A Madness in Spring (11 page)

Then, of course, her brow furrowed in sleep as she discovered her hair was caught, ruthlessly moved his arm, freed her hair, and settled back down again, having things exactly as she liked. And he woke her up with his laughing.

Now they followed the path in the woods he had been certain didn’t actually exist (but of course it did), kept their hoods up and their eyes wary as they walked through the small stretch of Hemshawe’s Main Street before turning up the shady lane that lead to Croftburr.

He was deciding the best way to get her into the house, when she squeezed his hand, and smiled. “I’ll be fine. There’s an entrance from the west garden. No one will be in that part of the house yet.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“When have you ever known me to not have a well-formed plan?”

He laughed, and pressed his lips to her hair. “I need to ask you something,” he said.

“Oh,” her eyebrow rose. “And I think my uncle would expect you to call on him as well.”

“I expect he would. But I need to go home and get something first.”

“All right.”

“But I’ll be back,” he said, kissing her hand.

“And I’ll be here,” she replied.

She watched him walk away. Watched him disappear into the morning mist, his dark head of hair bobbing as he practically skipped his way down the path, and she bit her lip to hide her smile. Last night had been an awakening. A madness had come over her, and she’d reveled in it. And now… now she needed sleep.

Because, she thought giddily, as she snuck into entrance from the west garden, that afternoon she was going to accept a call from Adam Sturridge, and he was going to ask her a question.

Except, he didn’t.

Because when Belinda awoke in the late morning, it was to the news that Adam Sturridge’s carriage had passed through town early that morning on it’s way north, Adam on his horse beside it.

F
ive days.

It had been five days since Belinda had seem Adam disappearing into the morning fog, and five days since she had determined to not care. Since he obviously didn’t care, it seemed silly to be the only person in the situation giving a damn.

He didn’t care that she had told him she loved him.

That she had trusted him with her body.

That she was willing – eager, even – to let go of her fears and become something new. With him.

But it seemed he only cared about going back to not-Scotland and his sheep, and leaving her here feeling the fool.

In fairness, Belinda had to hand it to Adam. It was the simplest and yet most elaborate possible way to have tricked her. All he had to do was pretend to believe it when Georgie and Francesca began their schemes, and then play along while she agonized over every look, and touch, and word. Indeed, he had played his part so well, she didn’t at first believe he could have left.

“He’s gone?” she asked Francesca that afternoon.

Her uncle told her about the carriage rolling through town in the morning. But she hadn’t believed he rode with it. No, it must have been his valet, or his groom. But when Adam did not make an appearance by luncheon, a pit of worry began to grow in her stomach. Enough that it had her eschewing the traditional lady-like passivity, and she marched over to Sturridge Manor to see just what on earth was going on.

“Yes, this morning,” Francesca had said, surprised at Belinda’s surprise. “His plans did not change from yesterday. Although, I had hoped…”

Francesca caught her eye, and Belinda looked to her toes. “When did he leave?”

“Just after breakfast. Little Johnny cried his eyes out, although I don’t know if that was because he would miss seeing his uncle for another year or if he was just hungry. I cannot wait until the boy can talk.”

Belinda didn’t listen much after that. She endured another fifteen minutes of the visit before rising and excusing herself. Not because she was disappointed or numb with shock, but because she had far too much to do.

She had reorganized the kitchens of Croftburr in a completely unsatisfactory way last week, the entire system needed to be overhauled. And then the linens and the candles should be catalogued. She hadn’t read any of the academic pamphlets she subscribed to yet this month. And she needed to re-plan the gardens for Croftburr, annuals would never do. Perennials, that’s what she wanted. Something that wouldn’t change.

Once she was done restoring order to Croftburr, she had the town to think of. And specifically, the Hemshawe Fair, followed by the Harvest Festival.

She had given up weeks to Georgie’s party. She had dallied with the Fair while trying to distract herself after the crocus incident, but now… now she truly was behind. She had to organize with all the town’s shops and vendors. She had to negotiate a peace treaty between the vicar and several livestock farmers. And she had to determine the exact placement of the stage and center table with the fruit display, so she could commission its construction.

Which was what she was she was doing, when five days after he left, Adam Sturridge rode back into town.

She was standing in the middle of Hemshawe, flanked by Francesca and Georgie, trying to explain her vision.

“And then the fruit display will go right here…” she said, throwing her arms wide in the general direction of the village square.

“Isn’t the fruit going to be on a table?” Francesca asked.

“Not anymore. The fruit is now going to
be
the table,” Belinda replied with relish. “I was struck by inspiration last night.”

Francesca and Georgie looked at each other. “Belinda… the Hemshawe Fair is months away, correct?”

“It’s getting closer by the minute.”

“True, but perhaps we could give the idea some time to develop.” Georgie said. “Or, undevelop as the case may be.”

Belinda simply sighed, and blew her hair out of her eyes. “I suppose we can worry about that tomorrow. For now… oh good, Vicar! I was so hoping to talk to you about the animal stalls…”

The vicar, who had been walking with her uncle, stopped and started to walk the other way. That would not do.

“Uncle! Vicar, a moment please!” she darted out into the lane, heedless of the sound of galloping coming round the corner.

“Belinda, wait!”

One second she was crossing the lane, the next she found herself sitting in mud, and facing the rearing front quarters of Adam Sturridge’s horse.

“Bel – Bel!” she heard him cry as he dismounted, and came to her side. “My god, I didn’t see you. Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said, refusing his help in rising, although her rear was quite sore. “I am very well. No thanks to you.”

“Bel, I am so sorry. Sir Henry, should I call for the doctor?” he turned to her uncle. But before he could answer, Belinda cleared her throat.

“Excuse me. I said I am fine. There need be no consultation on the matter. Now… Francesca, Georgie, shall we continue?”

The two ladies wore matching expressions of complete surprise. “Belinda, your dress…” Francesca tried.

“A little mud never hurt anything.” Except clothing. “Now, the cornucopia…”

“What cornucopia? Belinda…” Adam caught up to her then stopped, taking notice of the group around them. “First things first: Francesca, Miss Gage, hello. Excellent to see you again.”

“Yes, Adam – John will be quite surprised. Oh, here he is!” John and Bertram Gage approached from the cooperage they had been hiding in, until presumably they saw the almost accident.

“Yes, hello John, Bertram. I’ll explain everything in a moment, but first… Belinda, may I have a word?”

She set her spine straight. “I don’t see why.”

He froze, and then his eyes narrowed. “You don’t see why?”

“Certainly not. You can have nothing to say. In fact, your saying nothing said things quite clearly.”

“What on earth are you talking about?” he asked, bewildered.

“Only that you obviously feared ridicule more than I did – or the past few weeks have been a very long joke to play.”

“What is going on?” John whispered to his wife, and was promptly shushed.

“Regardless of your intentions, your leaving simply clarified mine,” she replied. “Now, if you will excuse me, I have a festival to plan.”

She tried to walk away, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “No, Belinda.”

“Excuse me, I do have –”

“Bel, we are not doing this again,” Adam sighed. For the first time she noticed that he was sweaty and dirty from almost head to foot. “We lost fifteen years to our own bullheadedness, and we are not going to let it rule us now. I have been riding for almost five days straight – so tell me what is wrong.”

She looked up at him, tears stinging at her eyes. “You said you’d be back.”

“Yes. And I am.”

“No – you said you had to go home and get something and then you’d be back immediately!” she cried. She knew she was standing in the middle of Hemshawe. Knew that there were people all around her, and more gathering. But for all the world, it was as if she and Adam were alone in the woods searching for flowers in the snow.

“Yes, and you seem to have forgotten that I don’t live in Hemshawe. I live up north.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Oh…”

“And I did come back immediately – or as immediately as I could. I think I should get some credit for driving all the way to Scotland and back in five days.”

“It’s not Scotland,” she whispered.

“It’s basically Scotland,” he replied, a ghost of a smile crossing his face. “I was not going to propose marriage to you without this.”

He reached into his cloak pocket and pulled out a very old handkerchief tied up with ribbon. “It was my mother’s. I had to get it because I knew you would want things to be perfect.”

It was a ring. She was certain it was beautiful but at that moment she couldn’t see it very clearly. Her heart was beating too fast, her eyes had become too shiny with tears.

He was standing in front of her, dirty and red faced. Three minutes ago she hated him. Two minutes ago he almost accidentally killed her. And now he held out a glittering ring while the entire village of Hemshawe watched.

And strangely, it was perfect.

“Adam… this isn’t really how it’s done,” she sniffled, glancing about them.

He looked around at the crowd that encircled them.

“Well, let’s get the ridicule out of the way then, shall we?” he asked, then turned to the crowd. “Does anyone have anything to say about the fact that I wish to marry Miss Leonard? Any comments? Jokes? Now’s your chance. Speak now or forever hold your peace, as the saying goes.”

Not a peep from the crowd. Then, from the back, someone grumbled, “it’s about time.”

Belinda caught Francesca’s eye. Her oldest friend was grinning like a loon. Georgie Gage was leaning on her brother’s shoulder, delighted. Then, Belinda turned to her uncle.

“Well, young man,” Sir Henry said, clearing his throat. “I might have something to say about your lack of following of protocol.”

“Right,” Adam replied. “Sir, I do hope you give permission for me to court and subsequently marry your niece.”

“I think at this point I had better,” her uncle said, earning laughter from the crowd.

“Excellent. Belinda, it’s your turn.” Adam turned back to her, took her hand. “Come now. I have a whole estate for you to run up north. An entirely new place to ruthlessly organize to your liking.”

“Oh, so you wish to marry me for my organizational capabilities?”

“Well I thought —”

“Or perhaps my knowledge of sheep shearing methods?”

“Belinda —”

“Or is it the —”

“Belinda…” he kissed her silent, stunning the crowd. When he finally let her go, it was to whoops and cheers from all of Hemshawe. His smile matched her own. “Stop arguing and say yes.”

Thank you so much for reading
A Madness in Spring.
I hope you enjoyed it.

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A Madness in Spring
originally appeared in the anthology
A Gentleman for All Seasons
. The other novellas in the anthology are
The Summer of Wine and Scandal
by Shana Galen,
Those Autumn Nights
by Theresa Romain, and
The Season for Loving
by Vanessa
Kelly. All of the novellas are available individually or in the full anthology.

If you would like to read an excerpt from my upcoming novella
Miss Goodhue Lives for a Night
, just turn the page!

T
he little town of Helmsley was known for three things. First, its market days, which attracted merchants and visitors from all across the county of
Lincolnshire. Second, its windmill, which stood tall and proud at the entrance to the town, grinding grain into the very best flour to be sold on said
market days.

And finally, it was known for the miller, Mr. Turner, who just last year had stolen the bride of their most esteemed citizen, Sir Bartholomew Babcock. Mr.
Turner had married the Countess of Churzy with a minimum of scandal and outrage, since everyone—most especially Sir Barty—declared the miller
and the countess absolutely perfect for each other. But this is not that story.

“Something terrible has happened!”

Alarmed, Miss Cecilia Goodhue looked up from collecting slates. The schoolroom had been still since Friday, when the children had their last day before the
spring planting season, but only now did Cecilia have the wherewithal to begin her ritualistic cleaning. She always got a little wobbly when her students
went away—even if it was only for six weeks to help their families with the farms. Granted, most of her students would do little with their
education, but to Cecilia’s mind, they deserved the chance of it. However, she had barely rolled up her sleeves when her sister burst into the little
schoolhouse and made her dramatic declaration.