Chapter Four
“It does my heart good to see those tools in your hand again.” The Captain picked up a small chisel, the sharp tip no bigger than a child’s littlest finger. “You’ll want this, too, though it needs sharpening.”
The barn-cum-workshop of Braithwaite Furniture and Sons hinted at days past. Patterns for Chippendale chair backs hung from hooks high on a wall from the grandest to humblest designs. Dusty cobwebs fluttered in the corners. Jonas quietly rolled up the chisels and tucked them in his leather satchel. Silence was best when the Captain waxed on about him taking over the business—a thing both men knew would never happen.
The Captain’s eyes narrowed to shrewd slits. “A young man strong as you can do twice the work I did. Oversee twice the laborers…make a tidy income.”
A young man as strong as he was? No. He’d shake Plumtree’s dust off his feet the same as he did ten years ago and leave behind the ridicule.
Big Ox. Dumb oaf. Brainless beast of a man.
Villagers had admonished him in his youth, “Better to use your God-given brawn to make your way in the world, because the good Lord gave your brother all the brains.”
The sting of old taunts haunted him the moment he’d stepped foot in Plumtree two nights ago. He tried to shake them, but the past wouldn’t let go.
Jonas picked up a planer off the workbench, words of the past blistering his soul as if freshly spoke. The Captain had held this same tool, saying years ago, “Your brother will attend St. Mary’s College and study the law. You—” The Captain smoothed the planer up and down the walnut board, wood shavings dropping around his feet. “—you’re better suited to a life of labor. Right here. This shop shall be yours.”
Even the Captain, good man that he was, had unwittingly elevated Jacob over Jonas. His mother had patted Jonas’s arm and bade him to consider the merits of furniture-making. Take over the Braithwaite Furniture and Sons, the Captain and his mother had said.
Instead, Jonas had set fire to the building.
It was an accident, a small fire, as damaging blazes go. Jonas had placed linseed oil too close to an open flame and whoosh! One beam had been charred to ruin and a fine oak chest of drawers for meant for an earl’s butler had been reduced to ash. The fire had branded him an ungrateful youth in the eyes of Plumtree. Once the destruction was repaired, Jonas packed his things and left as quietly as he’d arrived at the tender age of ten.
The Captain slapped the work bench, snapping Jonas out of the past. “In its finer days, a man could expect three hundred fifty pounds income.”
His grandfather ambled the rough-hewn floors, speaking around his pipe, his cane tapping the floor. The old man wasn’t giving up. Jonas gathered twine, listening as patiently as a grandson ready to leave could.
“Did I tell you Chippendale’s man of business inquired about Braithwaite Furniture and Sons constructing a series of lady’s writing desks?”
Jonas tossed two balls of twine in his satchel. “Odd, since you haven’t been open for business of late.”
The Captain chewed his pipe. “Oh, very well. I wrote Chippendale first. Told him my grandson was coming home.” And his grandfather was off, his enthusiasm churning. “Just think of it. My experience and your strong back.”
“You mean a beast of a man like me…a man with no brains.” He picked up a rusted hammer and dropped it back in the bucket.
His grandfather winced. “You can’t still believe that.”
Jonas tied the satchel. “I don’t.” But the sting of those words will take a long time to fade.
The Captain gripped his cane with both hands, his proud shoulders bowing with age. Or was it grandfatherly guilt at not stemming the critical tide that had washed over Jonas years ago? The old man had always walked through life with his brand of salty-tongued dignity.
His thin lids drooped. “You found your own way. Seeing the world, returning to England and taking a position as man of business for the Earl of Greenwich. That was no small feat. Everyone in the village was quite impressed.”
“And there’s more world I want to see,” Jonas said, tossing the leather satchel over his shoulder. He was long past caring about Plumtree’s good opinion of him.
“By the time I was your age, I’d been married, fathered three children, and buried two of them. Surely you’ll want a wife.”
“And settle into Braithwaite cottage?” He scoffed. “Plumtree’s too small for my taste.”
“It welcomed you and your brother,” the Captain said sharply.
“And shamed my mother.”
“She eventually won them over,” was the best the old man could give.
Jonas eyed his grandfather under the brim of his hat. “A thing she should never have had to do.”
The village’s cool, dismissive matrons had cut the deepest. Women were cruelest to other women. His mother bore the shunning with a stiff spine, but sometimes he’d find her teary-eyed in a quiet corner at home. His boyish arms around her was the only cure he could give.
The family had borne the brunt of ridicule until the town’s folk moved on to better gossip. Eventually, the hardest hearts melted under Jacob’s charm, a thing Jonas didn’t possess. He was the twin to stand stoically aside while his brother won Plumtree’s hearts with wit and undeniable friendliness. It came in handy when they got into scrapes such as freeing Farmer Watson’s prize-winning pig…and then chasing the sow through the village, sliding through muddy roads, their antics splashing mud on pedestrians.
Later, Braithwaite handsomeness served a purpose. Tavern wenches and merchant’s daughters threw themselves at Jacob and Jonas. Conversation wasn’t required when a pretty girl did all the talking. None truly noticed the person Jonas was. None, that is, except for lank-limbed Livvy Halsey, as ready for a day of fishing as she was to climb trees and catch frogs.
Her pert smile and saucy tongue had been a sylph-like memory all these years since he’d left, a comfort in lonely days at sea. Those were the times a man saw the deepest nooks and crannies of his soul. One face appeared often when he stared at wide open water.
Livvy Halsey.
When it came to pretty Elspeth, he couldn’t recall her features with nearly the same vividness as Livvy’s—Plumtree’s best and brightest spot.
Funny that.
“Plumtree has changed since you left. At least consider the merits of reacquainting yourself with the district,” the Captain said, a slow smile creasing his face. “Give the fair young women here a chance. There are many festivities planned from now until Twelfth Night.”
Jonas’s hand curled tighter on the satchel. “I’m not long for Plumtree, sir.” He tipped his head at the Captain. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised to assist the Halseys in repairing a chair.”
They strolled to the workshop’s open door with Jonas slowing his step in deference to his grandfather. They walked together into morning sunshine, and Jonas shut the door after them.
“For all your protests of leaving Plumtree, you haven’t said what you want me to do with your inheritance,” the Captain said to Jonas’s back. “This land, the cottage, the shop…it will be yours.”
Jonas latched a rusted lock on the door. “What about Jacob? Doesn’t he want it?”
“He’s a solicitor, not a furniture maker. Working with wood is not in his blood.”
“And you think it’s in mine?”
The Captain leaned both hands on his cane, his blue eyes twinkling on the satchel bulging with tools. “Something’s got your blood stirring.”
Jonas ignored the quip and dug the shop’s key from his pocket. “Here.”
“Keep it. You may need more tools in this endeavor of yours with the Halseys.” The Captain struck out for the cottage.
Jonas dropped the iron key back in his pocket. “Please let Mrs. Addington know I’ll be on time for dinner.”
The Captain paused, his snowy white beard showing as he angled his face to the Halsey Tower. “I will.”
The old man trekked on, his footfalls and the cane a quiet plod on snow and gravel. Jonas’s heart squeezed at his grandfather’s aged amble. Once powerful shoulders stooped. The old man had borne the weight of family, providing for him and his brother and mother. Never once did his grandfather say a recriminating word to his daughter for bearing sons out of wedlock. If he did, Jonas had never heard it.
The proud head, once thick with Braithwaite black hair, was pure white, tied in a small queue brushing his coat collar.
The Captain had given his all for his family.
And none would be here to comfort him in his final years.
Jonas waited for the Captain to get safely inside before making his way to the orchard. Sun poured down on Plumtree. He squinted at a blinding white world of snow, save the bare, tangled branches of the Braithwaite orchard. Sunlight glittered on the diamond panes of Halsey Tower’s window. Was Livvy already there?
She was a balm to his soul. Sweet yet saucy. Even her sudden kiss yesterday blended the best parts of her, soft lips, curious and knowing at the same time. He should’ve wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back, but she was off him in a trice, embarrassed. He’d wanted to let her recover and try again, but Livvy fidgeted against her desk, pouring out bigger and more important things like family secrets.
Kissing would have to wait.
He trudged up the meadow to her tower, his mouth pulling a grim line. Who had taught Livvy how to kiss? One of Farmer Watson’s sons? A laborer on her father’s excavations? Or another antiquarian? Probably a man university educated and smart. His boots sunk in a deep pocket of snow.
Or the appropriate Will Hastings with his Eton education and impeccable manners?
Cresting the Halsey knoll, he bristled at the sight of six chimneys in the east puffing thin streams of smoke. Hastings Manor, a grand home belonging to a grand family. No Braithwaite darkened their door except to deliver a repaired table at the servant’s entrance.
Childhood flattened Plumtree’s social field until he and all the village boys sprouted chin hairs. That’s when the stark social divide came. The Halsey girls were the bridge.
Up ahead, the familiar rope hung from the tower. The end of it was tied to a modest-sized crate in the snow. Voices drifted from the tower’s open window. Jonas strolled around the tower and pushed the door left ajar. On quiet feet, he made his way up the winding stairs, the voices getting louder.
“I can’t countenance you spending an entire day alone with Jonas Braithwaite.”
Jonas halted his progress. Mrs. Halsey? Her continental accent spun elegantly around each word she said.
“But you can countenance the eight hundred pounds we’ll get if he repairs the curule chair.” Livvy. Her voice pitched headstrong as ever.
“Do not be impertinent.”
“I am being practical, Mother. Jonas has kindly agreed to restore the chair and keep quiet about father’s condition.”
Mrs. Halsey sighed. “You should never have let him into the tower.”
“What was I supposed to do? It was Christmas Day. I didn’t expect anyone to come calling and he saved me from scraping the chair up the outer wall.”
“It’s simply not proper. Your father let you have your headstrong ways far too long. He thought it enchanting,” Mrs. Halsey said, her voice a tad weary. “I should’ve hired a governess straightaway and not waited as I did.”
“Elspeth and I turned out fine.”
“You could do with a better sense of decorum.”
“Decorum is highly overrated.” Livvy’s voice gentled with affection. “You and Father gave me the best childhood a girl could want.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat. There was a sniffle. A murmur of sound.
“And now we lean heavily on you, my girl,” Mrs. Halsey said sadly. “Too much, I fear.”
Shoes scraped the floor as if mother and daughter embraced. Jonas balked at eavesdropping on an intimate moment. The upper floor’s light flooded the top of the stairs. Below him, the tower’s door remained ajar. He tarried in the dark space in between, an interloper. He could escape. Or he could go forward and announce his presence.
One hand on the cold stone wall, he swallowed a hard truth. He was good at hanging in the periphery. Not quite present for those in need. Quick to hold his feelings in check and quick to leave when a storm of emotions kicked up. He’d never mastered the fine art of understanding the outer reaches of feelings. Perhaps that’s why he and Lord Edward, Earl of Greenwich, got on so famously. Neither truly understood women or emotions well.
But, even the reclusive Earl of Greenwich had found love.
Jonas’s fingertips dug into the ancient stone wall. Would he ever find love?
“You don’t need to worry about improprieties, Mother. Everyone thinks Father and I are working here. Jonas visiting the tower will have no social consequence.” Livvy sniffled, her voice a touch amused. “He still regards me as the bothersome girl in braids.”
“You can’t know that,” her mother chided.
A knowing laugh echoed above his head. “Yes, I can. I kissed him yesterday and he didn’t kiss me back. It was awkward.”
“Olivia,” her mother groaned.
“You could have another governess watch over me,” Livvy teased. “But it’s a bit late at my ripe age of twenty-four.”
“You are not a child, my dear, I know this.”
“Then you will trust me working with Jonas.”
“I’d feel better if you called him Mr. Braithwaite.” A tolerant, motherly sigh drifted through the tower. “At least Mr. Haggerty will be here soon. He promises to come once the roads are clear enough for travel.”
Standing in the shadows, a pang of conscience pinched Jonas for eavesdropping. He pushed loudly up the stairs, his boots heavy on each step as he called out, “Good morning to the tower.”
He breached the upper floor’s light to the startled Halsey women. Mrs. Halsey stood as tall as Livvy, her brown eyes flaring wide, the mildly exotic tilt of her eyes a gift from mother to daughter. Lines etched their outer corners, and a faint pallor marked her features. Dressed in deep purple, her graying auburn hair swept high off her forehead. She was rustic elegance, though not of English stock. Rumor had it she hailed from the Commonwealth of Lithuania, the daughter of an antiquarian.
Livvy smiled at him, her thick copper-colored braid curving over her shoulder, the tip dangling where black lacing nipped her waist. A very pleasant, very male bolt shot through him, beginning at his heart and landing in the placket of his breeches.
“Good morning, Jonas. You are looking hale and hearty,” Mrs. Halsey said, one brow arching. “And with a gold earring no less.”
He removed his tricorne and sketched a bow. “A necessary evil when I took to the seas.”
“Then, you weren’t a pirate.” She smiled, folding both hands before her.
He flashed a chaste grin at Livvy and removed his coat. “No, ma’am.”
“The people of Plumtree entertained themselves with tales of your plunders on the high seas. At least until the Captain disabused them.” Head canting to one side, she studied him. “This renown matters not to you, I think.”
“It does not, ma’am.”
Livvy tucked both hands behind her back, smiling boldly at him. “I think Mr. Braithwaite looks like a gentleman of fortune.”
Her voice did things to him, made him want to listen to her for the pure joy of hearing her voice. How had he missed that yesterday? Livvy Halsey trod a different path than London’s frothy misses. Would any of those well-bred young women don breeches and climb trees to give their father a token of comfort in his last days? Livvy Halsey was all heart, a woman who wore her keen mind and adventurous spirit well.
Clamping both hands behind his back, he stood ramrod straight. “I was third mate on the Carlotta for Sanford Shipping Company. Simple as that. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Carlotta? It was the Earl of Greenwich’s ship for his naturalist voyage.”
“Indeed.” Mrs. Halsey eyed the gold earring. “I’ve read his pamphlets on the healing properties of African plants.”
Her refined manners wouldn’t allow probing questions about the gold on his ear. He decided to save her the trouble of stewing over the odd gold piece.
“If you’re wondering about the earring…the lot of us had our ears pierced at a port in the West Indies.” He grinned, his chin dipping a fraction. “You could say there was much whiskey involved…that and the fear of God that should our bodies wash ashore from a shipwreck, the gold would pay for a proper Christian burial.”
Mrs. Halsey smiled back. “The same reasoning pirates give.”
“Very true, ma’am. Your knowledge of the seas shouldn’t surprise me given your experience with other topics.”
“I was a young woman once,” she said archly. “The appeal of a dashing man is not lost on me.”
“Age has no bearing with you, ma’am. Little slips past your notice.”
Mrs. Halsey’s laughter tinkled like a bell. “Jonas Braithwaite, you have come into your own. What a fine gentleman you are.” She looked askance between Livvy and Jonas, her tone knowing. “It is a good thing you are not long for Plumtree, or I would have to play chaperone.”
“Your daughter’s honor is safe with me.”
A kind glow lit her eyes. “As I believe it always has been.”
“I am standing beside you, Mother,” Livvy piped up.
Mrs. Halsey kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I know, dear, but I will always be your mother.” Looking to Jonas, she gave a regal nod to the curule chair sitting on a table. “Do you think you can bring life into the chair? Olivia says she informed you of its tremendous historic value.” She paused as if choosing her words with care. “You understand. We need a good…outcome in the sale of this artifact.”
He patted the satchel he’d dropped beside his coat and strode the long way around the table. “Yes, ma’am. I am up to the challenge—” He set the leather bag down “—and I am aware of the chair’s importance.”
Livvy met him at the table and opened book set near the chair. “I found these diagrams of other curule chairs. I thought they’d help.”
Her ink-stained fingers smoothed a faded forest green gown, this one free of lacey elbows.
“Olivia tells me you graciously returned Mr. Halsey’s old watch,” Mrs. Halsey said, her eyes glossy and bright. “For that, I am most grateful.”
“I’m pleased to bring some comfort to your family.” Jonas felt his ears warm from the admiration in her eyes. He swallowed the knot in his throat and untied the satchel. The Halsey family had always been kind to him. “I shall get to work, then.”
“I brought food.” She motioned to a basket covered with a red and white checked cloth. “Should you need anything else, please come to the house. Otherwise, I’ll take my leave and let the two of you get to work.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Jonas unrolled the cloth full of chisels and set them on the table in order from smallest to largest.
Livvy wrapped her black shawl around her shoulders and took her place at the desk. She pulled a pen knife from her desk and shaved the tip of a new quill, the scrape a gentle noise in the tower. The hearth’s fire crackled and Mrs. Halsey’s heel strikes sounded on the floors. Jonas picked up the smallest chisel, his thumb testing its sharpness.
Quaint stillness settled around him. Touching the tools was another step into the better parts of his past. Though Jonas loathed admitting it, he liked working with his hands. The wood, the tools satisfied him.
Mrs. Halsey’s tinkling laughter rose to the rafters. “I truly have nothing to worry about here, do I?”
Livvy swiveled in her chair. “Mother, please.”
“Do not forget the crate outside.” She smiled benignly. “If the two of you make good progress, you should reward yourselves with a night of fun.”
Jonas set down the chisel and walked to the window. He’d forgotten about the crate.
“What fun?” At the window, warmth and sunshine blasted him, the feel of it good on his skin as he grabbed the rope. Or was it being in the tower with Livvy?
“The festivities will be hosted at the Sheep’s Head tonight. Are you and the Captain planning to attend?”
“The Captain mentioned an invitation but I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, hauling up the crate.
“It’s a costume party, Mother. I don’t have anything to wear.”
“Nor do I.” He hefted the light crate through the window.
Mrs. Halsey tapped her steepled fingers. “The two of you are clever. You could come up with something.”
Jonas set the straw-filled crate on the floor. “I’m of a mind to spend a quiet night at home.”
“Nonsense,” the older woman retorted. “You are both young. You would do me a great favor, Mr. Braithwaite, if you made certain my daughter has a night of frivolity. She has labored too long in here…she’ll turn into one of these relics if she’s not careful.”
Livvy groaned and turned back to her desk.
Jonas dusted off both hands. “I’ll see what I can do to convince her, ma’am.”
“Very good.” Mrs. Halsey smiled and slipped out of sight, her footsteps echoing her departure.
Livvy kicked off one shoe and tucked her foot under her bottom. She dipped a nib on the ink and began writing. Her other foot swung back and forth as if keeping time with her flow of words. Finding his way to the chair, Jonas was once again tongue-tied. The idea of a night with Livvy settled on him. He knew Livvy the girl, but Olivia Halsey, the woman? He couldn’t say.
Did she want him to know her? There was the matter of their kisses. The first night, hot and salacious. The second afternoon, tentative and flat.
He wanted another try.
Standing at the table, he set out the rest of his tools. Work was an elixir. It gave him purpose and pride. To be the one to help save the Halseys from imminent disaster satisfied him. A night of fun with Livvy would too.
They worked in silence, the time measured by Livvy’s quiet scratches on paper. An hour or two or three passed with the hearth’s fire at this back. He etched his chisel through one decorative carving after another on the chair’s top arch. Slivers of wood dropped onto the table around the ivory legs. He stepped back and ran a finger across fresh wood, contentment swelling in his chest.
“There’s something satisfactory in saving a piece of history.” Livvy’s voice broke the silence.
He glanced over his shoulder. Livvy set one hand at her back and stretched like a cat, the shawl falling off her shoulders. Black lacing cinched her tiny waist between lush upper and lower curves. How easily he could untie it…set her hourglass shape free. He’d rub the small of her back with attentive circles, make her feel better, and then he’d let his carnal nature take command.
“Jonas?” Her head cocked.
He snapped out of his lustful haze and massaged his nape. “Getting hungry.”
Livvy slipped from her chair and padded over to the basket. She set out a feast of bread, dried apples, cheese, and ham all while chattering about her progress with the manuscript and his progress with the chair. He stared hungrily at her. Yes, there was something satisfactory in uncovering the chair’s beauty. Staring at Livvy’s plump lips and soft-skinned face, there was deeper satisfaction in discovering a woman’s beauty. Livvy Halsey was a beauty by any man’s standards.
Had he been too busy being her friend to give adequate tribute to her?
Or was Livvy content to stay in the safe parameters of friendship after their disastrous kiss?
Tonight’s festivities at the Sheep’s Head would be the perfect foil to laugh again and have fun. He’d convince her to attend the village entertainment and, when the time was right, he’d test the bounds of friendship.