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‘You will have to forgive Jamie, Cassie. He is a man of very few words and even fewer smiles. However, beneath that surly, unfriendly exterior he is actually rather sweet. He also paints the most beautiful romantic pictures of the English countryside.’ This comment garnered another warning glare. ‘Do you have any hobbies, Cassie?’
‘I like to write stories. Children’s stories.’ It was the first time she had admitted that to anyone, but Letty did appear friendlier than the usual person she came into contact with.
‘Oh, how lovely! What are they about?’
‘As she is a vicar’s daughter, Letty, I dare say they are morality tales,’ the Captain said disparagingly, clearly disapproving of such things. Sensible men of action like him would disapprove of her whimsical nature and romantic fairy tales.
‘Not at all!’ There was no way of explaining without sounding odd, but as Captain Galahad was of that opinion already, Cassie confessed all. ‘At the moment they are about my pony—Orange Blossom. Or rather how Orange Blossom views our life together. In my stories, she talks. All of the animals talk.’
And she was babbling again.
‘I often weave the tales around my own personal experiences. For example, the story I am currently working on is called Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle...’
Her voice trailed off when she saw Letty and Captain Warriner exchange a strange look.
‘I suppose it all sounds very silly to you, but I have read one or two of my efforts to the children in my father’s congregation; they seemed to enjoy them.’ Cassie had also sworn the children to secrecy. If her father got a whiff of her vain and pointless hobby, he would forbid her from writing—or worse.
‘They sound quite delightful. Maybe you should consider getting them published.’
Cassie already liked Letty Warriner a great deal. ‘I doubt my scribblings are good enough for that. But perhaps one day.’ After my father is dead and buried—because that was the only way he would allow such self-indulgent frivolity. Unless she ever did manage to escape his clutches just as her mother had done before her. The meagre savings she had secretly accumulated in the last twelve months would barely get her a seat on the post to Norwich and there were woefully no ardent suitors clambering at her door who might whisk her off from her dreadful life. Unless a miracle happened, she was stuck.
Miserably stuck.
Her father had no idea she wrote stories about talking animals. Or about anything at all for that matter and Cassie had no intention of alerting him to the fact. It had certainly never been broached in conversation, not that they ever had conversations. Such an atrocious sin would doubtless require a great deal of solitary repentance, so Cassie had kept it all hidden. Mind you, he also had no idea that she was plotting to run away either. The image of his stern face as he spun manically in his grave at her sinful, open defiance, despite everything he had done to curb her dangerous passions, popped immediately into her thoughts and threatened to make her smile. She hid it by sipping her tea.
Chapter Three (#u05cc69e1-038e-5785-90dc-ebf52b4e31a9)
Jamie could see the light of mischief in his sister-in-law’s eyes and did not like it one bit. If ever there was time for a speedy exit, it was now, but that meant standing like a creaking old man and then limping laboriously out of the room in front of Miss Reeves. He was torn between the devil and the deep blue sea. Staying opened him up to more mischief—of that he was in no doubt. Letty had a tendency to be tenacious when she set her mind to something and her mind was clearly set. However, leaving and displaying his infirmity was humiliating in the extreme, although why he was so keen to appear less useless in front of the vicar’s daughter was as pointless as it was pathetic. She was only being kind, after all.
‘I would certainly be interested to read The Great Apple Debacle. Will Jamie be in it?’
Pregnant or not, he was going to strangle Letty later, but for now he had to take the bull by the horns and direct this unwelcome conversation or else die of total humiliation. Unfortunately, that meant making conversation. Something he had never been adept at. ‘What drew your father to darkest Retford, Miss Reeves?’
‘The diocese sent him here. We were in Nottingham for a few months beforehand and they felt his talents might be better used in a rural parish...away from trouble.’
As Jamie had always thought Nottingham was a dire place, filled with poverty and crime, he completely understood. It was certainly no place for a lovely vicar’s daughter. ‘I dare say your father is relieved.’
‘Hardly. My father prefers working in a city, although I cannot say I do. Of all of his parishes, this one is by far the nicest we have ever lived in.’ Her face lit up when she smiled and her freckled nose wrinkled in a very charming manner.
‘You say that as if you have lived in a few places.’
She nodded, the motion causing one of her burnished curls to bounce close to her neck, which in turn drew his eyes to the satiny-smooth, golden skin visible above the bodice of her plain dress, and, of course, the magnificent way she filled out that bodice. Jamie had always had a great deal of affection for a woman’s bosom and Miss Reeves’s bosom was undoubtedly one of the finest he had ever had cause to notice.
‘Indeed we have. Why, in the last five years alone, we have lived in eleven different towns.’ Her face clouded briefly and he realised this gypsy lifestyle was not something she enjoyed. He doubted he would enjoy being moved from pillar to post either. He had had quite enough of that on the campaign trail, although it was not the same. Moving about then had always been temporary and transient as he had always had a very solid place to call home. A place to go back to which remained resolutely constant. If Miss Reeves did not have that consolation, no wonder it made her unhappy. But then she was smiling again so maybe he was mistaken. ‘I have lived in Manchester, Newcastle, Sheffield—and obviously London. We have moved there several times although always to different parishes in different corners of the capital. It is so vast; I never had cause to revisit the places we had already lived in. Also we have spent some time in Bristol, Liverpool and Birmingham.’
All industrial, overcrowded places, he noted. ‘I think you might find Retford a lot quieter than the places you are used to. Nothing much happens here.’
‘That is what I enjoy the most about it. I love all of the trees and nature, so does Orange Blossom, and it goes without saying the air is cleaner. I do so love being outdoors. I have spent hours aimlessly riding around every afternoon since my arrival. Hence I trespassed here yesterday without realising. I am sorry about that, too.’
‘Trespassed? Of course you didn’t.’ Letty was smiling kindly. ‘You are very welcome to ride on our estate whenever you want to. In fact, I absolutely insist you do. There are some very lovely spots in the grounds, especially close to the river at this time of year.’
Miss Reeves’s eyes locked on his briefly and he saw her trepidation. He supposed he had been rude to her yesterday and, much as it pained him, Jamie felt the need to extend a tiny olive branch. ‘The river is a very pleasant place to ride. Even Satan likes it.’ Her eyes widened and he realised his choice of name for his horse was perhaps not really suitable in the presence of a vicar’s daughter.
‘You named your horse Satan?’
‘In my defence, he can be truly evil. He has a troublesome temperament and can be hostile around people.’
‘Much like his surly owner,’ Letty added for good measure. Jamie chose to ignore it.
‘Oh! I almost forgot.’ Miss Reeves rummaged in her capacious reticule and handed him a package wrapped in string. ‘I brought you a small gift. To thank you for attempting to save me and for breaking my fall.’ The gesture was strangely touching. When was the last time someone, other than Letty, had extended the hand of friendship to a Warriner? Jamie turned the gift over in his hands before undoing the wrapping. Miss Reeves became flustered and her words tumbled out. ‘Please do not get excited. I had no idea what you might want, but as you are a fellow horse lover I brought some carrots.’
She was blushing again. She apparently did that a lot. As promised, three orange spears were nestled in the paper and, despite himself, Jamie felt the corners of his mouth curl up. What an odd, useful and totally charming, gift. ‘Satan loves carrots. Thank you.’ If he had not been broken and useless, he might have suggested she accompany him to the stables to help him feed them to the bad-tempered beast. But he was, so he didn’t. The thought of her politely accepting and slowing her pace while he limped along next to her made him feel queasy. Suddenly, his brief good mood evaporated. He covered the carrots with their paper and placed them on the arm of the chair and withdrew into himself.
* * *
For the next half an hour he remained almost mute. Miss Reeves and Letty held up the conversation and, if a response was required, Jamie grunted. To compound his discomfort, the subject of the ‘Great Apple Debacle’ was brought up and he was forced to listen to it regaled for Letty’s entertainment. Miss Reeves had a knack for storytelling. He had to give her that even though she barely paused for breath. Listening to her take on the unfortunate events of yesterday, combined with her self-deprecating wit and her insistence on trying to see the whole sorry affair through the eyes of her pony, was amusing. By the time she got to the end, he came out appearing sensible and noble, while she painted herself as silly and severely lacking in common sense.
‘It definitely would make an entertaining children’s story, Cassie, and if you do eventually consider getting it published, you should ask Jamie to do the illustrations. In fact, the painting he is doing right now is hugely appropriate, isn’t it, Jamie? And from such an interesting perspective.’ The innocence with which this statement was delivered was astounding and he gave Letty a tight smile which he hoped conveyed his intent to murder her as soon as it was politely possible.
‘It is just a study of the grounds and I sincerely doubt Miss Reeves would have any desire to have my amateur sketches in her book.’ Jamie had the overwhelming desire to pick up his stupid, ill-conceived picture and march out of the room with it. If only he could still march.
‘Nonsense—go and take a look at it, Cassie. Jamie is merely being modest about his abilities. Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle would make a wonderful picture book.’
To his horror, the vicar’s daughter appeared to find this idea intriguing and clearly something she had never considered before his meddling sister-in-law had planted the seed. ‘Pictures would be good.’ She began to rise from her seat and walked towards him with cheerful interest. His only hope was she would not put two and two together and recognise the orchard. She peered at the painting, bending slightly at the waist to get the best possible view, and wafting some deliciously floral scent directly towards his nostrils. Violets. He had always loved violets.
‘Letty is quite right. You are an exceptionally talented painter, Captain Warriner. Even unfinished, I can see this picture is outstanding. And quite charming.’ He risked a peek sideways at her and saw her eyebrows draw together as she studied the details more closely. ‘Is that the apple orchard?’
‘Yes.’ The inward cringe threatened to seep out and display itself on his face. Only pride kept his upper lip resolutely stiff.
‘Isn’t it peculiar the pair of you have both been inspired by yesterday’s incident? The Great Apple Debacle is already a blossoming story and a half-finished painting.’ Jamie sent his sister-in-law a glare which was a stark warning to stop. Typically, she ignored it. ‘Have you worked out his perspective yet, Cassie?’
‘You are painting it from your position on the ground, aren’t you? Just after I flattened you.’ Two mortified crimson blotches bloomed on her cheeks.
‘It was an interesting view I had not considered before.’ Come on, Jamie, old boy, brazen it out. ‘From what I remember, the branches and leaves formed an aesthetically pleasing contrast to the sky.’ That sounded suitably arty.
‘I should probably be going.’ She stood briskly upright, still blushing, and Letty heaved herself out of her own chair.
‘I hope you will call again soon, Cassie. I should like to get to know you better and I am certain my brother-in-law would, too.’ His sister-in-law shot him a pointed look. ‘Come along, Jamie, let us walk our guest to the door together.’
Trapped, because Letty knew hell would have to freeze over for him to openly admit he was lame and in pain, he had no option other than to grit his teeth and use the strength in his arms to push himself out of his chair. It was only then he realised he had been stationary for too long and his shattered leg had started to atrophy. It screamed in protest, but Jamie ignored the hot shooting pains jabbing him mercilessly in his hip. Normally, he would wait a few moments for the initial discomfort to subside before he tested his weight on it. Had he not been such a proud man, he might have made use of the hated walking stick gathering dust behind his chair. But if he had to humiliate himself in front of Miss Reeves, he was going to damn well do it without looking completely decrepit and good for nothing. He forced himself to walk despite the agony, knowing full well he was going to regret the decision immediately and pay for his folly later. Hot molten bursts of pain stabbed his left thigh muscle, but Jamie shuffled in his best approximation of a normal man’s gait towards the hallway, conscious Miss Reeves was right behind him.
Pitying him.
‘Oh, I forgot,’ said Letty unsubtly as they approached the front door, ‘I need to have a quick word with Cook. If you will excuse me, Cassie—I have thoroughly enjoyed your visit. Please do call again soon and remember I absolutely insist on you riding in our grounds here at Markham Manor. Jamie will see you safely out.’
Yes, he would.
Reluctantly.
Then he would find his brother and demand he keep his troublesome wife in check.
Left alone with Miss Reeves, he limped awkwardly towards the door Chivers was already holding open. Out on the newly gravelled driveway he could see her pretty pony waiting patiently. The incongruous animal suited her. ‘Thank you for the carrots,’ he said stiffly, ‘and for your misplaced concern for my well-being.’ Miss Reeves gave him a weak smile and started towards Orange Blossom, turning at the last minute, her expression quite wretched and her words tumbling out in rapid, panicked succession once again.
‘I really am sorry about yesterday. Getting stuck up a tree is a ridiculous thing for a grown woman to do—but unfortunately I am prone to act without thinking and often do things which are ridiculous. And I am sorry for not listening to you when you tried to save me, but I was embarrassed because you had seen my unsightly legs. I do not have the words to express how mortified I am to have caused you to fall and then for crushing you. I can be clumsy as well as inordinately stupid and ridiculous. And I am well aware I am ridiculous and more than a little odd. I do try not to be, but as you can see, it happens regardless. I am also aware that at best you find me irritating. Everybody does—and quite quickly. I am a cup of tea with three sugars when one is quite enough. Too loud. Too talkative. I am trying to be less enthusiastic about everything in a quest not to irritate everyone I meet, so please don’t panic and think for a moment I would even consider riding in your grounds again. I realise Letty meant well in suggesting it and that you were only being polite in agreeing with her. Nor do I intend to vex you further by pursuing her idea of you illustrating my silly stories. I am well aware of the fact you would like to be well shot of me and the sad thing is I really cannot blame you. Most of the time I irritate myself. I shall leave you in peace henceforth, Captain Warriner.’
‘I see.’ Jamie was not entirely sure what he felt about all that. There were several things he wanted to say, and would have if his damn leg still worked, so he stood awkwardly next to her long-maned pony. ‘I suppose I should say good day to you then.’ Even though he didn’t want to.
She blinked rapidly.
‘Yes. Good day, Captain Warriner.’
She took the reins and then stared mournfully at the ground. ‘Would you be so good as to ask for a riding block, please?’
‘No need.’ Without thinking he placed his hands on her waist and lifted her smartly off the ground to deposit her on her side-saddle. Judging from her wide-eyed look of horror, he had overstepped the bounds of propriety, but couldn’t quite bring himself to care. She felt good in his hands. Soft. Curvy. Definitely curvy. ‘My apologies, Miss Reeves, I realise now that was unforgivably inappropriate.’
‘No...not really. I was taken by surprise that I could actually be lifted. It’s never happened before. And I suppose propriety hardly matters when you have already seen my awful legs.’
Some devil inside him began to place her foot in the stirrup because he needed to touch her again, his fingers lingering too long on the silk-clad ankle above her half-boot.
‘You have very nice legs.’
What in God’s name had possessed him to say that? It sounded like flirting.
‘And lovely eyes.’
Good grief! The words he was thinking had just spilled from his mouth when he absolutely never actually said what he was thinking to anyone. Her lush mouth fell slightly open and those mooncalf eyes widened. Now he was definitely flirting. Futilely flirting and had no idea what had got into him. To stop his suddenly talkative mouth from humiliating him again he chewed awkwardly on his bottom lip and stared down at his feet.
Please go now. I feel like a total idiot and wish I was dead.
‘Thank...you. For the boost...’ Miss Reeves blinked uncomfortably as her usually rapid flurry of words trailed off, her freckles disappearing in the rosy glow of her blush. How splendid. Now he had made her hideously uncomfortable with his clumsy, ill-advised, totally mortifying outbursts. ‘Good day, Captain Warriner.’ Then she smiled shyly and peaked at him through her ridiculously long eyelashes. ‘And thank you for the lovely compliments.’ She held his gaze for several moments before chivvying her pretty pony on. Jamie allowed himself to watch her delightful bottom sway down the driveway and decided he felt peculiar.
Unsettled.
Slightly ridiculous.
Almost cheerful.
The good mood persisted even while he loudly castigated his meddling sister-in-law.
Chapter Four (#u05cc69e1-038e-5785-90dc-ebf52b4e31a9)
Cassie spent the next morning accompanying her father as he visited some of his new parishioners. Those too old, too ill or too lazy to come to church were always graced with a fortnightly visit. Her father was nothing if not tenacious in his mission to bring the word of God into people’s lives, whether they wanted to hear it or not—but at least she was outside. Spending any prolonged periods of time with her father at home was always fractious. She had heard every lecture and every dire final warning for a person to save his soul before Judgement Day and, because she definitely wasn’t the world’s greatest vicar’s daughter, she had long ago stopped listening. Instead, she entertained herself by weaving stories in her head. Not the lofty novels of great writers, Cassie’s wayward brain did not work in that way, but wild fairy tales. Feats of derring-do, mythical lands, pirates, princesses, dragons and, lately, talking animals.
If her papa had asked her opinion, which of course he never did, she might have told him his over-zealous, accusatory stance did more to dissuade the reluctant to come to church than encourage them. He was too much fire and brimstone and not enough love or goodwill for his fellow man. The Reverend Reeves was so blinded by his own confrontational fervour he never saw how he raised the hackles of others. Time after time, he had gone too far, upset too many well-respected and reasonable people, resulting in them having to up sticks and move to yet another parish. Usually another parish so far away from his previous one, nobody had heard of him.
Hence they were here in Retford. A tiny rural congregation which was so very different from the city parishes her father preferred, because, as he was prone to point out at least once a day, where there is deprivation and temptation, sin festered. In the fortnight since they had arrived, Cassie already loved the bustling, little market town. Her father, on the other hand, was not so enamoured, but determined to hunt for enough sinners to justify his presence. The wide-eyed farmer and his cheerful wife were probably not the sort of people he was seeking. But it made no difference. Her father was in full flow. As he had only just mentioned Sodom and Gomorrah, it was fairly safe to assume they would be here for at least another half an hour.
Cassie dived into herself. A technique she had mastered around the age of ten and one which effectively blocked out all of the outside world so she could focus on her latest story and allow her characters to speak to her. She had started it last night, whilst listening to Papa rehearse Sunday’s sermon, and it was tentatively titled Orange Blossom and the Great Apple Debacle. Except, just as it had last night, the flow of the narrative kept being interrupted by thoughts of Captain Galahad, those aquamarine eyes and splendid shoulders.
Apparently, her affection-starved brain was determined to create a completely different sort of story involving him, his mouthwatering strong arms and a willing damsel in distress eager to fall into them so they could ride off into the sunset together. In her mind, the damsel was so thrilled to be going she did not even bother looking back at her hateful father as she headed triumphantly towards her new life. There was no point in pretending the damsel bore a passing resemblance to Miss Cassandra Reeves because she was Miss Cassandra Reeves. A bolder, braver version of herself, who batted her eyelashes coquettishly when the dashing Captain complimented her on her legs.
Really, Captain Galahad? Do you think so? Eyelash flutter. Well, while we are swapping compliments, I think you have a fine pair of shoulders. Perhaps the finest I have ever seen. I do like a man with broad, strong shoulders...
The word Warriner floated into her ears. The farmer’s wife was quite animated with indignation.
‘That family are the epitome of sin, Reverend. Debauchers, cheats and vile sinners every one of them. There’s four of them Warriner boys and all four of them would sooner fleece you than be neighbourly. It’s a scandal, I tell you!’
‘Those Warriners sound exactly like the sort of people who could do with hearing the benefit of God’s word. Perhaps I should visit them tomorrow?’
* * *
The zealot gleam was lit in her father’s eyes all the way home. Cassie said nothing as she frantically sought a believable excuse as to why he probably shouldn’t, then panicked when nothing suitable came to mind that would not result in him punishing her for speaking out of turn. As soon as they entered the vicarage Cassie busied herself with her normal daily chores, hoping he would forget, while her father disappeared in the direction of the church, appearing as preoccupied as he always was. With any luck, he would forget to visit the Warriners, as he so often forgot things that were not top of his list of immediate priorities. Fortunately, his priorities did tend to change like the weather and he had a memory like a flour sifter. Most of the time he forgot he even had a daughter, a very pleasing state of affairs as far as she was concerned as it gave her more freedom than most young ladies of her age. Cassie hauled the heavy kettle on to the stove to boil and got ready to prepare his luncheon.
Despite being well able to afford it, the Reverend Reeves never bothered with servants. Servants suggested he thought himself better than others, which hinted at vanity and vanity was one of the seven deadly sins. Something which was all well and good, but left the entire running of the house up to Cassie. Ungratefully, she supposed, she had come to believe her father kept her as a skivvy to ensure there was never any possibility of her meeting a nice young man and marrying him. She dreaded to think what sort of a rage he would fly into if he suspected she was desperate to leave. It did not help that his sour disposition and hot temper did not lend itself to finding willing employees. Far better to inconvenience his daughter, who slaved for free, and could barely scrape together a few coins for any luxuries whatsoever in the pathetic housekeeping allowance he counted out weekly like the miser he was.
* * *
Nevertheless, Cassie enjoyed two blissful hours of her own company, completely devoid of any fiery sermons or pertinent reminders about the need to continually spread the word of God to the seething cesspool of Earth-dwelling sinners. Or any veiled threats about the need for solitary penance to reflect on her wayward tendencies.
‘Wool-gathering again, girl?’
His sudden reappearance at the open back door startled her. Without thinking, she touched the pocket of her apron to reassure herself that the key to the door was still there as he resolutely shut it behind him. Something which always created a cold trickle of fear to shimmy down her spine each time he did it. ‘Not at all, merely thinking about what I need to do next.’ Cassie put down the bread and dutifully pulled out a chair for him at the table. He sat heavily on a chair and began to load his plate with the food Cassie had placed on the kitchen table.
‘I have had a most informative conversation with another parishioner.’
‘Really?’ Already she could feel herself glaze over, but tried to remain focussed, like a dutiful daughter who was not daydreaming about running away would have.
‘I made some enquiries into that family we were warned about—the Warriners.’
Cassie felt the icy grip of fear stiffen her muscles, dreading what was coming.
‘Yes. Indeed. A thoroughly bad lot. The eldest recently married an heiress, but in Nottingham there is talk he abducted the poor girl and compromised her into marriage.’
Letty certainly did not appear to be the unhappy victim of a kidnapper. Cassie had not met the woman’s husband, but she had seen the great affection in his wife’s eyes as she had talked about him and unconsciously rubbed the unborn child nestled in her womb like it was the greatest gift she had ever received. ‘People do like to embellish gossip, Papa. Perhaps the Warriner family are merely the victims of such nonsense.’
‘I fear not, Cassandra. There is too much evidence levied against them for there not to be strong foundations forged on truth. I have heard grave tales, far too terrible to sully your delicate ears, involving avarice, greed, debauchery. Suffice to say I am convinced they are in dire need of the Lord’s guidance.’
Oh, dear. ‘If they are as bad as you fear, Papa, then perhaps they are best avoided.’
‘Nonsense. I have never shied away from the challenge, Cassandra.’
‘Of course you haven’t, Papa. In a few weeks perhaps you should call upon them, when you are more familiar with your worthier parishioners.’
Her father’s response was as loud as it was instantaneous. ‘These Warriners are in desperate need of my guidance, Daughter. I will go this very afternoon!’
There would be no stopping him, but there was still a chance Cassie could avoid accompanying him. At least then she would not have to witness the tender new shoots of her friendship with Letty and her only link to the Captain ruthlessly trampled on. Good gracious! A far greater issue suddenly presented itself. As soon as he visited them he would learn she had already done so and blatantly neglected to mention it.
‘You came home a little earlier than I expected, Papa, and have rather spoiled my little planned surprise.’ Cassie tried desperately to sound nonchalant. Her father hated liars almost as much as he hated thieves, murderers and fornicators, especially when the liar happened to be his own daughter.
