Free The Country House Courtship by Linore Rose Burkard Page A

history with him is worthy of consideration at this time. You must let the past rest with the past, and allow him to prove himself as he is, now.”
    â€œNothing of my history with him?” he asked. “Then let it be his history with
you
that concerns me. Either way, he still fails to get the living.” He smiled lazily at her frown.
    â€œOnly promise me that you will not interview another man until you have given Mr. O’Brien every chance that he deserves to win this situation.”
    â€œI will speak to him, then, and I will question his theology if it pleases you.” He looked at her squarely. “Mr. O’Brien will dig his own grave, I assure you. I’ll wait as long as you like. But you cannot expect him to stay in the neighbourhood past one Sunday. He has his own parish to attend to.”
    â€œI understand. But I think our curate has improved a great deal in his character. I believe he will
not
, as you say, dig his own grave.”
    â€œThen we shall see. I give him until Sunday to prove himself, or he goes back to St. Pancras.”

    â€œSir, might I have a few words with you?” Mr. O’Brien’s bold gaze met and held that of his host, Mr. Mornay, who had returned with his wife to the drawing room only minutes earlier.
    â€œCertainly,” replied Phillip. “Shall we remove to an office?”
    â€œI would be obliged, thank you.”
    Mr. Mornay began to lead Mr. O’Brien from the drawing room, thinking to himself,
Here it comes. He will ask me outright for the living.
    But Mrs. Forsythe saw them and said, “Mr. O’Brien! You do still wish to accompany my daughter and me for a walk upon the grounds, I hope?” For yesterday they had shown the man about the large house, giving him a brief tour of the public rooms, which both women were still enjoying taking in themselves.
    â€œIn this weather?” asked Ariana, for the late February air was chillingly relentless, making all the chamber maids extra busy with filling up coal bins, stoking fires, and removing ashes. They were forever scuttling into and out of the drawing room and other public rooms to maintain the heat of the fires.
    â€œI beg your pardon,” Mr. O’Brien said sincerely. “I mean to keep my word, to be sure; but I shall join you afterward if that will be agreeable.”
    But Mr. Mornay said, “By all means, accompany the ladies. We can talk later. There’s no hurry, I assure you.”
    Mr. O’Brien looked at him curiously. Did he already know what he wished to say to him? But how could he? He said, “Very good; I am obliged.”
    Soon the three of them, cloaked in coats and scarves and hats and gloves, had set out from the large front door, choosing to take the walk that led around the long house.
    â€œWe’ll stay close to the house this time, and see if we can circle it before getting too cold,” said Mrs. Forsythe. Beatrice was curious as to why her mother suddenly was in want of outdoor exercise, as well as why she had said, “this time,” as if there were certain to be more such outings. But she merely nodded and drew her scarf about her tighter and went along.
    They followed a paved brick walk, remarking about the beauty of the house and the grounds, and the prospect. In five minutes or so they reached one end of the structure, and turned and were out of sight.

    About thirty minutes later, Mr. Barton let out a whistle to himself as his carriage came to a stop in front of the stately dwelling of the Paragon and his wife. The country house was impressive with its Georgian columns and Venetian-style windows. The sheer size of the place, and the neatness and formality of its grounds (not least of which began with a mile-long, tree-lined drive—or so it seemed) had brought his mission—his reason for being there—strongly to mind. Aspindon House was certainly impressive enough to be the abode of a viscount. Even