A Provision For Love (Entangled Inheritance Book 1) Read online

  In other news, I have quite a success to relay. I have it on good authority that my recent investments have produced substantial returns, returns that will continue to provide for generations to come, especially if we remain prudent.

  Your grandmother has seen to your dresses and trinkets for the season. I urge you to guard your purse and pin money. Many a lady is swayed by the sight of lace gloves or scented soap. Do not waste away coins on such trifles. You will thank me later, I am sure.

  Your Father,

  Samuel Linfield

  I smiled, dropping the paper to my side. My father had such a way of ensuring that even the simplest of things, such as a letter, might be construed into cautions and money-pinching advice. I had not expected anything different. He knew little in the art of conversation, but the fact that his letter filled the entire page bespoke his effort.

  I strolled along a row of trees, listening to the birds’ songs.

  My father had buried himself in business ever since my mother died. Grandmother said it was his way of grieving, but I was beginning to believe his coping had transformed into something more—habit. My father had come to prefer lifeless books and bags of money to the likes of people and friendships. His nerves could not handle complications, and people were just that—complications.

  I tucked the paper into my skirt pocket. His letters were particularly meaningful because they were so rare; I was the only person he deemed worthy of effort when it came to relationships outside of business.

  The dew glistened across the grass, and I stopped to admire the view. The garden boxes lining the lawn were filled with rose bushes, many of which were already sprouting new leaves.

  I pulled off my bonnet and swung it at my side.

  How could I remind my father about Bridgestone’s beauty, how life was more than counting coins and cautions? If he were closer, I might take a bouquet of flowers to his study or entreat him to join me in a song at the pianoforte.

  But separated by great distance, and for another few months? I would have to stir his memory and emotions with descriptions—humor, affection, wonder. Words would have to suffice.

  I strolled through the kitchen garden on my way to the hedge maze. The majority of the vegetables had not yet been planted, but a few plots near the south side sprouted the beginnings of spinach, cabbage, onions, and potatoes.

  A shadow loomed over the plants, and I jumped.

  Henry leaned against the fence, his back toward me. My presence, thankfully, went undetected. I released a slow breath, glad I might escape an encounter.

  I hesitated.

  His shoulders shook ever so slightly. I inched closer, and soft laughter reached my ears. What on earth had him so amused? I followed his line of sight, squinting into the grounds beyond.

  Tom Willis, the new understudy to the groundskeeper, was crouched in defense ten yards away. Even from a distance, his fear was palpable. His crumpled posture, his flame-colored cheeks, the way he shielded his head with his hands, and the terrified squawks flying from his mouth—Tom’s every action bespoke terror.

  Meanwhile, a large turkey—approaching three feet tall and with its feathers spread—advanced toward Tom. The animal’s neck bobbed back and forth, ready to strike.

  “Poor Tom,” I said, forgetting Henry at my side.

  Henry startled, and his dark brows lifted at the sight of me.

  I shook my head in a feeble attempt to stay my laughter. “I only wished to see what you found so amusing. I had no idea you found such pleasure in Tom’s misery.”

  The morning light caught Henry’s profile, and my eyes traced each slant of his handsome jawline. What a shame he was not more homely—I might have resented him less. As it stood, Henry seemed to have inherited the best of everything.

  He flicked his chin toward Tom. “I should think your grandmother would expect more from a future groundskeeper, Miss Linfield. I believe Cook’s request was simple enough—to procure a turkey for the farewell dinner in two days.”

  My lips trembled. “Is that what he is trying to do?”

  “A new technique, I suppose.” Henry lifted a hand and pointed toward a discarded sack. “I believe Tom aimed to put the bag over the turkey’s head, but he lost his nerve when the bird resisted. Now, I’m afraid, the turkey senses Tom’s fear. It’s only a matter of time before it strikes.”

  I would speak to Grandmother; a future groundskeeper could not be so easily intimidated. How would he manage the other animals, if a turkey—no matter how large—frightened him? I surveyed Henry. “And you are content to watch Tom suffer the turkey’s wrath?”

  He shrugged. “What would you have me do, Miss Linfield—scare off the bird?”

  “I believe an honest gentleman would wish to lend a hand in such a situation,” I said, recognizing the challenge in my voice. “I doubt you would be any less frightened in Tom’s place.”

  “Truly?” He grunted. “You must have a low opinion of me indeed.”

  An additional pair of turkeys appeared from behind the shed, strategically placing themselves at varying angles around Tom. The birds began to close in on the groundskeeping understudy, and the first turkey—a few steps ahead of the others—began to punch its beak against Tom’s shoulder.

  My heart dropped, and I threw myself at the fence. Henry might be content to watch, but I certainly was not; I had to help Tom.

  Henry caught my wrist and pulled me back to the ground. “Do not trouble yourself, Miss Linfield. Allow me to save you the effort and embarrassment.”

  My mouth parted, but no words came.

  Henry leapt over the fence effortlessly, and he broke into a full sprint, flailing his arms above his head. He flew across the grass with unmatched speed; he gobble-screamed in a deranged way—a mixture of Grandmother’s snoring and a deeply disturbed bird—and ran directly toward the turkeys, charging through without the slightest hesitancy.

  I gasped, trembling in disbelief.

  The birds bounced up and down and cried in distress; their aggressive stances transformed into fearful flutters, and they dispersed across the yard.

  Henry leaned against a hip to catch his breath. His cheeks glistened from the exercise, and his waves were now tangled and windblown.

  Tom remained curled in a defensive ball on the ground.

  Laughter rippled from my chest, and I leaned against the fence for support. I had not imagined Henry could be so intimidating nor so quick on his feet. He was tall and slender with the slightest roundness to his shoulders—certainly an athletic build—but he had moved at a remarkable rate.

  When at last Henry returned to my side, my sides ached from the absurdity of the situation. I inhaled carefully and attempted to school my features.

  He pressed his lips in a firm line and set his hands to his hips. His eyes reflected shame, and there was a pleading quality to them. “Miss Linfield.”

  “Yes?” I asked, lifting a brow. I feigned seriousness.

  His shoulders came forward. “I beg you. Please do not recount what you just witnessed.”

  My lips tugged. “You mean you do not wish me to speak of your gallant rescue—both to me and to Tom? I would have died in shame had I performed the duty.”

  Henry’s eyes widened. He lowered his head. “After laughing at the expense of Tom, I suppose I deserve your teasing.”

  “I had no idea you were capable of such sounds.”

  A momentary silence crept between us. Henry’s lips curved, but his glance was pointed and direct. Then, with sudden swiftness, deep laughter rolled between us. His efforts proved contagious, and I found myself succumbing to the humor a second time.

  I wiped at my tear-streaked eyes. “Goodness, Mr. Thorne. You might have a future in the theatre.”

  He raked his fingers through his auburn hair. Paired with his dark eyes and olive complexion, Henry’s appearance continued to impress upon me more with each moment—he was uniquely and strikingly handsome.

  “The theatre? It’s a wonder I
had not already considered it. I am sure my mother would approve of such efforts—leaving my inheritance and joining a traveling band of the sort.”

  I swallowed, tearing my gaze from the pattern of dark stubble along his jaw. “You know, the idea sounds like something from a romance novel. The heroes always do the most outrageous things.”

  Henry climbed the fence, rejoining my side. “Then you read romance novels? Does your grandmother approve of such a pastime?”

  I scowled. “I do not read novels, Mr. Thorne. I only imagined that to be the case.”

  Skepticism etched into his wrinkled-up forehead, but he did not press me further. “What are you doing in the gardens this early in the morning?”

  “Reading a letter from my father.”

  “And you had to do that outdoors?” Henry asked.

  I sighed. “No, but I prefer to be in nature over anywhere else, especially when I am visiting Bridgestone. The secret garden by the hedge maze—”

  “Secret garden?” He leaned closer.

  I continued, pointing toward the garden archway. “The one Percival built for me as a child. I go there often to contemplate…or at least I used to.”

  Henry shook his head, and his features took on a serious expression. “And to think I thought I knew every bit of this land. Lady Barrington mentioned you agreed to give me a tour of the property.”

  Then I would be made to endure such a task. My breath hitched. My time was running out. Percival’s will would be read in two days, and any claim I had to Bridgestone would slip away. I tucked a loose curl behind my ear. “Then I must show you the garden.”

  “Would you, Miss Linfield? I have long wished to know more of the secrets of this place. I understand Percival had many.”

  A lump formed at the back of my throat. I knew all of the secrets, and I had assumed Henry did too. My pride of being a part of the secrets quickly melted into dread. Why must I be the one to teach Henry of this place—this place that I did not wish to lose?

  I turned, running my fingers over my dress. “I will show you the garden. Perhaps tomorrow? I think I will take one last turn in it…alone.”

  He blinked slowly, and understanding settled in his glance. “Then tomorrow morning?”

  I took a few steps before offering my agreement, all the while silently pleading that I would have the strength to follow through.

  Chapter 4

  “You turn at the second set of hedges, as I said earlier,” I explained. I ran my fingers atop the greenery, and the plants were cool to the touch, textured and fragrant. “Place your hand at this height, and follow it until…”

  “Until?” Henry knocked against me when I stopped in front of the knob.

  Grandmother snorted. “Goodness, if I am to be pulled along as chaperone, the least you could do is give me a fair warning when you decide to stop mid step.”

  My cheeks flushed. I caught my breath and uttered an unconvincing apology. Taking Grandmother along for the tour had been my idea, but I was already doubting the choice.

  Henry smiled, and a set of dimples manifested on one side of his cheek. “Yes, you might have warned me, Miss Linfield. Now, what are we looking for exactly?”

  I swallowed hard, and stepped away, putting at least another foot of distance between us. “The door to the garden, of course. With your hand on the ledge, follow it until you reach the handle, Mr. Thorne. Percival and I wished to keep the garden a secret from guests and other servants, you see.”

  “No doubt me as well,” Grandmother added. “I only heard of the garden after it was almost completed.”

  I ignored her and watched Henry instead.

  Henry placed both palms to the hedge, feeling around without success. He was taller than me. Percival must have taken my small frame into account when he built the gate.

  “Here,” I said, taking Henry’s hand. I directed it to the brass knob inside the hedge.

  His eyes widened, and he leaned closer to inspect the gate. “I am not sure I will find the handle again, not without your assistance.”

  “I suppose you must practice then, Mr. Thorne.” I pulled my hand away from his, hopeful he could not hear my heart banging against my chest, and placed it instead against the wooden door beneath the greenery. For all Miss Worthington’s lessons, she had never prepared me for being in such close proximity to a man.

  “Well? Shall we?” Henry asked, opening the door.

  Grandmother pushed past us both. “I must rest. I am not nearly the woman I once was.”

  I shifted my weight, faltering in my resolve. I did not want to surrender ownership to this place.

  “Miss Linfield?” Henry asked.

  I flinched. “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed and his arms fell to his sides. “Are you well?”

  I teetered forward. I resented him for being set to inherit all that I loved. I did not want to show him my sanctuary. In fact, I desperately wanted to run inside the garden and lock him out. Yet, explaining any of those thoughts would not do.

  Henry placed his hands on my shoulders. He fixed his head closer to mine. “Truly, Miss Linfield, you look pale. Are you ill?”

  I shook my head and tore through the open gate if only to escape his touch. I was too conflicted, and his efforts to exhibit compassion might be my undoing. I would not cry in front of an almost stranger—or anyone else, if I could help it.

  “You must tell Henry how this space came about.” Grandmother sank onto a bench in the corner of the garden. She leaned back and closed her eyes. “Percival was ever attentive to you, Ivy.”

  “I was only seven years old,” I began, trying to calm my racing heart, “and I insisted the only thing Bridgestone lacked was a secret garden. Percival listened to my stubborn, and quite ridiculous demands, with great patience over an entire summer. When I returned the following year, he had already begun his efforts and with surprising attention to each of my requests.”

  I clasped my hands together, spinning my thumbs around one another. My back faced the entrance, but Henry’s soft steps against the grass signaled his arrival behind me. With each breath, I tried to steady my emotions. Somehow, this garden had come to symbolize more than a place; it was a secret, a safe-haven, the very incarnation of Percival himself—a window amongst the hedges.

  Henry reached my side, and he scanned each plant and rock. “I imagine the gardeners must take special care to water these many roses.”

  I moved away from Henry once more, this time to the rock ledge below the window. How could he speak about my sanctuary so impersonally? How could he step into my garden and not notice the love that Percival had poured into each element? I placed my hands against the cool stone and cleared my throat. “Percival provided me the loveliest of views. In the coming weeks, the lavender fields will bloom, and my—I mean, this—garden will become flooded with the sweet smell.”

  I turned, wincing when I saw Henry unwrap the swing from the branch of my tree. He surveyed the cracked, wooden seat and dropped it almost as quickly as he had picked it up. He dusted off his hands.

  Grandmother’s breathing deepened, and she flinched—the tell-tale signs of her drifting into slumber. At least she was at ease, unlike me.

  I clutched my hands behind my back and addressed Henry. “When you inherit Bridgestone, promise me you will not allow neglect to overtake the beauty of this place. Promise me you will come here to view the fields of lavender.”

  Henry nodded. “I give you my word, Miss Linfield.”

  I released a slow breath, and my shoulders lifted as if a physical weight had been removed from them. “Thank you. Now,” I said, clearing my throat, “You must not forget. Second set of hedges—”

  “Knob near the middle.” Henry’s gentle smile was a departure from his clerical manner of the morning. “I will remember, despite my earlier claims. Your garden will be well cared for.”

  “Yes.” I stepped closer and pointed at the swing at his side. “That swing, though primitive, propels one qui
te high.”

  “Does it?” Henry’s smile grew impossibly larger. There was a gleam in his eyes that hinted at mischievousness. “I imagine the seat is worn from all its use. I remember you disappearing outdoors for hours. I always wondered where you had gone, but I suppose that swing holds the answer.”

  I took the swing in my hands and blew a puff of air against a loose strand of hair. “Yes, I spent many long hours here.”

  He laughed and lifted one brow. “And now you are grown up.”

  His words almost seemed a question, one I felt compelled to answer. “Yes.”

  “I hardly recognized you,” Henry said, pressing his lips in a tight line. “You are not the little girl I remember.”

  I rather wished I was a little girl again, free to wander Bridgestone forever. I pushed past him but stopped at the gate. “That concludes our tour. Shall I come back for my grandmother, or will you stay with her?”

  His brows knit together. “I will stay.”

  I left without another word.

  Chapter 5

  I nearly swallowed my breakfast whole in order to arrive for the reading of the will a few minutes early. Anxiety coursed through me. Friday had come much too quickly, and I longed for a moment alone in my grandfather’s place of refuge.

  Unfortunately, however, I was not the only person to arrive early. Already seated around the desk at the center of the room were Henry and Grandmother.

  Percival’s study was similar to my garden in sentimentality yet infinitely less exclusive. From the leather chairs and stacks of documents around the desk, to the faded tapestry across from the window and the haphazardly-organized bookshelves, echoes of my grandfather lived on in this space.

  Grandmother tapped her frail fingers against a stack of papers. “To be honest, Ivy, I wondered if you would come.”

  I folded my arms. She was incorrigible. “You think I would miss hearing Percival’s last words?” I tsked with the dramatics of a school girl. “Not at all. Besides, Henry has assured me of Bridgestone’s preservation and continued improvements.”