The Apple Blossom Bower (Historical Romance Novella) by Porter Margaret Evans

Author:Porter, Margaret Evans [Porter, Margaret Evans]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: bestselling author, England, regency romance, regency historical, Devonishre, award winning author, historical novella, Margaret Evans Porter, short fiction, novella
Publisher: Gallica Press
Published: 2012-08-17T04:00:00+00:00

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~ Chapter 4 ~

“These hangings are entirely too dark for this room,” Edwin pronounced while fingering a sun-faded damask curtain. “I should’ve replaced them when I took up residence here.”

His housekeeper hunched her shoulders diffidently and lisped through the great gap in her front teeth, “S’all I take ’em down, then? Not sure I’ve got strength enough for it—my back plagues me powerful bad today.”

“Never mind, it can wait until after I’m—” Reconsidering, Edwin chose not to inform her of his marital aspirations. “It needn’t been done immediately.”

He turned away from the window to study the room with newly critical eyes. It was gloomily masculine in its appointments and excessively cluttered, the antithesis of the cheerful simplicity of the parlor at Orchard Place. His ancestors’ ancient fowling pieces, however decorative, rightfully belonged in the gun room. And he’d never miss the framed painting of a battle scene between opposing armies. Would Annis like that stuffed pheasant in the glass case? Edwin wasn’t at all sure he cared for it. And he definitely intended to remove the rack of antlers hanging on the wall, adorned with cobwebs spun by generations of spiders. The trophies, so dear to his great-grandfather, had no meaning for him and would have still less for his future bride.

“Send for some village girls to come in,” he told his elderly retainer. “Get as many of them as you need for a very thorough cleaning of the house, from garret to cellar.”

“Aye, sir.” The housekeeper merely bobbed her head, for her arthritic legs prevented her from curtsying, something she hadn’t been able to do since long before Edwin had taken possession of his inheritance.

A few minutes after her departure Garth Corston entered the parlor, a strip of linen wrapped around his head. This was his first day out of bed, and he stated forthrightly that he meant to make the most of it.

“You said we could ride to Dartmoor,” he reminded Edwin.

“I know, but I can’t go there today. I’ve so much to accomplish in too short a time—that is, I’ve given the servants several things to do and I feel I ought to be here to supervise. What’s your opinion of this?” Edwin picked up a bust of a laurel-wreathed gentleman who was missing most of his nose.

“Isn’t he someone famous? Caesar, or some other blasted Roman? There was a chap just like him in the pater’s study. He fetched quite a good price at the sale.”

“What sale?”

Garth chewed his lower lip, his face unnaturally flushed. “Before we left the London house, my parents sold off a few articles they didn’t’ wish to move. Pictures, furniture, that sort of thing.”

“I should do the same,” Edwin commented dryly. “Not that I think anyone would buy a moth-eaten pheasant behind glass. Or a threadbare rug,” he added, frowning down at the one beneath his boots.

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” said his friend airily. “But why d’you want to be rid of them?”

“The house wants refurbishing,” was the extent of Edwin’s explanation.

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