One Enchanted Summer Read online

  One Enchanted Summer

  Jane Erickson

  Copyright © 2021 Erica Lawson Black

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  ISBN-13: 9798595119764

  ISBN-10: 1477123456

  Cover design by: Gabriella Regina

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309

  Printed in the United States of America

  To James, Ethan, Ryan & Arianna

  Thanks for supporting me while I pursue this second dream.

  The first, of course, was being your mom.

  And to Michael, for everything

  East of the Sun and West of the Moon

  A Norwegian Fairy Tale

  A long time ago, a polar bear came to a poor farmer and told him that if his daughter would come and live with the bear, the bear would give the farmer all the riches he could desire. The daughter, who loved her family and could not stand to see them starving, agreed.

  The bear took the girl to a castle where she had everything she could ever want. The bear was never unkind to her. At night, once the candle’s flame had been blown out, someone would enter her bedroom. He had the voice of the polar bear but the figure of a man.

  After weeks of living in the bear’s castle, the girl could not contain her curiosity any longer. She waited until the man was asleep and lit the candle so she could see who slept next to her every night. He was the most handsome man she had ever seen, and she gasped at her good fortune of having someone who was kind, generous, and handsome. She couldn’t resist kissing him, but as she bent over to kiss his sleeping face, she tipped the candle and three drops of tallow fell on his shirt.

  The man woke immediately and was distraught. He informed her that he was a prince under a spell and, now that she knew his true form, he would have to return to the kingdom of the trolls and marry a troll princess. The girl begged him to stay with her, but he said he could not…he and the castle disappeared.

  The girl walked and walked for hours until she came to an old woman and she asked the old woman if she knew the way to the troll kingdom. The old woman asked her,

  “Are you the one who should have had him?”

  “Yes, I am,” answered the girl.

  “Then you must try. But the troll kingdom is east of the sun and west of the moon and the journey is fraught with danger. You may never get there at all.”

  But the girl wasn’t afraid…

  Chapter 1

  Lincolnshire, 1849

  “And you’re certain that he’s not a murderer or a madman?” Mia Tillman asked her father for the fortieth time since he cajoled her into accepting a maid’s position with a complete stranger – a stranger not only to herself but to the village, perhaps the whole county.

  “I’m a great judge of character,” Tom Tillman began but broke off at Mia’s raised eyebrow. He continued stubbornly, “Of men and, though patronizing and perhaps a bit vain, the man seems a good-un. I could tell at a glance.”

  Swaying rhythmically with the rocking of the wagon, Mia held onto the seat’s edge and chewed her lip thoughtfully. She needed a new position, her father had found her one, and she should be thankful for it. That’s how most people would see her situation, but a rising bitterness at her father’s disregard for her safety was clawing at her chest. Tom Tillman had known this man, this London popinjay, for all of an hour yet was willing to entrust him with his daughter’s reputation, safety, and very life.

  Tom Tillman had always seen the best in people, and if fifty years of disappointment had affected his outlook on life, he hadn’t outwardly displayed a change of opinion. He had broken ribs from tavern brawls, a missing tooth due to an irate husband’s fist, and a scattering of scars from bird shot delivered by a diligent gamekeeper, but Tillman continued on his merry way, blithely entering any situation with the confidence that human nature’s innate goodness would eventually prevail.

  Mia had lost such optimism years ago, though she could not complain about her current fortune or circumstances. She would contend that her life’s success was due to hard work, avoiding attention, and genuine luck. She had seen far too many decent, industrious people fall onto hard times without acknowledging that such could be her fate given one unfortunate slip-up.

  She just prayed that this new position would not fall into that category.

  “Explain again how you maneuvered this position.”

  “I told you, he came into The Muddy Lark – Mags says hello, by the way – and these four fellows are eyeing him up. They pay up and go. When he goes to leave, those four bandits attempted to rob him right outside and steal his horse – a silvery beast, like one from a fairy tale. But I knew what they were up to. I left before he did and circled back and kept them all in my rifle sights. I had Mags’s man Rufus – you know him, big man, huge hands – tie them up for a few hours until we were safely away. The toff was so appreciative that he said I could have whatever favor I wanted. All I thought of was you, dearest girl. I knew you were needing a position and this one just falls from heaven.”

  As he retold the tale, his handsome face lit up with excitement and Mia wondered how much of the story was true. She’d asked him to repeat it three times, trying to see what slight changes could be quickly attributed as embellishments, but he had not strayed from the original script in the slightest. Doubtlessly, he’d be using this anecdote to charm every woman whose path he crossed for the next year or more. Though Tom Tillman rarely needed to enhance a tale to have women open a door for him. His curling black hair, well-waxed mustache, and deep dimples usually had women offering him a meal or two without him needing to say a word. They sometimes even took pity on his poor motherless daughter as an afterthought.

  “Why is a London dandy staying without his own servants? I thought they brought their own legion of men wherever they went.”

  “Damned if I know!” Tom crowed, and his voice startled the old draft horse into picking up his pace for all of two strides. “He seemed to be under the impression that there was staff already there. Says Lord Theo invited him to make use of the place.”

  “Lord Theo?”

  “Theodore Pritchard, old Neville’s son.” At Mia’s blank look, her father huffed a bit before he clarified. “Neville Lindsey. You know him. The gent with the wild red hair and the long beard. Looked a Highlander.”

  “Lindsey…wait, hasn’t Lindsey been dead nearly two years? I know they had a renter for a bit, but hasn’t that cottage been vacant for a month or more?”

  “I did tell him he might need another hand up there, which is where you came in! It was a prime opportunity for you.”

  Mia wasn’t sure she wanted to live with a man who had been pressured into hiring her. After a long journey and then nearly being killed, he was sure to be irritated already. His mood wouldn’t improve once he found that she was his only servant or that the cottage hadn’t been readied for his arrival.

  “Don’t you worry, my girl. He carries an American revolver and one of those new French percussion rifles.”

  “So now he’s well-armed? How does that assuage any of my fears?” Mia asked incredulously.

  “Because they’re foreign weapons! He doesn’t care where they are from as long as they do their job well. That’s the sign of an enlightened man.”

  And he winked at her as if they now shared a secret.

  “I
t’s right on up ahead now,” Tom Tillman said excitedly. “Now, remember I’ve negotiated a salary of five pounds, but I’ll be taking one of those pounds since I’ve found you the job.”

  Mia glared at him out of the corner of her eye, her bitterness welling a bit higher in her throat, but she had to admit that five pounds for three months of work was more than any other employer would offer…which made her all the more suspicious. But if her employment was terminated at the end of the summer, she’d be able to appear at the mop fair at the end of September and find a new position just as this nob returned to London.

  The pots and pans clanged together as they crested the hill, and Mia held her breath as the cottage came into view. It was cut off from the lane by a quickly moving stream and a small bridge, far too narrow for the wagon, had to be crossed to enter the house itself. Once that her father had pulled the wagon to a stop, the bubbling of the water over the stream’s rocks could be heard, welcoming despite the cottage’s shabby appearance across the way.

  It was a solidly built house but neglected, and the ramshackle outbuildings made it look all the more derelict – a strong wind might topple the stable into matchsticks and the privy leaned heavily to one side. Mia hoped no one would be occupying it when it inevitably collapsed.

  After dragging a hand nervously across her shoulders to see if any hairs had escaped her tidy bun and anchoring bonnet from the incessant swaying of the wagon, Mia was about to step down when a figure appeared in the darkened doorway. Most likely the aristocrat had heard the racket the wagon made as it jangled down the road…a useful introduction for a peddler but Mia now felt on display since the man was still hidden in the shadows of the cottage while she was open to his perusal. But then, why did it matter? She was going to be living with the man nearly every hour of the day for months, and he would get a look at her sooner than later.

  She hopped down from the seat, walked self-consciously to the side of the wagon, and opened the door to awkwardly pull down her battered trunk. The trunk thudded dully as it hit the dirt. Glancing around for her father, Mia compressed her lips and closed her eyes as she prayed for patience when she heard him hailing her new employer jovially, his voice so far in the distance that she knew he had already crossed the bridge and had no intentions of assisting her.

  With a grunt, she lifted the trunk and circled around her father’s horse, Hannibal, whose gigantic eyes widened as if he too was surprised that she had to lug the entirety of her possessions by herself but then Hannibal should have known Tom’s character by that point too.

  Trying to control her huffing breath, Mia cringed as the trunk’s corner made a harsh scraping sound as it brushed against the bridge’s railing. She glanced up, hoping that one of the men would come to her aid, but her father was still chattering on about the lovely location and asking if the man knew what supplies he still needed because Tom Tillman’s wagon carried everything a man could want. Her new employer remained inside the doorway, his face still hidden in shadow though the sinking afternoon sunlight now reached the middle of his broad chest. She could feel his eyes tracking her slow progress up the cottage path.

  She could well imagine what he saw as she approached. Her straw bonnet covered her rather ordinary brown hair and shaded her blue eyes from his gaze, but he would likely think her a very forgettable person…average height, a bit on the thin side. And she hoped that he continued to think of her beneath his notice. The last thing she needed was an employer to begin “noticing” her.

  Annoyance at her father and the situation along with physical exertion made her cheeks burn, but she managed to drop the trunk with a clap next to her father’s feet as he continued talking, completely unaware of her frustration. She bobbed a curtsy but kept her gaze at the man’s feet, noticing his riding boots were still filthy from his journey. When neither man acknowledged her presence, Mia resisted the urge to huff, and instead spun on her heel and marched back to the wagon to drag out a large hamper filled with supplies that she assumed the cottage would not have stocked. The contents would only last until the next morning before she would need to go to the village, but the basket was still heavy and, before she reached the two men, she was struggling to lift it with both hands and grateful that the basket’s wicker bottom didn’t break from the burden.

  Her father was now pointing out the delightful location of the cottage, situated right next to a stream whose water was still sweet and clean and a natural spring that trickled from the base of the hill right behind the house, but the man in the shadows still hadn’t said a word. Not that his lack of response would bother her father in the slightest – Tom Tillman was completely at ease rattling on about something even when the other party didn’t appear interested.

  Waiting impatiently but trying to keep her appearance suitably timid and biddable, Mia peeked around her bonnet and tried to catch her father’s eye. He finally took notice and touched the brim of his felt hat.

  “Be back in a trice, sir,” he muttered apologetically and glanced meaningfully at Mia as if she were being a bit unreasonable before he dashed down the path, over the bridge, and to the other side of the wagon. Mia followed him at a more dignified pace but met him by the wagon door as he managed to roll a whiskey barrel out of the wagon and onto the lane.

  “Be careful with that!” Mia hissed, moving closer to help him. “If it gets damaged, I’ll be hard pressed to find another barrel.”

  “Why is it so heavy? Did you fill the whole thing with stones?” Tom grunted as he shifted the barrel in his hands to get a better grip and started hauling it back towards the cottage.

  “You didn’t give me a chance to empty the contents before you had me scurry over here,” Mia hissed back. “And it’s still lighter than a barrel of ale which you never have trouble lifting. Take it behind the house. I’ll place it where I please it later.”

  “Just a moment, sir.” Tom flashed his famous smile towards the doorway as he disappeared around the side of the cottage.

  Mia walked up to stand lamely between the hamper and her trunk, now feeling self-conscious and out of place without her father to make introductions. But that was their relationship in a moment – her wanting him to hush and be gone, and then the moment that he did, wanting him to return. She glanced up at her new employer, but he was tall, and her bonnet’s brim was too low; she couldn’t chance a look without her curiosity being evident.

  Tom soon hurried back around the corner, still beaming but sweat shining at his temples from the exertion.

  “Mr. Attwood, this is Mia. Mia, Mr. Dominic Attwood. She’s a strong girl, a hard worker, and a decent cook so I doubt you’ll have a complaint for the entire summer. We agreed on five pounds, sir.” Tom now took off his hat deferentially and Mia felt her mouth twist at his bit of acting – Tom always knew when to be bold and when to bob his head, respectively. He could have easily trod the boards on any London stage if he could stand to remain in one place for more than a fortnight.

  Her new employer turned without a word, walked back into the cottage, and returned a moment later with a handful of coins which he held out to Mia who was confused for a moment before reaching out a hand to accept them. She awkwardly handed a sovereign to her father who slipped it quickly into his pocket like an illusionist with a sleight of hand trick.

  “I’ll be off now and let you get the house in order.”

  Without a backward glance, Tom jauntily strode down the path and leaped back into the wagon, clicking his tongue to get old Hannibal started down the lane again, the bong of the crashing frying pans and sauce pots trailing after him.

  Little wonder. He just pocketed twenty shillings for carrying a barrel a hundred yards. Mia thought with a roll of her eyes.

  Picking up the handle of the trunk, Mia started towards the cottage’s entrance, prepared for the worst since this was a bachelor’s home and had not been inhabited for months at a time. The idea of it being tidy much less clean seemed highly unlikely. Once she scooted the trunk through t
he doorway, she was pleasantly surprised that someone had made some effort to make the place livable. It certainly wasn’t going to impress the Queen, but she knew it wouldn’t take much to make it comfortable.

  “Are you able to use that stove? It looks like it harkens to the time of Richard the Third,” a baritone voice drawled behind her and, after a cursory glance at the ten-plate stove, Mia turned to answer her new employer and promptly dropped the trunk with a crash.

  “That bad is it?” he smiled tightly, obviously frustrated with the cottage’s amenities, and Mia could only shake her head negatively before managing to squeak, “I’ll have no difficulties, sir.”

  Perhaps he thought Mia truly was shocked by the age of the stove but more likely, he was used to females in reacting in just such a manner. But what girl wouldn’t have her heart hammer madly or her ears get this peculiar buzzing by looking at him?

  At just over six-foot tall, Mr. Attwood’s head nearly touched the cottage’s low timbered ceiling and the broadness of his shoulders suddenly made the room feel very confined, so constrained in fact that Mia felt a bit short of breath. If his dimensions weren’t impressive enough, his face could have easily graced the stained-glass window of any church’s rendition of an archangel except for those intense coffee-dark eyes. No worthy saint would have such a pitiless gaze or that sensual curve to his mouth.

  But Mia had lived her entire childhood with a man who made women stare, and she knew better than to join their foolish ranks. Being handsome was no guarantee of being able to put food on the table or a roof over her head or even assist her with parcels.

  “Sorry, sir, the trunk handle slipped,” she apologized, relieved to hear her voice had returned to its normal alto range, and she picked up the trunk handle quickly. “I shall just move this to my room.”