The Apple Blossom Bower (Historical Romance Novella) (8 page)

After bidding Miss Dundridge a fond and grateful farewell, she rode toward the town’s south gate. Following the road along the Harbourne River, she noted that the sky had cleared and the faint patch of blue on the westward horizon was rapidly turning pink with the setting of the sun.

Not far from her future home she was overtaken by a traveling carriage drawn by four panting horses lathered with sweat. They swept past, splattering mud in their wake, and passed through Harbourne Court’s ivy-hung gates.

Who was visiting Edwin so late? Annis guided Pippin to a cluster of trees and dismounted to gain a clearer view.

The carriage stood in the forecourt—Edwin was opening the door. A young lady climbed out, and even from a distance Annis saw that her clothes were modish and probably very costly. The driver whipped up his horses, and the carriage came back along the avenue.

She sank to the ground next to a patch of prickly gorse. For a long time after the couple vanished inside the house she remained there, distraught.

Her dreams of marrying Edwin and living happily with him in the great Elizabethan mansion had survived Garth Corston’s spite and enmity, but at the ill-timed arrival of his sister they shriveled.

Edwin would seek her out again, eventually, to explain that a prior commitment prevented him from making her his wife. At this very moment he might be comparing her to Miss Corston, whose birth and breeding more closely matched his. He would think back to the night at the Castle Inn in Dartmouth and recall her reckless and unladylike behavior. And that her father had been flung into prison for receiving and transporting contraband.

Annis couldn’t imagine that he’d deliberately and ruthlessly set out to seduce and then abandon her. No man could be so false—or so predatory. Perhaps he’d quarreled with Miss Corston and had believed himself free to offer marriage.

“Miss Kelland?”

She crept out of the thicket. While spying she’d been spied upon herself, by Captain Harper of the Excise Service.

“Why are you hiding?” he asked suspiciously. “Come out so I can see you. If you’re armed, throw down your weapon.” The officer stalked toward her purposefully, his bearing stiff and his face set in forbidding lines.

Narrowing his eyes, he asked again, “Why were you lurking in the furze bushes? Have you concealed something there?”

Her lover was lost to her, yet Annis laughed—is accusations were absurd. “No, Captain Harper. I paused here to gaze upon Harbourne Court. Arrest me if you must. It won’t be the worst thing that’s happened to me this day.”

“Apparently I’ve no cause to arrest you,” he said testily. “If you’re bound for Orchard Place, I’ll ride with you—it’s on my way to Harbertonford.”

He helped her mount her pony with more impatience than gallantry, and together they followed the winding hedge-lined roadway. Strangely, his company was not distasteful to Annis, she was glad to be distracted from her woes. In the hours and days to come she would have a surfeit of solitude in which to reflect upon them.

“Have you been at the fair?” he asked as they rode side by side. “I wanted to go but was ordered to pass the entire day at the Bay Horse.”

With a pang, she remembered Edwin’s lovely bay mare.

He continued, “It’s the worst of the taverns in Totnes, storing and selling smuggled liquors.”

“Is it? I didn’t know.”

To her surprise, he chuckled. “Your father did, I’ll wager. Fortunate for me his heyday was over before I ever joined the Excise. By all accounts he was a slippery fellow. And a clever one.”

  A contrary pride in her parent’s reputation raised her sagging spirits ever so slightly.

“’Twill be a clear night,” he predicted, “and tomorrow is like to be dry.”

His ability to read the sky impressed her, countrywoman that she was. Curious about her enigmatic escort, she asked, “Are you a native of Devonshire, Captain?”

“Nay, I’m Somerset born. Like Sir Edwin Page.” His speculative glance was as unwelcome as his allusion to the baronet, and he prevented her from introducing a less sensitive topic of conversation by adding, “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me the real reason you were watching his house.”

“I meant no harm by it.”

“He’s your sweetheart, isn’t he? I guessed it the day we met on the road to Dartmouth, when I accused you of transporting contraband and he defended you so forcefully.”

Her mind returning to that mild April afternoon, Annis recalled her anger at the gentleman riding beside her and her mortification when Edwin had appeared upon the scene.

“He’s a good sort,” the Captain went on. “He and the squire are among the few landowners in this district who won’t condone or support the free-trading. But neither do they lay information against their neighbors. To be sure, it hampers my ability to carry out my duties, but somehow I can’t fault them for it.”

At Orchard Place Annis parted from him cordially, despite his obnoxious profession. Her animosity had faded to the point that she could even feel sympathy for one whose work was as difficult and dangerous as it was unpopular.

The barton was deserted. It was well past the dinner hour; the orchard laborers and stable boys had already abandoned their daily tasks. In her exhausted and emotional state, she wanted no witnesses to her return.

She removed her sidesaddle and the cloth beneath it, and rubbed Pippin with a cloth. Going to the feed box, she drew out a measure of oats. As she passed along the row of stalls, the working horses pressed their noses against the rails, seeking attention.

After latching the storeroom door, she heard a sound in a stall that had long been empty. Going over to investigate, she was amazed to find it occupied by a bay mare—one known to her.

“How did you come to be here?” she wondered, stroking the smooth muzzle. Taking a handful of oats from her wooden pail, she offered it to the mare.

Intent upon solving the mystery, she made her way to the house. Led to the dining room by the sound of voices, she discovered her stepfather in the act of carving a roasted spring lamb.

“What are you doing home so soon?” Mrs. Dundridge cried. “We didn’t expect you back from Totnes before week’s end.”

“Were Myra’s ladyship lessons so tiresome?” the squire teased.

It was too soon to inform him that she wouldn’t have a chance to use her new expertise. “Why is Sir Edwin’s bay horse in our stable?”

He set lowered his carving knife and two-pronged fork. “Because she’s yours. I wanted you to have a nicer mount, and arranged for you to try Sir Edwin’s horses. ’Twas a conspiracy between us.”

“It’s most kind of you, sir. She’s a lovely creature.” And, thought Annis bleakly, a constant reminder of loss and disappointment.

“Do sit down,” Mrs. Dundridge invited her. “You look as if you need food.”

“I’m not hungry.” The aroma of cooked meat and potatoes failed to revive her flagging appetite. She started for the door, then turned back to say to the squire, “Tomorrow we can ride together.”

Beaming at her friendly overture he replied, “Aye, ’twould be my pleasure.”

In the privacy of her own bedchamber, with the door safely shut, she released the tears she’d held in so stoically ever since she’d seen Miss Corston’s dainty foot cross Harbourne Court’s threshold.

At least, she told herself, her parents would never forsake her. She was assured of her mother’s love whether or not she married, and her stepfather could be a source of wise and helpful counsel. If she carried a child as a result of her night with Edwin, she trusted them both to shield her from the scandal. She could go to her grandfather in Brixham, or to one of her Exeter aunts. None of her Kelland relatives would judge her harshly. Compared to her father’s crimes, which had cost him his life, her fall from grace was insignificant. Like many a girl before her, she’d placed too much faith in enticing promises and sweet caresses.

Crossing to the washstand, she bathed her damp cheeks. She was reaching for a linen towel when she spied the bottle of elderflower water that she and her mother had distilled—an age ago, it seemed. Her hand moved toward it, fell back, then reached out again. She would continue using her concoction, and afterwards she’d apply the primrose lotion to her face. But from that moment on she’d be doing it to please herself, and no one else.

“Your parents are well, I trust,” said Edwin to Elizabeth Corston, who occupied the only uncluttered chair in his sadly disarranged parlor.

“Well enough,” she answered. “They’ll be startled to find the note I left behind, informing them of my sudden visit to Devonshire. Garth instructed me to say nothing beforehand, or give a reason for the journey. But how could I? His letter gave no explanation of why I must come here in such haste and secrecy, and without my maid. Where is he?”

“By this time he must be in Torquay, where his yacht has been moored these three weeks.”

She bounded up from the chair. “Torquay? But he insisted that I meet him
here.
How long ago did he leave you? And why?”

Edwin could have given her the most probable answer but thought it best not to share his suspicion. Evidently Garth had sent for the Elizabeth to compromise her reputation. He’d made a blatant attempt to force Edwin’s hand—at his sister’s expense—by luring her to Harborne Court without a servant or chaperone.

Swallowing his outrage on the young woman’s behalf, he said soothingly, “Garth departed in haste, and rather unexpectedly.”

“How like him.” She frowned.

“Let me direct your coachman to the most comfortable and respectable inn at Totnes.  As you see, my house is in no fit state for receiving company. Even if it were, your parents wouldn’t approve of your staying here.”

With a charming smile she said, “Indeed they would not. I’ll have difficulty enough accounting for my abrupt departure and swift return to Lyme.”

With the matter settled, they exchanged news of mutual friends. Miss Corston apologized for her small store of gossip, saying she’d been living very quietly.

“No matter,” said Edwin. “I shall travel to town myself in summer. I’m about to be married, and look forward to showing my bride all the wonders that you, a Londoner, take for granted. I depend upon your advice on which sights will most appeal to Annis.”

“What a pretty name,” Elizabeth commented. “I’m sorry I shan’t be able to meet her. Did Garth tell you we no longer have the house in Dover Street?”

Edwin shook his head.

“Father suffered financial reverses and couldn’t afford to maintain it, or our former mode of living. He meant to lease it, until Garth came clean about how very much he’d lost at cards. The contents had to be sold as well. And so we removed to Lyme.”

“I didn’t know. Garth said something about a few possessions being sold, but he gave no reason. I’m sorry.”

“I rather like the change,” she said with apparent unconcern, “unlike my mother, who misses the opera and the fashionable assemblies. My brother cannot abide Lyme. Too provincial for his tastes.”

Although she seemed undaunted by her family’s altered circumstances, Edwin pitied her. He had always liked Elizabeth and would always regard his former flirt as his friend—a much better one than Garth had turned out to be.

“Garth is still sunk in debt,” she confided. “Father demanded that he give up the yacht. They had a dreadfully loud argument, and the very next day he sailed away. I don’t mind telling you I’ve been concerned. He’s reckless, and I do worry that his desperate need of money may lead him into greater trouble.”

Her revelations solved the mystery of Garth’s motive for visiting Harbourne Court. Instead of curtailing his own expensive pleasures, the selfish young man schemed to fill the Corston coffers by marrying his sister to a wealthy baronet. And naturally he had coveted Jem Kelland’s mythical chest of gold, Annis’s supposed inheritance.

He sent word to the stables that he wanted his fastest horses harnessed to the seldom-used chaise of which his great-uncle had been so proud.

When he handed the young woman into the coach, she squeezed his fingers gratefully and said, “I confess I envy you, Edwin. I’d like to be married myself, to a certain gentleman in Lyme. He won’t easily win my father’s consent, for he hasn’t a title or a fortune. I don’t care, for we are well-suited. But you know how my parents are,” she concluded forlornly.

“They’ll come around.”

He wished he might accompany her to Totnes, for he needed to explain to Annis what had prevented him from meeting her at the fair. But escorting Elizabeth to a lodging house in his closed carriage was too risky—Garth might hear of it and make mischief.

Alone again, his mind was flooded with memories of his night with Annis, whose instincts had compensated for her lack of experience in lovemaking. Her eagerness, her warmth, her pleasure had delighted him. Impatient for another chance to explore the magic of a shared bed, he intended to marry her as soon as possible.

Amazing, he thought with a smile, what a kiss at harvest time could lead to.

Edwin found his betrothed seated high in her apple tree, an open book upon her lap. The blossoms were dropping, the pale petals drifting to the ground as silently and beautifully as snowflakes.

“Annis.”

He read no welcome in her face.

“I’m sorry I missed the fair,” he began, “but it couldn’t be helped. Your stepfather came to collect the bay mare. I couldn’t tell him I had plans to meet you, lest he guess you’d stopped at Harbourne Court on your way to Totnes. He stayed quite a while, and wanted to inspect my apple trees and—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said in a voice devoid of all expression.

Her demeanor was not what he’d anticipated. “I would’ve ridden to Totnes after he left, but a visitor arrived. By the time she departed—”

“She?”

He’d never heard a single pronoun invested with so much disdain.

“Elizabeth Corston. She was hunting her brother—poor girl, he threw her into the devil of a scrape. What’s more, his extravagant ways brought about their father’s ruin—the Corstons’ financial situation seems grave indeed. Garth can go hang, for all I care, but before he does I hope he’ll be sensible enough to sell his yacht and provide his sister with a dowry. She has a suitor in Lyme, but there’s—”