Winterberry Fire: A Silver Foxes of Westminster Novella (Winterberry Park Book 2)(12)

“Because Tim Turnbridge might ask you?” Clara filled in her thoughts.

“But he hasn’t,” Ada confessed with a rush of breath. The baby in her arms squirmed to get down, so Ada let her go. “He hasn’t indicated that he knows about the dance at all. Maybe I’m imagining the whole thing between the two of us.”

“You most certainly are not,” Clara said, keeping an eye on her little ones. “Arthur helps Tim out all the time at his school—he’s over there now—and he’s as certain as anyone that Tim adores you.”

“Really?” Ada’s heart felt as though it had been lifted up on a balmy breeze.

“Certainly. If he hasn’t invited you to the dance already, he’s sure to ask you in no time.”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful.” Ada reveled in the thought for a moment. Reality swooped back in too soon. “But what about Tad? He’s the one who’s asked. I don’t want to hurt him or break his heart.”

“That’s because you’re a good person,” Clara said with a smile.

“So what do I do? How do I tell him no gently?”

“Well.” Clara tilted her head to the side in consideration. “The key is not to embarrass him in front of the others at the big house. Whatever words you find to decline his invitation, they should be delivered away from everyone else.”

“Good idea. He’s going to feel bad anyhow, but at least he doesn’t have to feel bad in front of other people.”

“Right. Is there a place up at Winterberry Park where you could take him aside and let him down easy?”

Ada thought about it, chewing her lip. With so much cleaning going on, they could be interrupted in any given room of the house at any time. She would do best to take him somewhere outside of the house.

“I’ll think on it,” she said. “But for now, I’d better go buy the carpet beaters Mrs. Musgrave wants and get back to the house as soon as possible.”

“Yes, no one should keep Mrs. Musgrave waiting,” Clara agreed with a wide-eyed look of mock dread.

The two of them shared a laugh and a hug, then Ada hurried on her way. She wracked her brain for places she and Tad could talk as she purchased the carpet beaters, then continued home.

Only as she was hurrying up the lane to the house did the answer come to her. Violetta’s cottage. She grinned. It was close enough to sneak off to, far enough away to give them some privacy, and best of all, no one would be there. The key was hidden right next to the door, and she and Tad could be there and back before anyone knew they were gone.

But as soon as she started looking for Tad, Mrs. Musgrave was on her.

“Everyone else has started,” she said, taking her watch from the pocket in her apron and staring pointedly at it. “You’d best get upstairs.”

“Yes, Mrs. Musgrave.”

Ada curtsied, resting the beaters against the wall and hurrying upstairs.

All of the maids and footmen were needed to roll up the grand carpets that lined the hallways and public rooms of the house. She was hard at work before she knew it, which didn’t give her time to whisk Tad off for a private conversation. But she did manage to steal up to his side, making it look like work.

“I need to speak with you,” she whispered as they worked side by side, rolling up the hall carpet.

“To me?” he asked, blinking.

“Yes. It’s important. It’s about the dance.”

“Oh.” Tad grinned.

“But we can’t talk here.” Ada glanced around, anxious about whether they would be seen talking. So far, no one was looking. “Meet me later this afternoon.”

“Where?” he asked.

“At Violetta’s cottage. Once we’re done with work, before supper.”

“If you say so,” he said, still grinning. “I’ll be there.”

Relief washed through Ada. Once she and Tad talked, she’d seek out Tim and ask him where things stood between the two of them. Everything would work out for the best, she was sure.



Alice Jones was much more mature than the other girls her age, if she did say so herself. Which she did. She was prettier than the rest of them, that was for certain. She checked her reflection in the windows of the schoolroom several times a day to be sure. Her clothes were finer than her friends’, because her father was a prosperous butcher in town. And she was smart, even if the grades on her exams didn’t always reflect that. They were stupid questions anyhow.

But the way she knew for certain that she was far, far above her peers was because Mr. Turnbridge loved her.

She sighed and leaned her cheek on her hand, her elbow on her desk, and watched Mr. Turnbridge at the front of the room. He was lovely in every way, tall and handsome, with perfect, dark hair. She could see herself walking out on his arm, everyone in town staring at them and saying how lucky he was to marry such a beautiful young woman.

Because, of course, they would be married as soon as she finished her schooling in the spring. There was no doubt about it, now that she was convinced of his love. And as soon as he sent her the love poem she was certain he was writing to ask her to the Valentine’s dance, she could declare how she truly felt.

“Alice. Psst!”

Alice’s daydreams were interrupted as Petunia leaned in and hissed at her. Her friend’s interruption forced her to turn away from Mr. Turnbridge just as Rev. Fallon approached him.