Moss Manor, page 6
“I don’t like it,” Mr. Jackson mumbles.
“It does take some getting used to,” she agrees.
“I can see why you lived here,” Reuben states.
“I much prefer the countryside,” Lady Moss shares.
“Why?” Reuben replies. “There’s so much to see…so much to do.”
“It wasn’t until I was almost a woman when I arrived,” she shares.
“You didn’t grow up here?” Reuben asks.
Her head sways.
Mr. Jackson cautiously looks on, wondering if she’ll explain, and his disappointment sets in when she doesn’t.
Chapter Seven
“Honestly, I thought you’d never come back,” Mrs. Warren states after sipping her tea.
“I didn’t plan on it, Lizzie,” Lady Moss returns with a sigh. “I—“
“How much more of the late Lord Quincy’s things do you plan to get rid of?” her friend interrupts with enthusiasm.
“A good deal of it,” she admits with a sigh.
The two women have been friends since not long after Lady Moss moved to the city to live with her Aunt and Uncle. She was nearly fourteen at the time when her Aunt insisted that she live with them. Her father fought the topic for years but knew his daughter had a better chance of marrying up in the city than in the small town where she grew up.
“Then, let me help you,” her friend suggests with a widening grin. “Charles won’t mind. He’s been busy with the firm so he’ll barely notice that I’ll be gone. Besides, he’s been telling me that I should get out of the city for a bit.”
“Is everything good between—“
“Everything is wonderful,” Mrs. Warren replies, avoiding eye contact.
“Elizabeth,” Lady Moss calls, placing her hand upon her friend’s. “I—“
“It’s my fault,” she mumbles.
“What’s your fault?”
Mrs. Warren glances out the window before hesitantly looking at her friend and offering a forced smile. “You know.”
“No, I don’t,” Lady Moss replies, worry laced in her tone. “I wouldn’t be asking if—“
“I have not fulfilled my wifely duties,” Mrs. Warren states with sadness and embarrassment. “When he is home, I do, but the outcome is not what is expected.”
They had married not long after Lady Moss which was just over two years ago.
Lady Moss takes her friend’s hands in her own. “Elizabeth.” She lets out a sigh. “It is not your fault.”
“It is my duty to—“
“Says everyone else,” she interrupts with irritation. “God may have other plans for you. Perhaps he is saying not right now. Many women happily do their wifely duties and don’t—“
Mrs. Warren pulls her hands away and fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. “I want them.”
“Mr. Woolridge and I partook in the same acts for over two years and I had not been able to provide him an—“
“He was barely around compared to Charles’ busy schedule,” Mrs. Warren objects.
“Much is expected of us.” Lady Moss reminds with a comforting smile. Wanting her friend to be happy, she declares, “You must return with me to the country…today!”
“Today?”
“Today,” she affirms. “It’ll do you good. And, when Charles is free, he is more than welcome to join us. Perhaps both of you need to get away from all that is this city?”
Mrs. Warren’s complexion alters, enhancing her cheeks as a twinkle catches in her eye. “Yes,” she agrees.
“Once our meal concludes, we’ll write him a letter, informing him of our plans.”
Mrs. Warren snickers. “Though Charles is a good, kind man, he will not like a woman telling him what—“
“Nonsense,” Lady Moss says dismissively. “If he loves you, as you claim, then he will be in agreement. He would be happy to encourage such a trip. You said so yourself.”
Mrs. Warren snickers. “Charles would never steal away from the city to join us.”
“He would if you stayed long enough, sending letters of your enjoyment and how you long for him to have his way with you in the fields of Moss Manor.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren chides with a grin. “No lady would dare—“
“Who says we are ladies?” she returns with a wicked grin. “Perhaps we’re witches who cast spells upon men.”
Mrs. Warren’s lips turn upward. “You, of all ladies, are most certainly a witch, Abigail. A woman who has managed to be poor, then educated, and now with her own manor.”
“Next, I’ll be a general in the army,” she muses playfully.
With a swat in her direction and a giggle, Mrs. Warren replies, “Oh, Abigail. You are too much.”
“Then, it is settled.”
Their conversation turns toward topics of news regarding the social elite and how Lady Moss’ Aunt Norma continues to pursue a favorable stature higher than her own. When their meal concludes, the ladies are quick to complete their letter and have one of the servants take it to Mr. Warren’s office.
“What is this atrocity you sent me?” Mr. Warren demands with a swift entrance into his bedroom, catching his wife and Lady Moss packing a box.
“How is it such?” Mrs. Warren inquires.
“You mean to leave me here alone?”
Mrs. Warren steps toward her husband. “No different than when you leave me here alone for—“
“My work requires it,” Mr. Warren reminds. “Do you think I wish to be away from you?”
Mrs. Warren shrugs and looks away.
“I’ll wait outside,” Lady Moss offers, heading toward the doorway.
“I knew you were a spinster Abigail, but this?”
“Spinster, I am not. How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am merely a concerned friend who wishes to aid her ailing friend,” she replies, biting back a smile.
“Ailing? How is my wife ailing?”
Lady Moss takes in a breath, letting it out as she replies, “She’s ailing because she has not been able to fulfill all of her wifely duties, Mr. Warren. I would—“
“And, taking her away from me will assist with that?”
Lady Moss bites back a smile. “Yes.”
“How so?”
“Time away will garner more affections for each other,” she declares.
“Is that what assisted you and Mr. Woolridge?”
Lady Moss’ face falls and her jaw clenches for a moment.
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren scolds lovingly.
“I don’t see how that matters now since Mr. Woolridge is no longer with us,” Lady Moss reminds.
“There would have been an heir for the estate,” Mr. Warren declares.
“And, if it were a daughter?” Lady Moss inquires. “She wouldn’t inherit it either way. You of all people know that.”
“How can I not?” quips Mr. Warren. “I was Mr. Woolridge’s attorney.”
“And now, you are the attorney for me and my assets. I’m paying you quite well.”
Mr. Warren chuckles. “I should be charging you more.”
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren warns.
“I know I’m one of your highest paying clients,” Lady Moss reminds.
He rolls his eyes. “I know.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten attention and business from the Coles, Vanes, or Speares.”
He grunts.
“Did you not see the recommendation to join us?” Lady Moss asks, changing the topic. She tugs back on the edge of the letter in his hand and points to it.
“I did,” he confirms. Mr. Warren looks at his wife for several long moments before returning his attention to Lady Moss. “I barely get to see my wife as it is.”
“That is your fault, Charles,” Lady Moss quips.
He lets out a snort. “You need to find her a new husband.”
“All the more reason to join her, my dear husband,” Mrs. Warren returns with a sly grin.
Mr. Warren regards the women. “I will not get a say in this matter, will I?”
“Y—“
“No,” Lady Moss returns. “It has already been decided.”
Mr. Warren eyes her. “If Mrs. Warren wasn’t so fond of you, Abigail, I would not permit your friendship.”
Lady Moss lets out a giggle. “As if you could do anything about it.”
“Don’t tempt me, Abigail,” he returns.
Lady Moss steps toward him and places her hand upon his arm. “You are a good man, Mr. Warren.”
His eye twitches.
“You are welcome to join us anytime,” she reminds. “There is plenty of room since it is only myself in the manor aside from the workers.”
“Evermore the reason to find you a husband,” Mr. Warren teases.
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren warns.
He glances down at the boxes. “I see that you have already packed.”
Lady Moss bites back a smile.
“You will write me every day?” he inquires, moving toward his wife.
“Yes,” she affirms. “And, you will visit if you can.”
“How long do you plan on staying?” Mr. Warren whines.
Mrs. Warren shrugs. “Long enough to aid Abigail with the selling of the late Lord Quincy’s belongings that she won’t be keeping.”
“Is she paying you?”
“Charles!”
“Yes, and she’s allowed to take whatever pieces please her,” Lady Moss informs.
Mr. Warren lets out a sigh. “I will see you ladies off then.”
“I have my foreman and a boy here,” Lady Moss informs. “They will—“
“I will see you to the train,” Mr. Warren repeats sternly.
The ladies do not argue and smile happily at the man.
Once the carriage is loaded, Lady Moss takes to her cart with Mr. Jackson and Rueben. Upon arriving at the station, she affords her friends time for a final goodbye as she waits patiently in their cabin. She watches out the window, noting some of the similarities of how her late husband was with her as Mr. Warren is with his wife. Though men of high society do not share their emotions openly, Lady Moss notes the affections Mr. Warren has for her friend. He even stays outside the window, waiting for Mrs. Warren to settle in the cabin. Their attention is on each other until the train disembarks from the station.
“Where do you think you are going, Mr. Jackson?” Lady Moss quips.
His stoic expression doesn’t falter. “Giving you ladies privacy.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Moss declares. “Sit down.”
Rueben obliges immediately.
“Rueben, sta—“
“He will not take orders from you, Mr. Jackson. Take your seat and—“
“I will not, my Lady,” he objects.
Lady Moss’ eyes narrow. “Do not test me, Mr. Jackson. I am in no mood.”
“You’re always in a mood,” he counters snidely.
Mrs. Warren bites back an amused expression.
“There is no need for you two to join the rest of the—“
“Servants?” Mr. Jackson interrupts. “That is what we are, is it not?”
Lady Moss turns her attention to Rueben. “You may go, Mr. Jackson. Rueben can decide for himself.”
“Reu—“
Lady Moss rises. “Do not tell the boy what to do, Mr. Jackson. Not if you value your position at the farm.”
“I’ll go, my Lady,” Reuben offers. “I don’t mind. It would be nice to see more of the train.” He bows at Mrs. Warren. “Misses.” He makes his way past Lady Moss despite the fact that she is blocking most of the way to the door.
The men leave in the next breath.
Lady Moss returns to her seat, striving to maintain control of her anger.
Mrs. Warren giggles and it catches her friend’s attention.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Warren claims.
“What amuses you?”
Mrs. Warren considers her reply. “You and Mr. Jackson.”
“How so?”
“I’ve never seen anyone other than your Aunt bother you as such,” she replies.
Lady Moss huffs and rights herself. “He is infuriating…but I rather enjoy it.”
“Of course you do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
“You’ve always enjoyed a good adventure and particularly a combative challenge no matter the circumstance.”
Lady Moss purses her lips as she considers her friend’s words. “True.”
A comfortable silence falls upon the cabin, but it only takes a few moments for conversation to return freely. The time on the train passes quickly, bringing them to the countryside quicker than anticipated.
“This is Moss Manor?” Mrs. Warren asks with a gaping mouth.
“Yes,” Lady Moss says with a sigh.
“It is much bigger than I….” She looks at her friend. “You have indeed married well if one is to lose her husband early, my dear, Abigail.”
“It is quite small,” Lady Moss counters.
“I dare not say so,” she returns. “It is at least three times the size of most elite homes in the city.”
“Mr. Jack—“ Lady Moss cuts herself off when she turns to find Mr. Jackson in the distance as he heads toward the barn.
“How was your trip, Miss?” Mrs. Doyle inquires.
“Delightful, Mrs. Doyle. I need a few of the girls to tend to whichever room my dear friend, Mrs. Warren, chooses to be hers during her stay.”
“Yes, Abigail.” Mrs. Doyle rushes inside.
“Abigail?” Mrs. Warren inquires.
“It is easier,” Lady Moss admits.
“No servant, or worker, ever calls their Lady by her first name.”
“As you and your husband have known, I am most uncommon for any lady or Lady,” she replies.
“That you are, Abigail.”
“It still astonishes me that Mr. Woolridge wished to marry me,” she admits.
Mrs. Warren takes her friend’s arm. “I am not.”
Chapter Eight
With an exaggerated groan, Lady Moss reads her Aunt’s most recent letter.
“What troubles you, my dear friend?” Mrs. Warren inquires, entering the study. She places a tray filled with tea and sweets upon the desk.
“My Aunt, of course,” she replies, offering her to read the letter.
Mrs. Warren happily takes it. “Dearest Niece….” She lets out a huff as she lowers to a chair. “She could never call you by your name, could she? That woman’s heart is cold.”
“What heart?” Lady Moss replies with a snort.
“That, indeed,” giggles Mrs. Warren.
“Is Mr. Warren enjoying his stay?” she inquires, wishing to change the subject and her mood.
“Most indeed,” Mrs. Warren returns with a widening grin. “Except when I must tend to selling Lord Quincy’s things.”
Lady Moss returns her attention to the papers in front of her. “You should be with child by now with how little you two have been seen around the manor.”
“Hold your tongue,” Mrs. Warren states with a blush.
“Do not mistake my teasing. I am happy that you and Charles are happy. I am not surprised by his arrival barely a week after you left.”
Mrs. Warren reveals a giddy expression. “You were right. He longs for me more so than ever, especially at the thought of leaving me here to go back to the city.”
“He needed time away just as much as you,” she replies. “Stress of work can cause a man troubles to fulfill his husbandly duties.”
Mrs. Warren glances around the room and out the window. “I can see why you don’t wish to return to the city. It is lovely here.”
Lady Moss nods as she lets out a soft sigh.
“That foreman of yours isn’t too bad on the eyes either."
“Now it is time for you to hold your tongue, my dear friend,” Lady Moss warns playfully.
“Why?” Mrs. Warren challenges. “He is much more your speed than any man in the city…dare I say even the late Mr. Woolridge?”
Lady Moss’ gaze rises to find her friend.
“There you are,” declares Charles, barely dressed. He rights himself when he sees his wife isn’t alone. “My apologies.”
“No need,” Lady Moss says, returning her attention to the papers before her. “If a woman has seen one naked, male form, she’s seen them all.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren scolds as she bites back an embarrassed smile.
“Men are not all the same, my dear friend,” he claims. “Just like women aren’t.”
“What do you know of how other women look?” Mrs. Warren asks with a warning tone and glare.
“Paintings and sculptures, my dear wife,” he returns.
Mrs. Warren eyes him speculatively for a moment.
“There are quite a few in this manor,” Mr. Warren reminds.
“I think the more pertinent question is how does he know how other men appear,” Lady Moss states.
“You are most incorrigible, Abigail.”
“And, how is that a surprise to you, Mr. Warren, after all these years?” she inquires ruefully.
Mrs. Warren giggles when her husband kneels before her, vying to steal a kiss.
Without so much of a glance up, Lady Moss declares, “If you two are going to be like that, you might as well stay in your room.”
“Like what?” Mr. Warren inquires with a denying tone.
“I should send for the doctor,” she declares. “I’m sure my dear friend has been held hostage long enough by you, Mr. Warren.”
“A wife cannot be held hostage,” he quips. “Particularly by her husband.”
“Then, you won’t mind her performing her duties to her friend which is the very reason why she is here, no? I’m certain she is already with child,” Lady Moss states.
“How so?” Mr. Warren inquires.
“She shows signs of it like that of a horse or any other animal,” she informs.
“You dare compare my wife to an animal?” Mr. Warren rebuts.
“It’s either her or you who is the animal…making all those noises when—”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren scolds with a snicker.
“Miss,” Mrs. Doyle calls, abruptly entering the study. She looks at the floor when she notices the lack of proper attire on Mr. and Mrs. Warren. “Some guests have arrived inquiring about the items for sale.”
“It does take some getting used to,” she agrees.
“I can see why you lived here,” Reuben states.
“I much prefer the countryside,” Lady Moss shares.
“Why?” Reuben replies. “There’s so much to see…so much to do.”
“It wasn’t until I was almost a woman when I arrived,” she shares.
“You didn’t grow up here?” Reuben asks.
Her head sways.
Mr. Jackson cautiously looks on, wondering if she’ll explain, and his disappointment sets in when she doesn’t.
Chapter Seven
“Honestly, I thought you’d never come back,” Mrs. Warren states after sipping her tea.
“I didn’t plan on it, Lizzie,” Lady Moss returns with a sigh. “I—“
“How much more of the late Lord Quincy’s things do you plan to get rid of?” her friend interrupts with enthusiasm.
“A good deal of it,” she admits with a sigh.
The two women have been friends since not long after Lady Moss moved to the city to live with her Aunt and Uncle. She was nearly fourteen at the time when her Aunt insisted that she live with them. Her father fought the topic for years but knew his daughter had a better chance of marrying up in the city than in the small town where she grew up.
“Then, let me help you,” her friend suggests with a widening grin. “Charles won’t mind. He’s been busy with the firm so he’ll barely notice that I’ll be gone. Besides, he’s been telling me that I should get out of the city for a bit.”
“Is everything good between—“
“Everything is wonderful,” Mrs. Warren replies, avoiding eye contact.
“Elizabeth,” Lady Moss calls, placing her hand upon her friend’s. “I—“
“It’s my fault,” she mumbles.
“What’s your fault?”
Mrs. Warren glances out the window before hesitantly looking at her friend and offering a forced smile. “You know.”
“No, I don’t,” Lady Moss replies, worry laced in her tone. “I wouldn’t be asking if—“
“I have not fulfilled my wifely duties,” Mrs. Warren states with sadness and embarrassment. “When he is home, I do, but the outcome is not what is expected.”
They had married not long after Lady Moss which was just over two years ago.
Lady Moss takes her friend’s hands in her own. “Elizabeth.” She lets out a sigh. “It is not your fault.”
“It is my duty to—“
“Says everyone else,” she interrupts with irritation. “God may have other plans for you. Perhaps he is saying not right now. Many women happily do their wifely duties and don’t—“
Mrs. Warren pulls her hands away and fidgets with the hem of her sleeve. “I want them.”
“Mr. Woolridge and I partook in the same acts for over two years and I had not been able to provide him an—“
“He was barely around compared to Charles’ busy schedule,” Mrs. Warren objects.
“Much is expected of us.” Lady Moss reminds with a comforting smile. Wanting her friend to be happy, she declares, “You must return with me to the country…today!”
“Today?”
“Today,” she affirms. “It’ll do you good. And, when Charles is free, he is more than welcome to join us. Perhaps both of you need to get away from all that is this city?”
Mrs. Warren’s complexion alters, enhancing her cheeks as a twinkle catches in her eye. “Yes,” she agrees.
“Once our meal concludes, we’ll write him a letter, informing him of our plans.”
Mrs. Warren snickers. “Though Charles is a good, kind man, he will not like a woman telling him what—“
“Nonsense,” Lady Moss says dismissively. “If he loves you, as you claim, then he will be in agreement. He would be happy to encourage such a trip. You said so yourself.”
Mrs. Warren snickers. “Charles would never steal away from the city to join us.”
“He would if you stayed long enough, sending letters of your enjoyment and how you long for him to have his way with you in the fields of Moss Manor.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren chides with a grin. “No lady would dare—“
“Who says we are ladies?” she returns with a wicked grin. “Perhaps we’re witches who cast spells upon men.”
Mrs. Warren’s lips turn upward. “You, of all ladies, are most certainly a witch, Abigail. A woman who has managed to be poor, then educated, and now with her own manor.”
“Next, I’ll be a general in the army,” she muses playfully.
With a swat in her direction and a giggle, Mrs. Warren replies, “Oh, Abigail. You are too much.”
“Then, it is settled.”
Their conversation turns toward topics of news regarding the social elite and how Lady Moss’ Aunt Norma continues to pursue a favorable stature higher than her own. When their meal concludes, the ladies are quick to complete their letter and have one of the servants take it to Mr. Warren’s office.
“What is this atrocity you sent me?” Mr. Warren demands with a swift entrance into his bedroom, catching his wife and Lady Moss packing a box.
“How is it such?” Mrs. Warren inquires.
“You mean to leave me here alone?”
Mrs. Warren steps toward her husband. “No different than when you leave me here alone for—“
“My work requires it,” Mr. Warren reminds. “Do you think I wish to be away from you?”
Mrs. Warren shrugs and looks away.
“I’ll wait outside,” Lady Moss offers, heading toward the doorway.
“I knew you were a spinster Abigail, but this?”
“Spinster, I am not. How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I am merely a concerned friend who wishes to aid her ailing friend,” she replies, biting back a smile.
“Ailing? How is my wife ailing?”
Lady Moss takes in a breath, letting it out as she replies, “She’s ailing because she has not been able to fulfill all of her wifely duties, Mr. Warren. I would—“
“And, taking her away from me will assist with that?”
Lady Moss bites back a smile. “Yes.”
“How so?”
“Time away will garner more affections for each other,” she declares.
“Is that what assisted you and Mr. Woolridge?”
Lady Moss’ face falls and her jaw clenches for a moment.
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren scolds lovingly.
“I don’t see how that matters now since Mr. Woolridge is no longer with us,” Lady Moss reminds.
“There would have been an heir for the estate,” Mr. Warren declares.
“And, if it were a daughter?” Lady Moss inquires. “She wouldn’t inherit it either way. You of all people know that.”
“How can I not?” quips Mr. Warren. “I was Mr. Woolridge’s attorney.”
“And now, you are the attorney for me and my assets. I’m paying you quite well.”
Mr. Warren chuckles. “I should be charging you more.”
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren warns.
“I know I’m one of your highest paying clients,” Lady Moss reminds.
He rolls his eyes. “I know.”
“If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten attention and business from the Coles, Vanes, or Speares.”
He grunts.
“Did you not see the recommendation to join us?” Lady Moss asks, changing the topic. She tugs back on the edge of the letter in his hand and points to it.
“I did,” he confirms. Mr. Warren looks at his wife for several long moments before returning his attention to Lady Moss. “I barely get to see my wife as it is.”
“That is your fault, Charles,” Lady Moss quips.
He lets out a snort. “You need to find her a new husband.”
“All the more reason to join her, my dear husband,” Mrs. Warren returns with a sly grin.
Mr. Warren regards the women. “I will not get a say in this matter, will I?”
“Y—“
“No,” Lady Moss returns. “It has already been decided.”
Mr. Warren eyes her. “If Mrs. Warren wasn’t so fond of you, Abigail, I would not permit your friendship.”
Lady Moss lets out a giggle. “As if you could do anything about it.”
“Don’t tempt me, Abigail,” he returns.
Lady Moss steps toward him and places her hand upon his arm. “You are a good man, Mr. Warren.”
His eye twitches.
“You are welcome to join us anytime,” she reminds. “There is plenty of room since it is only myself in the manor aside from the workers.”
“Evermore the reason to find you a husband,” Mr. Warren teases.
“Charles,” Mrs. Warren warns.
He glances down at the boxes. “I see that you have already packed.”
Lady Moss bites back a smile.
“You will write me every day?” he inquires, moving toward his wife.
“Yes,” she affirms. “And, you will visit if you can.”
“How long do you plan on staying?” Mr. Warren whines.
Mrs. Warren shrugs. “Long enough to aid Abigail with the selling of the late Lord Quincy’s belongings that she won’t be keeping.”
“Is she paying you?”
“Charles!”
“Yes, and she’s allowed to take whatever pieces please her,” Lady Moss informs.
Mr. Warren lets out a sigh. “I will see you ladies off then.”
“I have my foreman and a boy here,” Lady Moss informs. “They will—“
“I will see you to the train,” Mr. Warren repeats sternly.
The ladies do not argue and smile happily at the man.
Once the carriage is loaded, Lady Moss takes to her cart with Mr. Jackson and Rueben. Upon arriving at the station, she affords her friends time for a final goodbye as she waits patiently in their cabin. She watches out the window, noting some of the similarities of how her late husband was with her as Mr. Warren is with his wife. Though men of high society do not share their emotions openly, Lady Moss notes the affections Mr. Warren has for her friend. He even stays outside the window, waiting for Mrs. Warren to settle in the cabin. Their attention is on each other until the train disembarks from the station.
“Where do you think you are going, Mr. Jackson?” Lady Moss quips.
His stoic expression doesn’t falter. “Giving you ladies privacy.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Moss declares. “Sit down.”
Rueben obliges immediately.
“Rueben, sta—“
“He will not take orders from you, Mr. Jackson. Take your seat and—“
“I will not, my Lady,” he objects.
Lady Moss’ eyes narrow. “Do not test me, Mr. Jackson. I am in no mood.”
“You’re always in a mood,” he counters snidely.
Mrs. Warren bites back an amused expression.
“There is no need for you two to join the rest of the—“
“Servants?” Mr. Jackson interrupts. “That is what we are, is it not?”
Lady Moss turns her attention to Rueben. “You may go, Mr. Jackson. Rueben can decide for himself.”
“Reu—“
Lady Moss rises. “Do not tell the boy what to do, Mr. Jackson. Not if you value your position at the farm.”
“I’ll go, my Lady,” Reuben offers. “I don’t mind. It would be nice to see more of the train.” He bows at Mrs. Warren. “Misses.” He makes his way past Lady Moss despite the fact that she is blocking most of the way to the door.
The men leave in the next breath.
Lady Moss returns to her seat, striving to maintain control of her anger.
Mrs. Warren giggles and it catches her friend’s attention.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Mrs. Warren claims.
“What amuses you?”
Mrs. Warren considers her reply. “You and Mr. Jackson.”
“How so?”
“I’ve never seen anyone other than your Aunt bother you as such,” she replies.
Lady Moss huffs and rights herself. “He is infuriating…but I rather enjoy it.”
“Of course you do.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
“You’ve always enjoyed a good adventure and particularly a combative challenge no matter the circumstance.”
Lady Moss purses her lips as she considers her friend’s words. “True.”
A comfortable silence falls upon the cabin, but it only takes a few moments for conversation to return freely. The time on the train passes quickly, bringing them to the countryside quicker than anticipated.
“This is Moss Manor?” Mrs. Warren asks with a gaping mouth.
“Yes,” Lady Moss says with a sigh.
“It is much bigger than I….” She looks at her friend. “You have indeed married well if one is to lose her husband early, my dear, Abigail.”
“It is quite small,” Lady Moss counters.
“I dare not say so,” she returns. “It is at least three times the size of most elite homes in the city.”
“Mr. Jack—“ Lady Moss cuts herself off when she turns to find Mr. Jackson in the distance as he heads toward the barn.
“How was your trip, Miss?” Mrs. Doyle inquires.
“Delightful, Mrs. Doyle. I need a few of the girls to tend to whichever room my dear friend, Mrs. Warren, chooses to be hers during her stay.”
“Yes, Abigail.” Mrs. Doyle rushes inside.
“Abigail?” Mrs. Warren inquires.
“It is easier,” Lady Moss admits.
“No servant, or worker, ever calls their Lady by her first name.”
“As you and your husband have known, I am most uncommon for any lady or Lady,” she replies.
“That you are, Abigail.”
“It still astonishes me that Mr. Woolridge wished to marry me,” she admits.
Mrs. Warren takes her friend’s arm. “I am not.”
Chapter Eight
With an exaggerated groan, Lady Moss reads her Aunt’s most recent letter.
“What troubles you, my dear friend?” Mrs. Warren inquires, entering the study. She places a tray filled with tea and sweets upon the desk.
“My Aunt, of course,” she replies, offering her to read the letter.
Mrs. Warren happily takes it. “Dearest Niece….” She lets out a huff as she lowers to a chair. “She could never call you by your name, could she? That woman’s heart is cold.”
“What heart?” Lady Moss replies with a snort.
“That, indeed,” giggles Mrs. Warren.
“Is Mr. Warren enjoying his stay?” she inquires, wishing to change the subject and her mood.
“Most indeed,” Mrs. Warren returns with a widening grin. “Except when I must tend to selling Lord Quincy’s things.”
Lady Moss returns her attention to the papers in front of her. “You should be with child by now with how little you two have been seen around the manor.”
“Hold your tongue,” Mrs. Warren states with a blush.
“Do not mistake my teasing. I am happy that you and Charles are happy. I am not surprised by his arrival barely a week after you left.”
Mrs. Warren reveals a giddy expression. “You were right. He longs for me more so than ever, especially at the thought of leaving me here to go back to the city.”
“He needed time away just as much as you,” she replies. “Stress of work can cause a man troubles to fulfill his husbandly duties.”
Mrs. Warren glances around the room and out the window. “I can see why you don’t wish to return to the city. It is lovely here.”
Lady Moss nods as she lets out a soft sigh.
“That foreman of yours isn’t too bad on the eyes either."
“Now it is time for you to hold your tongue, my dear friend,” Lady Moss warns playfully.
“Why?” Mrs. Warren challenges. “He is much more your speed than any man in the city…dare I say even the late Mr. Woolridge?”
Lady Moss’ gaze rises to find her friend.
“There you are,” declares Charles, barely dressed. He rights himself when he sees his wife isn’t alone. “My apologies.”
“No need,” Lady Moss says, returning her attention to the papers before her. “If a woman has seen one naked, male form, she’s seen them all.”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren scolds as she bites back an embarrassed smile.
“Men are not all the same, my dear friend,” he claims. “Just like women aren’t.”
“What do you know of how other women look?” Mrs. Warren asks with a warning tone and glare.
“Paintings and sculptures, my dear wife,” he returns.
Mrs. Warren eyes him speculatively for a moment.
“There are quite a few in this manor,” Mr. Warren reminds.
“I think the more pertinent question is how does he know how other men appear,” Lady Moss states.
“You are most incorrigible, Abigail.”
“And, how is that a surprise to you, Mr. Warren, after all these years?” she inquires ruefully.
Mrs. Warren giggles when her husband kneels before her, vying to steal a kiss.
Without so much of a glance up, Lady Moss declares, “If you two are going to be like that, you might as well stay in your room.”
“Like what?” Mr. Warren inquires with a denying tone.
“I should send for the doctor,” she declares. “I’m sure my dear friend has been held hostage long enough by you, Mr. Warren.”
“A wife cannot be held hostage,” he quips. “Particularly by her husband.”
“Then, you won’t mind her performing her duties to her friend which is the very reason why she is here, no? I’m certain she is already with child,” Lady Moss states.
“How so?” Mr. Warren inquires.
“She shows signs of it like that of a horse or any other animal,” she informs.
“You dare compare my wife to an animal?” Mr. Warren rebuts.
“It’s either her or you who is the animal…making all those noises when—”
“Abigail,” Mrs. Warren scolds with a snicker.
“Miss,” Mrs. Doyle calls, abruptly entering the study. She looks at the floor when she notices the lack of proper attire on Mr. and Mrs. Warren. “Some guests have arrived inquiring about the items for sale.”
