet. His consideration was thoughtful. I wasn’t sure others would pay much mind to my sister’s condition.
“If she could be shown her room so that she may rest and elevate her leg. It helps after travel.”
He nodded and motioned for someone I didn’t see, then suddenly a man appeared at his side. He was older than Lord Ashington. His hair was silver and although it was clear he worked here, he still seemed rather refined. I heard him give the man the directions I had just requested for Whitney and the man was gone.
“Neil will make sure it is all taken care of. Agnes will know of Whitney’s needs and she will be in the best care.”
“Thank you,” I said, wishing I could convey how I felt in words. It was more than simple thanks. It was relief. Whitney had always been my biggest concern. “She is so excited about being here. This is something I could have never given her. The travel is never easy on her, but she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to visit a place such as Chatwick Hall. I am truly grateful, Lord Ashington,” I said the words with the emotion I felt, hoping it was enough. Although words rarely were.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Are you? Truly grateful?”
I was confused and taken off balance for a moment as I nodded slowly then said, “Yes, of course. How could I not be?”
“Then for this weekend, could you try addressing me as simply Ashington?”
I stood there staring up at him, unsure I was hearing him correctly. That was so informal and familiar. How was I to do such a thing? We didn’t know each other well enough for me to address him by his given name.
“It’s simple. Just Ashington. Lord Ashington was my father, and although I have adjusted to the name the past few years, I am still struggling. Hugh is my given name, but it was also the name my father called me. I do not have fond memories attached to it.”
When he put it like that it made it very hard to argue.
“Very well but if I am to address you as… Ashington, then you must call me Miriam,” I replied, wanting to level the field.
He grinned then. Almost wickedly. “I had intended to.”
Maybe I should have been taken aback by his forwardness, but I wasn’t. I laughed. Perhaps that wasn’t proper, but then I was not always the proper English miss. It was something he must know before it was too late.