The Secret of Bell Cottage

Chapter Nineteen - Sheila

Sheila couldn't sleep. All she could think of was Gideon and his proposal. No matter how often she told herself to put it from her mind, she couldn't. At least he hadn't come right out and asked her to wed. He wanted permission to court her. Courting didn't always lead to marriage. She should be ... Well, not happy exactly. But at least content with that. Which she told herself she was. And yet she wasn't.

Finally surrendering to the fact that she wouldn't be getting to sleep any time soon, she rolled out of bed. Slipping her housedress on over her night-rail, she made her way down to the library. Since she couldn't rest, she may as well get to work on her latest story. After lighting the lamp, she settled into her seat and retrieved her notes. She reread her last entry, picked up her pen and then tried to lose herself in the story.

The heroine was about to discover a hidden entrance to the underground crypt. She was anxious to begin crafting the journey. The atmosphere had to be both eerie and intriguing to keep her readers on their toes. Closing her eyes, she tried to picture the place in her mind's eye, but she just couldn't see it.

She stared at the blank sheet, trying to find the right words to start her heroine on her quest but nothing came to mind. Frustrated with herself, she got to her feet and began to wander. The books held little appeal as a distraction. It was pitch black outside with no moon and clouds blocking out most of the stars. There was nothing out there to claim her wandering attention. She turned away from the tall windows and her gaze happened to fall on the portrait over the mantel.

When she had first seen that painting the face had unnerved her. Now, she felt unexpectedly drawn to the dark portrait. As she stepped closer, she began to notice details that she had somehow overlooked. Those silver grey eyes staring back at her so intensely seemed very familiar. She lifted the lantern to place it on the mantel and suddenly realized why. They were the same unusual silver as Gideon's eyes. She searched and found other features which the two men shared. This must be an ancestor. But it couldn't possibly be the late Viscount. What would the portrait of a peer be doing hanging here in this humble little cottage? No, this had to be a different relative. An uncle or perhaps a grandfather. More likely from his mother's side, thus explaining the resemblance.
She couldn't recall him mentioning any such relative but then they had only met less than a week ago.

There certainly hadn't been much time for in-depth conversation. He did seem very comfortable in this cottage. More so than if it was simply another piece of Chesterton property. Perhaps his maternal grandfather had lived in this little house, much as her own grandmother had lived in the little Dowager's house on her father's estate. She wondered if Gideon had spent as much time with his grandparent as she had spent with her own.

The face looking back at her was stern, his eyes intensely staring out into the room. There did not seem to be any softness there. None of Gideon's gentle humor and steady, calm personality. But then this was some artist's concept and not the real man. She was certain Gideon would have memories of an entirely different man.

Gideon. She was back to thinking about Gideon again. The man dominated her thoughts even when he wasn't present. She had to stop thinking about him. It was pure folly to even consider furthering their connection. She could not allow him to contemplate marrying her when he could have his pick of any number of eager young debutantes. As a peer of the realm he was obligated to marry a young woman who could provide him with a son and heir. Not a barren widow approaching thirty.

Maybe she should simply explain that she was incapable of being the bride he needed. She could offer to be his mistress but nothing more. Although, why he would want a dumpy little woman like herself as his paramour, she could not imagine.
She wasn't pretty. She was short and round, owing to a fondness for Kitty's delicious bread. Her eyes were plain brown with lashes so light in color as to almost be invisible. There was a splatter of freckles over her chubby cheeks and she had truly unmanageable red hair. She did not know anything about navigating the upper echelon of the ton. Her family were minor gentry. The only assemblies she had ever attended were small local gatherings. And worst of all she was barren. No man wanted a wife who could not provide him with a son and heir to carry on the family name.