Eden smiled, hoping that the nervous curate would exhaust his praises and be on his way. He was a good-hearted man; not perhaps the most competent to hold his post, but the vicar who held the living had not made a personal appearance in some time, and Eden didn’t intend to displace him.
“I wish it could be more, Mr. Appleyard,” she said. “You have everything I could gather in so short a time. But I shall obtain whatever else is needed, as long as you keep me informed about the parish folk.”
“Indeed. Indeed I shall. And your contribution to the repair of the church—”
Before he could begin rhapsodizing about her many perfections, Eden held up a hand. “It is my pleasure. Two of my men will help you load the cart and carry the goods to the parsonage.”
Mr. Appleyard performed yet another bow. “I shall make a special visit to Mrs. Singleton, as you asked.”
“Thank you, Mr. Appleyard,” she said, drawing him toward the door.
“I have taken up far too much of your valuable time. I shall be most honored to join you for dinner on Monday next.”
And I shall spend the next few days preparing for another round of copious thanks, she thought wryly. “Good day, Mr. Appleyard.”
“Good day. May the Lord’s blessings be upon you!” He bowed himself out of the drawing room and was led away by Armstrong, who closed the door quietly behind him.
Eden sighed and sank back in her chair. One more item checked off her mental list. Her brain felt positively befuddled, filled as it was with figures and inventories and accounts, repairs to be made, servants to hire, and tenants to visit. The work to be done seemed endless, and the limited funds at her disposal could not possibly be enough to complete it.
Certainly Aunt Claudia did not approve of her expenditures. Eden had never been thrifty or careful with money; Claudia had reason to doubt her. But Eden was determined to prove that she was not the frivolous scattergood she had been for so much of her life.
And all this had real purpose. In the fortnight since she had arrived at Hartsmere, every minute of every day had been occupied with learning her role and duties as mistress of Hartsmere or discovering the joys and challenges of motherhood. It was hard work, and she had concentrated until her head ached and a thousand minor concerns kept her from sleep.
But she’d never been happier. Every morning she woke to discover some new miracle: one of Donal’s rare smiles when she kissed his cheek, the glorious sun melting the last of the snow, each returning bird that appeared unexpectedly in the bare-branched elm by her window. The whole world was about to spring back to life, opening up as if to embrace her.
She tried with minimal success to ignore the other reason for her happiness. Work distracted her, as did aiding the unfortunate. But whenever she saw Hartley Shaw grooming one of the horses until its glossy coat shone like porcelain, or speaking to Donal with such attentive gravity, her heart set up a thundering pulse that left her breathless.
It was almost as if his arrival, not hers, had signaled the changes in the dale. And that was ridiculous; she told herself that repeatedly and tried to avoid being near him. But the household staff was still small, Hartley was in charge of the stables, and his strength and versatility made it necessary to call on him frequently.
Above all, he was good for Donal. In spite of her very mixed feelings, Eden could not deny it. There was enough of culture and education about Shaw that she need have no fear of her son picking up rough ways or compounding his ignorance while in Shaw’s company. And every moment Donal was not with her, playing jackstraws, listening to her read from one of the old books in the library, or learning the proper way to eat at the table, he was looking for his new hero.
She could not resent Shaw for that. She suspected that the future governess would have a great deal more trouble confining Donal than she did.