Mistress of Sins (Dredthorne Hall #3) - Hazel Hunter Page 0,1
her mistress. Their housekeeper then came in to apologize for leaving the post unattended; she had been in the kitchen going over the week’s menus with their cook.
“Do not blame yourself, Mrs. Holloway,” Jennet said as she folded the invitation and tucked it in her reticule. “Mama hasn’t been distressed for at least a fortnight, so she sought an excuse. Do ask Cook to prepare some light broth for her luncheon, and keep the herbals brewing until the doctor arrives.”
The housekeeper nodded as she handed over the rest of the post. “I beg your pardon, Miss, but the butcher’s lad mentioned that the Tindalls returned from London yesterday.”
“That is welcome news.” And a chance to escape her mother’s latest bout of agitation, Jennet thought as she rose from the settee. “Please have Barton ready the rig.”
After looking in on her mother, Jennet changed from her morning muslin to a dark green walking dress, and donned a brown hooded wool cloak. While not as fashionable as a spencer jacket, the cloak would keep her warm on the chilly drive over to Tindall House.
She did not care to brood over her appearance greatly. With such prominent cheekbones, full lips and a faintly cleft chin she would always be called handsome rather than pretty, but she preferred that. Youthful beauty faded; a good bone structure lasted forever.
Her hair she braided and coiled to keep it tidy during the drive. The thick mass of it had grown quite long over the summer, and soon she would have to trim it to a more manageable length. Thus far she had not found any gray hairs to pluck away, but she suspected she would go the way of the Reed side of the family. Legend had it that their dark red hair never silvered, but only paled to coppery-gold with age—if any of them had truly lived so long.
Such vanity, Jennet thought as she turned away from the looking glass. Who will care what color your hair turns?
Margaret would scold her for dressing as well as driving herself, but Jennet preferred self-reliance over playing the genteel lady. Besides being cursed and jilted at the altar, she had now reached a definite spinster’s age of seven and twenty. Certain privileges did come along with the disadvantages.
Barton, who managed the stables as well as the deliveries, waited outside the house with the prepared rig.
“Morning, Miss.” He tugged at the brim of his hat before he helped Jennet up into the driver’s seat and handed her the reins. “Mrs. H. said we’re to expect Dr. Mallory?”
“Yes, for Mama.” She exchanged a knowing look with him; all of the servants were well-acquainted with Margaret’s frequent panics. “Nothing serious, but please do watch for him. I will return by luncheon.”
Barton nodded. “Very good, Miss.”
Going to the Tindall estate gave Jennet time to enjoy the palette of autumn, which had painted most of Renwick in myriad fiery colors. The fields remained green, and patches of white and purple heather daubed the hillsides, but the trees had gone crimson, gold and apricot. Some of the largest oaks and ashes looked as if countless tiny flames blazed from their branches. Despite the damp chill of the morning air, Jennet preferred this time of year to any other in the countryside. Summer’s bounty had been harvested, and the snows had yet to arrive. It seemed the perfect season.
That was why you chose to marry in October, so the church could be adorned in autumnal splendor, to match your garnet hair and witch’s eyes.
“I did not marry,” Jennet told the errant thought as she guided the horse up the winding drive to her friend’s home. “I am not a witch.”
You bewitch me, a deep voice chided from her memory.
Once more Jennet saw herself in her wedding gown, standing in the church while a younger Mr. Branwen comforted a noisily weeping Margaret, and hundreds of guests whispered and stared at her. She had been like a pillar of salt, frozen for all eternity halfway to an empty altar where her marriage would not be taking place. Later she would feel the humiliation, the despair, and the deep and abiding hatred of the man who had so thoroughly ruined her. In that moment, however, all she could think was how even with her gift she had never anticipated this, not once. She believed she had been loved as much as she had loved.
Never again.
Although it was a little early for a morning call, the Tindalls’ butler welcomed Jennet