British Period Romance
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EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
British (General)Transcript
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Summer 18 13, Owen Gregory liked a great deal about being an investigator, but there was one task that he despised above all others telling a person that someone they loved was dead. There was often weeping and shouting and denying and even blaming involved and those emotions would wash over him and almost stick hanging there for days. He was here in Twiddle Port, a small village with a very silly name to do exactly that to tell a woman that her husband was dead. He had to tell her a great deal more and perhaps even worse than that. But he almost couldn't think about all of it at once or it got jumbled in his mind. He shifted in his saddle and urged his horse, Lucius a bit faster. The woman, Celeste Montgomery had not been at the small rather ramshackle home. She and her late husband had left in town. So he had been directed to a cottage just outside Twiddle Port where her parents lived based on the directions he'd been given the home in the distance was the one he sought. He pulled up after he entered the gate and mounted, then took a good look at the place, moderately sized, well kept a rather pretty place if nondescript, he made his way to the door and knocked. There was a great commotion from inside with dogs barking and shouts from within. But at last the door opened and a rather beleaguered looking older woman with a kerchief wrapped around her head. Stood there, the housekeeper, he thought and smiled at her. Good afternoon, madam. I've come to call on Mrs Montgomery. I've told she is here visiting with her parents. The woman looked him up and down and slowly with faint sniff. And who are you? He withdrew a card from the inside pocket of his jacket and held it out. The cards were meant to impress. He had designed them thus with gold fiery and flying paper. Mr Owen Gregory at your service. I don't think you were expected. Sarah wasn't told the family was receiving guests. She moved to close the door, but Owen wedged his boot in at the last moment, stopping her from locking him out. I understand. He said, forcing what he had hoped was a friendly but firm expression to his face. But what I have come to discuss cannot I have news from London about Mr Montgomery. Urgent news. A bit of interest lit up in the housekeeper's expression and she glanced him over for a second time before she opened the door and motioned him into the foyer. Wait here if you will. She said I'll ascertain if they'll see you. He nodded and took a seat on a bench along one wall of the foyer. He tugged his riding gloves off as he did so and stretched his fingers while he looked around the entryway. If the outside of the home had been nondescript, the foyer was trying for another impression, opulence. Every item from the cushion on the benches to the wall hangings to the golden pitcher and other bubbles on a table along the opposite wall looked expensive. The entryway was clearly meant to impress whatever guests came to tell them that the inhabitants of the home were important. Even if Sir Timothy was only a baronet, the housekeeper returned to the foyer and he rose, the family will see you. She said and motioned for him to follow her. He did. So taking a subtle peek into the rooms with open doors as he walked, some were very plain. Others were done up like the for show and for life. He supposed many families lived. Thus the parlor he entered was one of the plain ones. Perhaps the family had heard his name and not recognized it as one of import. So they hadn't felt the drive to move to a showier chamber. It didn't really matter what he said would have to be said no matter the quality of the wallpaper. His stomach hurt at the thought of it as he searched the inhabitants of the room for Mrs Montgomery. Sir, Timothy and Lady Hendrix stood at the sideboard together. A slim lady was dark hair and an older gentleman, all gray and angled as he looked to his wife to address the situation which left the woman standing next to the fireplace as his quarry, Owen had read up on her as much as he could. Of course, she was in her early thirties and had been a spinster until the marriage had been arranged with Erasmus Montgomery. After the briefest of courtships, Owen had made a picture of her in his head as he rode from London to perform this horrid duty, older than her years made haggard by life. The woman before him was not that picture. He caught his breath at how beautiful she was. She was tall and curvaceous with dark auburn hair like a fire that was smoldering and waiting to explode. Her eyes were gray blue. They held his with question and he thought a bit of hesitance as if she had already determined that whatever news he came with it wasn't good that dragged him from the inappropriate study of her beauty. And back to reality, he was here to fulfill a duty not to ogle the widow who didn't yet know she was a widow. Good afternoon Mr Gregory. Is it Lady Hendrix said as she moved toward him, I do not think we are acquainted nor that we had an appointment. No, on both accounts, he conceded with a slight bow of his head and I apologize for intruding upon your hospitality in such an uncouth way. But I have urgent news from Mrs Montgomery and I couldn't stand on propriety nor wait for an appointment to deliver it. Mrs Montgomery tilted her head and stepped forward. The housekeeper, Mrs Bligh said that you had a message for me about my husband. I cannot imagine what it could be. There was a hint of disdain to her tone as she said, the word husband that Owen could not help but mark. She had no warm feelings for harass Miss Montgomery. It seemed he would not ease that tension before this day was through. Yes. And why would our dear Mr Montgomery not come here with the news himself. Lady Hendrick said, stepping closer and all but cutting off Owen's view from Mrs Mott Gomery. Lady Hendrix had clearly bestowed her daughter with those lovely gray blue eyes. But the older woman's version was sharp, narrow seeking. There was little warmth within Owen, cleared his throat and sidestepped Lady Hendrix to focus yet again on Mrs Montgomery rather than her mother. There is no easy way to say this and I am sorry for the pain. It will no doubt cause you I have come here to, he drew a long breath to study himself for what was to follow Mr Montgomery is dead. Mrs Montgomery and I fear that it is not the worst of the news. I'm bound to bring you Celeste. Montgomery felt the world stopped turning in the moments this handsome stranger said those four words. Mr Montgomery is dead. They hit her square in the chest like a shotgun blast and she nearly went to her backside in front of the fire before she reached back and studied herself on the mantle toppling one of her mother's little figurines. She saw Lady Hendrix's eyes narrow at the site of that unforgivable indiscretion. And even as she shrieked, like it was her husband who was dead, Sir. Timothy caught her as she slumped into an elegant heap. Celeste had seen this kind of reaction so many times over the years, she refused to rise to the bait, but she was surprised when Mr Gregory, the stranger who had just ripped her world out from under her hardly reacted to it either. He continued watching her, not her mother as she heaved while she came to from her fit. Mrs Montgomery. Did you hear me? He asked, stepping closer.