Page 20 of An Offer for a Spinster
“I’ll have it finished in time, Mr. Hawthorne.”
He received a flat and disbelieving stare. “I’m sure. Well, here are some notes I made on the story so far. My advice to you, is to find Rosalie again.”
Timothy gave a snort. “I wasn’t aware I’d lost her.”
Mr. Hawthorne leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.
“A writer might lose sight of their characters when something else is occupying their own minds. For example – not that I say this is your problem, naturally – a woman. That can be all very well, but it can impact writing one way or another. Perhaps if there is a lady you have in mind, you could resolve matters before finishingRosalie. Just a suggestion, of course – I don’t presume to direct you in how to write, naturally!”
“Naturally,” Timothy echoed, forcing a quick smile. “Is there anything else? I have a family dinner to attend.”
“Ah, how lovely.”
It certainly is not,he thought, but forced a sickly grin onto his face.
***
Rustford House was more like a castle than anything else. It had been in the Rutherford family for centuries and was a large and imposing building. Designed in the years when space was paramount over comfort, Timothy’s bedroom had been larger than the entire apartment he lived in now.
And yet he knew exactly where he’d rather be.
The craggy, cadaverous butler greeted him at the door, grim-faced and unsmiling. Timothy unceremoniously stripped out his coat, gloves, and hat, and bustled along to the drawing room to greet the rest of his family.
As he approached, he heard the high, nasal sound of his sister-in-law’s laughter.
Constance was there already, then. Wonderful. The Rustford family did not need money, exactly, but Constance was a tremendously wealthy heiress of excellent birth, and as such, she was a suitable match for Christopher and was therefore welcome into the family.
The fact that she was thoroughly unlikeable and shallow did not matter in the least.
Timothy paused before the door, drawing in a deep breath and straightening his waistcoat. Then he pasted a smile on his face and went in.
The family were arranged as usual. Everybody had their seats, and those seats were to be stuck to.
Lord Rustford sat in a huge, winged armchair by the fire, the family’s chairs arranged around him in a semicircle. Lady Rustford had a suitably smaller chair on the opposite side of the fire, with a stool for Aunt Amelia. A long sofa was provided between them, for Christopher, Constance, and Rebecca.
Another chair could be pulled up for Timothy, when he arrived.
They all glanced up when he entered.
“Ah, he deigns to grace us with his presence at last,” Lord Rustford said heavily.
Constance cackled again, and Christopher beamed indulgently at her.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Timmy,” Rebecca said, bouncing to her feet and hurrying over to hug her brother.
Timothy was well aware that he didn’t much resemble any of his family. Lord Rustford was a tall, portly man with grey blond curls and a perpetual frown. Lady Rustford was a flimsy, faded woman who had never been seen to smile. Christopher looked like a younger and stupider version of his father, and Constance had been blessed with wealth but not beauty, and certainly not charm. Rebecca was pretty, everyone said so, but was entirely too reserved and unsure of herself.
That was likely due to her overbearing and judgmental family. The only thing they had in common, in Timothy’s opinion, was the green eyes that they all shared, except for Lady Rustford and poor Aunt Amelia.
A chair was duly produced for Timothy, and he sat down. Heavy silence descended, like a blanket of thick snow over a field. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked steadily, reminding them all of how long they still had to go until they actually sat down to eat.
“So, Timothy, have you thought any more of giving up that ridiculous apartment and coming back home?” Lady Rustford said, after the pause became almost physically painful.
Lord Rustford snorted. “What makes you think he’d be welcome, my lady?”
Timothy clenched his jaw, aware of Constance and Christopher tittering together.
“Thank you, Mother, for the kind offer, but I’m quite settled.” He said, as politely as he could manage.
