Free The Girl in the Gatehouse by Julie Klassen Page B

“There on the poorhouse roof.”
    “Good heavens! There is a man up there.” Dixon squinted. “I can’t make him out very well. . . .”
    “What is he doing, do you think? Taking exercise?”
    “Exercise?” Dixon snorted. “On the roof ? More likely he’s off in his attic. Men!” she grumbled.
    Something in Dixon’s tone snagged Mariah’s attention. She studied her friend’s agitated face and asked, “And how is Mr. Phelps today?”
    “A bit too friendly, if you take my meaning.”
    But Mariah did not miss the blush in her thin cheeks. They both stared out at the distant man once more.
    Dixon sighed. “What is it about springtime that makes men crazy?”

With the help of her brother, [Frances Burney’s]
Evelina was published anonymously [in] 1778.
The book was an instant success.
    – Valerie Patten, Chawton House Library
    chapter 8
    Matthew spent Easter with his sister and her husband. While there, he was aware of how near he was to a certain family’s estate on the outskirts of Highworth but did not pay a call. He was not yet in position to launch his campaign. Instead, he returned and settled in for his first full week as master of Windrush Court.
    He was surprised to find the girl in the gatehouse often on his mind. Understanding now why she had been cross, he wished to apologize to her, hoped he might clear up the misunderstanding that had caused her to direct her ire at him.
    That evening, as Matthew walked toward the gatehouse to call on Miss Aubrey, he heard voices coming from inside. Voices in earnest conversation. And there – a sharp exclamation. An argument? He did not alter his course but kept to the path. He had every right to be there, he told himself. In fact, he was paying handsomely for the privilege.
    “You are very much like your aunt, child,” said the gravelly voice of an older woman. “If you wore a wig, and had a fine tapered waist, I should almost conceit that I saw her again. Is it true that the ranting, raving captain is here again, and some other young scapegrace?”
    A clear, youthful voice replied, “The captain is here, ma’am, with a Mr. Montgomery.”
    Matthew recoiled. The captain? The “ ranting, raving captain ”? Certainly they did not speak of him. And who was Montgomery?
    The older woman continued, “In my days, if a young woman was seen to be speaking to a man, unless he happened to be her father, her brother, or at least her cousin, he was set down as her betrothed admirer, and it generally turned out that he became her husband. But now ’tis higgledy-piggledy, fiddling, acting, a parcel of fellows kept in the house of a young woman, for no earthly purpose that I see, but to make her the talk and the scandal of the whole neighborhood.”
    Matthew listened, increasingly disconcerted. A “parcel of fellows kept in the house” ? Had Miss Aubrey so many male callers? What sort of a woman was she? Matthew had thought Miss Aubrey admirable, if not traditionally ladylike. He hoped his earlier assessment had been correct.
    He had overheard one or two disgruntled comments from the steward, Hammersmith, and a few suggestive hints from Prin-Hallsey. But he had chalked them up to vicious gossip. He knew too well how cruel people could be, how quick to swallow any tale that hinted at a woman’s loss of virtue. His own dear sister’s misfortunes had taught him that.
    The women in the gatehouse were speaking of someone else, he decided, and resolutely walked away.

    Matthew determined to try again the next day. The rain, which had started as a gentle drizzle and no deterrent to a man used to standing on deck in all sorts of weather, was now pelting down with soaking regularity. Matthew was tempted to turn around, but since he had spent the better part of an hour working up his courage and allowing the fastidious valet to fuss with his cravat, he thought it best to make his apologies and have done.
    As he walked down the ever-narrowing lane through the wood, he