When she said nothing, he went on. “I know I haven’t contributed all I should toward her schooling, but I will make up for that now. I have been well paid for my work at the Fairmont.”
“And if I agree?” Mercy asked. “I cannot become her legal guardian over a handshake. You would have to sign something—acknowledge your role as next of kin, to the lawyers at least.”
“I will. Though I would still ask’ee not to spread it about the parish.”
“Of course, but I would need to discuss the situation with my aunt, my parents, and my two closest friends.”
He grimaced. “Very well, if you insist. Is your lawyer . . . ?”
“In Wishford.”
He nodded. “Tell me where to be when, and I shall sign whatever is needed.”
“Are you sure you will not change your mind? Raise Alice here?”
He shook his head. “Were my wife in good health, maybe. But as it is, no.”
“Mr. Thomas, I will need some time to think this through and talk to my family before I formally agree.”
He pulled a face. “Why? Do you not care for the girl? I realize you have other pupils to think of, but I have seen you with her out in the garden and after church. I thought you were fond of her.”
He had been keeping an eye on his great-granddaughter after all.
Mercy nodded. “I do care, and I am very fond of her. But this is a serious step. One we would both do well to consider carefully before doing anything permanent and life changing.”
“Very well. How long?”
Mercy stepped to the door. “I will let you know as soon as I can.”
She walked back to Ivy Cottage, stomach stirring with conflicting emotions—surprise, uncertainty, hope. Had God answered her prayers? Was this His way of giving her the desire of her heart?
Chapter
ten
Later that evening, Mercy told her aunt about Mr. Thomas’s request. She expected her to be pleased, but pleasure was not what she saw in Aunt Matty’s expression.
“Really? Poor Marion.” Matilda’s eyes turned down at the corners. “I wish she could raise the dear girl herself, though I know she would approve of his choice were she able. I must say I am surprised the old codger thought of asking you. It is to his credit, but . . .”
“But what? You don’t approve?”
“It is not that, Mercy. You know I am fond of Alice as are you. However . . . is Mr. Thomas certain she has no other family?”
“Not that he knows of. Do you remember Mrs. Thomas mentioning any other relatives who might step forward?”
“Not that I recall, though Marion was not acquainted with Mary-Alicia’s husband or his family.” Aunt Matty thought, then asked, “And what about our other girls? Might they feel slighted?”
“I think most of them would understand. Especially as they all have at least one parent living.”
“True. Just . . . tread cautiously, my dear. And talk to Mr. Coine and your parents before you make any promises, all right?”
“Yes, I plan to.”
“Good.”
The next day, Mercy rode with Mrs. Burlingame into Wishford to speak to her family’s lawyer, Mr. Coine. A few hours later, when the carter brought her back to Ivy Hill, Mercy stopped at The Bell to talk to Jane.
She found her at the desk. “I have news,” Mercy announced.
“Oh? Good news?”
“I . . . think so.”
“You don’t sound too sure.”
“My head is still spinning. May we talk in private?”
“Of course. Come out to the lodge.”
Jane led her across the drive. She opened the door, pausing to bend and scratch the ears of her adopted stable cat, Kipper. When they were settled at Jane’s small table, Mercy began, “You remember Alice, our youngest pupil?”
“Of course.”
“I have been asked to become her legal guardian.”
“Her guardian?”
Mercy nodded. “I have just been to see Mr. Coine in Wishford. He is your lawyer as well, I understand.”
“Yes. But how did this come about?”
“I told you her mother recently died, and her father has been gone for years. Alice’s great-grandparents are still living but feel unable to care for her.”
“Who are they? Would I know them?”
“Mr. and Mrs. Thomas.”
“The glazier? You never mentioned Alice had relatives in Ivy Hill.”
“I know. Mr. Thomas asked me not to.”
“Why?”
“I believe, among other things, he fears people would think poorly of him if they knew he was unwilling to take in his own great-granddaughter.”
“Has Alice any other family?” Jane asked. “Distant relatives on one side or the other?”
“Not that Mr. Thomas knows of.”
Jane squinted in thought. “So when I saw Mrs. Thomas in the churchyard, searching for a girl’s grave, was she mourning her granddaughter—Alice’s mother?”
“It’s possible, since she died early this year. Though she is buried in Bristol, I understand.”
“Poor Mrs. Thomas lost both her daughter and her granddaughter. . . .”
Mercy nodded. “Yes. It seems little wonder that her mind is tormented.”
Jane asked, “Were you acquainted with Alice’s mother?”
“Not really. Though I met Mary-Alicia once or twice when she was young. She spent a few summers here with her grandparents.”
Jane tilted her head at that. “What was her surname?”
“Smith.”
Jane nodded, chewing her lip. “You are a gifted teacher, Mercy. But for Mr. Thomas to give you their own great-grandchild . . .”
“I know. But Mrs. Thomas hasn’t long on this earth, I’m afraid. And Mr. Thomas, well . . .” Mercy let the thought trail away unfinished.
“Has he no interest in the girl himself?”
“There was apparently a falling-out between him and Alice’s mother years ago over something she did. He did not explain the particulars.”
Jane’s eyes flashed. “Well, whatever it was, it was not Alice’s fault.”
“I know, but I was unable to persuade him.”
Jane looked off into the distance, still grappling with the news as Mercy herself had done. “So . . . he has asked you to become her guardian. To raise her after he and his wife are gone.”
“Yes.”
Jane returned her gaze to her. “You are basically doing that already, are you not? She is your pupil, she lives with you, you teach her, feed her, clothe her . . .”
“Yes, but this is not just for a few years of schooling. This is forever.” Mercy gave a little laugh. “Or at least until she comes of age and wants to wash her hands of me.”
“She would not. She is clearly attached to you already.”
Mercy nodded. “And I her.”
“So you’ve agreed?”
“Not yet. I told Mr. Thomas I needed to consider all the ramifications. Talk to my family, and our lawyer.”
“What did Mr. Coine say?”
“He said because Mr. and Mrs. Thomas appear to be Alice’s last living relatives, and there isn’t a sizable inheritance at stake or anything like that, he does not think we’d need to involve the Court of Chancery. A signed agreement, just in case some other claimant challenges the decision later, is all he thinks we’ll need to proceed.”
“What does your aunt say?”
Mercy hesitated, brow furrowed as she thought back. “She isn’t against the idea, but she cautioned me. Asked if I am certain Alice has no other family. She knows if I get too attached, losing her would break my heart.”
“What about your parents? How will they feel about this?”
Mercy sighed. “They won’t like it. They barely tolerate the school.”
“Surely they would understand and not begrudge you this chance.”
“I hope you are right. Oh, Jane. I want to be more to Alice than her teacher or g
uardian. I want to raise her as my own. The daughter I never had, and likely never will have otherwise.”
Jane reached over and pressed her hand. “I understand.”
Mercy met her friend’s gaze and saw a faint sheen of tears shimmering there. “Oh, Jane, I’m sorry. I had not stopped to consider how this might make you feel.”
Jane managed a tremulous smile. “I should hope not! Please, don’t give my foolish feelings another thought. I may take five minutes to feel sorry for myself, but I am utterly and completely happy for you.”
Mercy squeezed her hand. “Thank you.”
The next day, Rachel sang to herself as she shelved more books. The side door to the library opened, and Rachel looked up, ready to greet another prospective patron.
Sir Timothy Brockwell entered, carrying a wooden crate. “Good day, Miss Ashford.” A fond half smile warmed his handsome, aristocratic face. “A pleasure to hear you singing.”
She flushed. “I didn’t realize I was doing so loudly enough for anyone to hear.”
“No need to be self-conscious. You have a lovely voice.” He nodded at the crate in his hands. “I would like to be the first to add to your collection.”
Her heart rate accelerated, but she kept her voice light. “You are too late, I’m afraid. Mrs. Barton has beaten you to it.”
His smile fell, and he set the crate on the desk with a clunk. To her surprise, he looked sincerely disappointed.
She teased, “But if you like, you may be the first—and probably the last—to borrow the book she donated. I don’t anticipate that it will be wildly popular.”
She lifted it from the desk, where she had cataloged it and readied it to be shelved.
He read the title. “Actually, I might borrow this for my farm manager. He would find it useful.”
“Really?” Rachel expelled a breath and shook her head. “I was only joking. Will I ever be able to gauge the sort of book a person might be interested in? So far I am not off to a promising start.”
“You will no doubt learn to relish books as I do. As your father did. As must anyone of good sense.” His dark eyes glimmered with humor. “And as you do, you will improve in your chosen vocation.”
“I hope you are right.” She regarded the crate. “In the meantime, you may donate books if you like, but I insist on crediting your account accordingly.”
“No need. I am donating nothing. These books were my father’s. Mamma had them crated up and stored in the attic. My father would like to see them shared, I think. So you may credit his account all you like, though he is no longer here to take advantage of it.”
He grinned, and she was glad to see he could remember his father fondly without regret. Hopefully she would be able to do the same one day.
Rachel licked dry lips and explained the terms as she had to Mrs. Barton. Then she eyed his filled crate again. “But that many books is worth a great deal. So if you prefer to hold some back . . .”
He shook his head. “No. I understand the terms. The books are yours.”
“Well, then, I accept with gratitude to both you and your father.”
His gaze lingered on her face. “It is the least I can do.”
She stilled at his words. Was he referring to their past? Or was it only the polite demur of a friend?
For a moment their gazes held, then his shifted. He surveyed the library and adjoining reading room. “How is everything coming along?”
“Well, I think. Mr. Kingsley is still adding more shelves and trim in the drawing room, but this room is ready. I officially open next week.”
He withdrew a leather coin purse from his pocket and extracted a few coins. “Here is the subscription fee for myself and Justina. I am afraid Mamma is not much of a reader.”
Rachel inhaled deeply and forced herself to hold out her hand. How strange it felt to take money from this man. She reminded herself she was providing a genteel service. It wasn’t the same as, say, selling wares or being a fishmonger. Books were rather sophisticated, were they not? And she wasn’t even selling them. Only lending them to subscribers. It was more like managing a club, really. She exhaled a little easier.
He asked, “Do I need to sign something?”
“Oh. Yes.” She turned the registry toward him and watched as he signed. His hands looked strong. She supposed it was all the riding he did. She forced her attention back to her task, filling out the subscription cards.
The side door opened, and two men Rachel did not recognize entered, carrying boxes. Mr. Drake appeared behind them.
“Good day, Miss Ashford. Sir Timothy.” He gestured to his men. “Right here on the floor, fellows. Unless you prefer them somewhere else, Miss Ashford?”
“No, the floor is fine.”
The two workmen set down the boxes and quickly departed.
Mr. Drake explained, “These are books from the Fairmont. But don’t worry, Jane has already sorted through them, kept those she wanted for herself, and has given her blessing on donating the rest.”
Rachel smiled. “Thank you for doing that, Mr. Drake.”
Sir Timothy stiffened. Offended by the man’s familiarity with Jane, Rachel wondered, or what?
“My pleasure.” James Drake looked around and into the adjoining room. “The shelves look well, I must say. Kingsley is doing an excellent job, as usual.”
“I agree.” She looked at Timothy and explained, “Mr. Drake contributed the bookcases from the former Fairmont House library.”
“Mr. Drake is all generosity.”
“Yes, he is. Thank you again, Mr. Drake.” She chuckled. “At this rate, you shall have a free subscription for life.”
“No, no. If you credit anyone, credit Jane. Well, I will let you get back to work.” He bowed. “Good-bye.”
Rachel bid him farewell, then turned back to Sir Timothy. “Now, where were we? Oh yes. Let’s make a list of the books you’ve brought. . . .”
As Rachel sorted the books, Sir Timothy browsed the library shelves. She dipped a quill and began adding his father’s books to her inventory ledger.
Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, as well as its sequel, The Further Adventures of Robinson Crusoe. Waverley. Johnson’s dictionary. William Blake. Edmund Burke. And other names she did not recognize. And finally, several leather-bound volumes of Milton’s Paradise Lost and Other Stories. She set about putting the volumes in order and frowned. One of the set was missing. She had only volumes two, three, and four. She looked through the other books in the crate, and even in the crates on the floor that Mr. Drake had brought just in case the volume had somehow fallen. It wasn’t there.
The set would be more useful to readers and worth a great deal more if it were complete.
“Sir Timothy?”
“Hm?” He returned the volume he’d been flipping through to the shelf and rejoined her at the desk.
“Did you notice one of the volumes of Milton was missing?”
“No.”
“You ought to keep the set together. If you would like these back, so you can put them with the first volume, you are welcome to do so.”
His brow furrowed. “That’s odd. I doubt Justina or Mamma were reading Milton. But I shall ask. I will also look again through Father’s things, and ask the housekeeper to search as well.”
“Only if it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all. They should be reunited.”
“Yes, they should.”
He searched her face a moment, then cleared his throat. “That reminds me. Miss Ashford, I have wanted to talk with you about—”
Nicholas Ashford strode through the door, hesitating when he saw Sir Timothy at the desk.
Rachel’s chest tightened. Good heavens. Must everyone visit at once?
Mr. Ashford looked around, then said, “And here I thought your library was not yet open for business.”
“Not officially. Sir Timothy has only come to donate books.”
“As have I.” Nicholas lifted three volumes in h
is hand. His gaze fell on the crates, and his eyes dimmed. “Apparently, I need not have bothered.”
“I felt the same way when Mr. Drake donated those two crates,” Sir Timothy said kindly. “I brought only the one.”
Rachel hurried to reassure the younger man. “I can always use more. Thank you, Mr. Ashford. That is very thoughtful. What have you brought?”
“Just a few Waverley novels. But I’ll go. I can see you are busy.”
“No, stay. We are almost finished here.”
His gaze swung from Rachel to Sir Timothy standing nearby. “It doesn’t look that way.”
For a moment, an awkward silence hung in the air, then Sir Timothy drew himself up.
“No need to leave on my account, Mr. Ashford.” He picked up his hat and gave the man a perfunctory smile. “I was on my way out.”
Rachel stammered, “But . . . did you not want to . . . discuss something?”
Sir Timothy hesitated, pressing his lips together. “Another time, perhaps.” He bowed and turned to go.
She watched him depart, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Then she turned to Nicholas.
He said, “It was rude of me to intrude like that. I am sorry.”
It was better this way, she told herself. Nicholas was the man who wanted to marry her. She smiled warmly at him. “Not at all. You heard Sir Timothy. He will return another time.”
Nicholas grinned. “In that case, how does a man go about getting a subscription to this fine establishment?”
Later that day, Mercy found Rachel alone in the library and quietly confided Mr. Thomas’s request that she become Alice’s guardian. Then she wrote to her parents about the situation. Assuming they did not forbid her, she planned to ask Mr. Coine to begin drawing up the papers. However, she decided it would be wise not to say anything about it to Alice until she heard back from her parents and arrangements were more finalized.
On Sunday afternoon, Rachel offered to remain with the girls while Mercy and Aunt Matty visited the almshouse. After their visit, as they walked home together, Mercy looked up the road and was surprised to see Mr. Drake and the old glazier standing on the Thomases’ doorstep.
Matilda followed her gaze. “That is Mr. Drake, is it not?”