A Sense of Purpose

by Soliman, Wendy

  ‘Nonsense! I am never kind. I just need a little peace and quiet.’

  ‘I shall call back later then and take you down to dinner.’

  Flora wondered what to do with her unexpected freedom. Previously she had walked in different parts of the grounds, familiarising herself with their topography, but decided to be a little more adventurous. A gig and solid old cob had been placed at her disposal and today she would make use of that transportation. She ran to her room to fetch a hat and gloves and then made her way to the stables, asking for the cob to be harnessed.

  A short time later she set off with a particular destination in mind. The cob appeared to have one pace, which was plodding, but Flora was in no particular hurry, so she didn’t try to chivvy him along. She thought about the developments of the day—her father’s visit and its likely repercussions. Would he really give up on her? She had thought so this morning, but doubts had started creeping in.

  Papa seemed adamant that she should marry Bolton, and she wondered why it was so important to him. Presumably Bolton could be of use to Papa’s ambitions, and for reasons that escaped Flora the price for his loyalty was her hand in marriage. Pamela, the sister closest to Flora in age, would take him in a heartbeat, as would any of her four siblings. They were all dutifully inclined and saw nothing but goodness in Mr Bolton—who was, admittedly, reasonably handsome. Why did it have to be her? The daughter whose rebellious ways did not sit well with the religiously inclined and who was likely to give nothing but trouble seemed like an odd choice.

  Flora refused to allow thoughts of Mr Bolton to spoil her afternoon of freedom, so she turned her mind to the question of Miranda Defoe instead. She hated injustice of any kind, but also knew she had a tendency to jump to conclusions and involve herself in situations that were none of her concern. She would meet Miranda’s family for herself tomorrow evening and her senses would tell her if she was right to be worried on Miranda’s behalf.

  Worried about what? That one of Cooper’s brothers would try to win her hand in marriage for pecuniary rather than romantic reasons? That was hardly ground-breaking. It happened all the time, and if Miranda’s affections were engaged, what business was that of Flora’s? No, she told herself firmly, she would not meddle.

  Well, probably not!

  Her reflections had brought her to her destination. She gasped with pleasure when she halted the gig and caught her first glimpse of Coate Water. She gazed over the sparkling reservoir that had been built almost sixty years previously by diverting the River Cole. It’s primary purpose was to provide water for the Wiltshire and Berkshire canal but it was also a popular bathing spot for locals in summer months.

  She tied off the reins and jumped down from the box seat, keen to explore. The cob cropped placidly at the springy grass and Flora felt confident that he was too lazy to wander far. She removed her hat and flung it onto the gig’s seat, enjoying the feel of the warm spring air on her bare head. There was no one here to see her and even if there had been, going hatless was hardly a scandal. Emboldened, she pulled off her gloves too and wandered along a worn path at the edge of the water. She wondered if it would lead her to the oldest known ancient monument in the district, an undated stone circle and the Bronze Age burial mounds she had read about.

  Flora felt the peace and serenity of her situation seeping into her bones, unable to recall any time when she had felt so content or had enjoyed the freedom to please herself quite so…well, self-indulgently. In Salisbury her every waking moment had been filled with duties pursuant to her father’s occupation; any signs of independence ruthlessly crushed.

  And Papa thought I would willing return to such servitude.

  She was distracted by the sight of the many birds that frequented the area. She was no ornithologist but recognised a profusion of divers and a purple heron that stood statue-like in the shallows, presumably waiting for its tea to obligingly swim within its reach. She found an area where the path dipped close to the water and impulsively sank down onto the grass, wondering if she dared to remove her shoes and stockings and dangle her feet in the invitingly cool water. Now that would be scandalous! She glanced over her shoulder at the open expanse of countryside, the peace interrupted only by the chirping of the birds and the sound of the cob chomping at the grass.

  She had the place entirely to herself. She thought of her father’s horrified reaction if he could see her now, and with a reckless little laugh defiantly removed her shoes and rolled her stockings down her legs. Leaning back on her braced arms, she slipped her feet into the water and sighed with pleasure. The sun made her drowsy but she jerked back to reality when the same voice she had been hearing on and off for the past several weeks sounded in her ear.

  ‘They are to the left.’

  She shook her head. ‘What are?’ she asked aloud, glancing behind her and seeing no one.

  ‘Ah, so you have finally decided to acknowledge my presence.’

  Flora felt comforted rather than afraid, still convinced that her mind was playing tricks on her. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Wherever you want me to be.’

  She let out a protracted sigh. ‘What sort of answer is that?’

  ‘You ask a lot of questions. Why can you not just accept things the way they are?’

  ‘I have an enquiring mind. I need to understand the whys and wherefores and like to reach my own conclusions.’

  ‘Some things are beyond human understanding.’

  ‘Evidently.’ Flora threw her head backwards, conscious of her hair tumbling from its clips. She pulled the rest of them out and gave it its freedom. ‘Why have you suddenly decided to plague me? And what are to the left?’

  ‘The burial mounds you were anxious to see.’

  Flora widened her eyes. ‘How the devil did you know…’

  ‘When will you accept that I know all your intentions?’ Flora shuddered, hoping that wasn’t true. ‘And there’s nothing sudden about my presence. I have been with you since birth.’

  Flora jerked upright. ‘Since birth? I haven’t heard your voice before.’

  ‘That’s because your perceptions were clouded by your circumstances.’

  ‘What circumstances?’

  ‘Don’t be so obtuse.’

  ‘Who are you?’ She flapped a hand in front of her face to discourage a persistent insect. ‘If you exist, why can I not see you?’

  ‘You couldn’t hear me a month ago, but you’ve been able to ever since you came here and enjoy the freedom to think for yourself. You will see me when you open your mind and accept my presence. I am here to help you, but you already know that because you aren’t afraid.’

  ‘You still haven’t given me your name.’

  ‘You can call me Remus.’

  ‘Remus?’ Flora closed her eyes in an effort to recollect. ‘The founder of the city of Rome. You were killed by your twin brother, Romulus.’ She sighed. ‘Rome. The Holy Catholic church. Have I escaped one type of servitude only to be plagued by another?’

  ‘Hardly. I am a spirit guide assigned to help you develop your powers.’

  ‘A spirit guide?’ Flora shook her head. ‘I’m definitely dreaming. Who assigned you to me?’

  ‘There are some questions that have no right answer. You have been blessed with a gift, as was your grandmother before you.’

  ‘My grandmother. You know her? Can I…’

  ‘It doesn’t work like that. My advice, for what it’s worth, is that you open your mind to all the possibilities you were discouraged from exploring before you came here. Then you will begin to understand.’

  ‘You make it sound so easy.’

  ‘You believed in your grandmother’s powers, didn’t you?’

  ‘I did, but—’

  ‘But are trying to deny your own gift because there is no logical explanation for it. Yet you have already put it to good use. You helped that handsome earl by following your instincts. I had to give you quite a push, I won’t deny it, but you got there in t
he end.’

  ‘You’re very full of yourself, taking credit for my initiative.’

  ‘Who gave you warning of your father’s arrival? Tell me you didn’t hear me then.’

  ‘I felt tired and overwrought. I imagine things when I’m in that state.’

  ‘Well, if you don’t feel ready to confront the truth, I might as well take myself off again.’

  ‘Why are you here? Talking to me now?’

  ‘I thought it a good opportunity, since you’re so seldom on your own outside the house and unlikely to be interrupted. This isn’t the sort of conversation to be had when you’re busy solving other people’s problems, is it?’

  ‘Why do I have a spirit guide, if that’s what you are? Does everyone?’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Only those blessed with a gift are permitted. Some try to exploit that gift for their own benefit, of course, but that won’t happen to you.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  He tutted. ‘I won’t permit it. Some spirits are stronger than others, you know, and I am the strongest of them all.’

  ‘Modest too.’

  ‘All these questions are tiring me. It’s hard enough to generate the power to come back to this world without all your taxing questions.’

  ‘Do spirits have brains?’

  ‘One of us needs to.’

  ‘There’s no need to be insulting.’ She turned in the direction from which his voice came. ‘I want to see what you look like.’

  ‘You disappoint me. It shouldn’t matter. Just be grateful that I’m here to protect your interests. You are going to need me.’

  ‘Why? There’s nothing dangerous about being companion to an old lady.’

  ‘That rather depends upon the old lady.’

  Flora chuckled. ‘You make a good point.’

  ‘You will attract your share of danger, whether you like it or not. That’s the downside of being gifted. There is little point in being selected to bear that gift if you can’t put it to good use, which makes getting into dangerous situations inevitable.’

  ‘What if I don’t want the gift?’

  What she assumed to be a celestial chuckle vibrated through her senses. ‘You want it.’

  ‘You are very sure of yourself.’

  ‘You are highly honoured.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel that way. Anyway, you said that I had been selected. Who does the selecting?’

  ‘Certainly not your God.’

  ‘I didn’t suppose that He had.’ She shook her head, still unable to entirely believe that she was taking this conversation with thin air seriously. And yet it felt so real. She wanted it to be real, so that she could make sense of the contrary aspects of her character that had made it so hard for her to conform in the way that her sisters had. ‘Do you wear one of those Roman togas I’ve seen in history books? I won’t believe you are real until I can see you. How do I do that?’

  ‘As your powers increase, so will your perceptions. Believe in them, Flora, focus on what you want to achieve, don’t fight your instincts in the way that you were obliged to do until you came here and all will become clear. Now, I really must go. The gladiators fight today and I don’t trust my bloodthirsty twin not to indulge his cruel streak. Someone has to keep him under control.’

  ‘Your twin.’ She closed her eyes in an effort to recollect. ‘Romulus, he…’

  Remus made a gutting sound and his voice turned hard. ‘Yes, he did.’

  Flora shook her head, wondering if she had taken leave of her senses, or was sickening for something. Knowing that she was not.

  ‘Wait! How do I find you if I need you?’

  ‘You will know. Remember, focus on what’s important.’

  Flora felt a breeze brush against her face and the presence that called itself Remus was gone.

  ‘Who were you talking to?’

  Flora jolted at the sound of a deep, arresting voice that was definitely of this world. She looked up, shuddering for reasons that had nothing to do with spiritual apparitions when she saw a very alive Lord Swindon standing over her, his amused gaze lingering on her bare ankles dangling in the clear water.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Have the cattle moved to the lower pasture, Parkin, and put repairs to that broken wall in place at once. How did it get so badly damaged anyway? Cattle didn’t do that, and this isn’t the first act of wanton vandalism that’s occurred on the estate recently. Have we upset anyone that I’m not aware about?’

  ‘Nothing springs to mind, my lord, but I will put investigations in hand.’

  Parkin acknowledged Luke’s orders and set the men to work. On such a fine day Luke was in no particular hurry to return to the dreary papers awaiting his attention, so decided to enjoy his estate with no fixed purpose in mind—a luxury he seldom afforded himself. He fought to control Onyx, his lively black stallion, as they cantered across his land, and thought about Latimer’s visit. He hadn’t liked the man, and didn’t trust him. They had seen the last of him, Luke hoped, wondering at his determination to see Flora married to his curate. It would be a few months yet before the girl came of age and could do as she pleased. Luke would protect her from the manipulations of an ambitious father until that moment arrived.

  His mind had wandered and Onyx took immediate advantage, detouring in the direction of the reservoir, presumably because Luke hadn’t steered him that way and the beast was contrary by nature. Since it was a favourite spot of Luke’s, he let his horse have his way but pulled him up when he noticed his gig abandoned close to the water, the cob between its shafts lazily cropping at the spring grass.

  ‘What the devil?’

  Luke dismounted, tied Onyx’s reins securely to a stout branch and went in search of the driver of the gig, hoping he hadn’t come to grief. He shook his head upon finding the driver in question, wondering if the power of his thoughts and subconsciously allowed him to let Onyx bring him here. He drank in the sight of Flora Latimer from behind, hair spiralling down to the small of her back in curly disarray. Hatless, her head was thrown back, exposing her face to the sun. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be talking to herself. Clearly, she hadn’t heard him approach and part of Luke wondered if he should walk away and leave her to her solitary reverie.

  Instead, something stronger than his own will persuaded him to take a step closer. He chuckled when he noticed her bare feet dangling in the water, thinking it typical of her unconventional character. No wonder she and his grandmother got along so well. Luke admired her shapely ankles. He admired far too much about her and there wasn’t the least possibility of his leaving her here alone.

  ‘Who are you talking to?’ he asked.

  Her head snapped forward and she turned to look at him through accusatory eyes. ‘You scared me half to death,’ she said, sitting upright and removing a strand of dried grass from her hair. ‘I didn’t hear you approach.’

  ‘Evidently.’ He gave a significant nod in the direction of her bare ankles. She did not, as he had half supposed would be the case, blush or hasten to cover her legs.

  ‘If you were a gentleman you would pretend not to notice,’ she said.

  ‘If you were a lady, you would not exhibit yourself in a public place,’ he returned, wondering why he was amused rather than affronted by a servant’s reprimand, and why he chose to bandy words with her at all for that matter.

  ‘I did not anticipate the pleasure of your company. But if you will have the goodness to turn your back, I shall rectify the situation out of consideration for your sensibilities.’

  ‘Please.’ His challenging smile was pure, predatory male—he simply couldn’t help himself. It managed to achieve what his unexpected arrival and comment upon her ankles had not, and she blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘Don’t trouble yourself on my account. I can assure you that I am enjoying the view.’

  ‘You are quite without conscience,’ she replied.

  Worried that she would make good on her threat, Luke lowered himself b
eside her. He leaned casually on one elbow as he watched her kicking lazily at the water lapping at her toes.

  ‘We used to come here a lot as boys. We weren’t supposed to, of course. The water’s deep and more than one swimmer has got into difficulties.’

  ‘Which made it all the more irresistible for four boys with energy to spare. I dare say you egged one another on.’

  ‘Quite.’

  He lay back on both elbows, conscious of the amusement that warmed her remarkable violet eyes at some private recollection. He had kept his footwear in place, but hatless and in shirtsleeves he was the epitome of informality. It didn’t seem to matter—not in her non-judgemental company. He enjoyed the feel of the breeze lifting the hair from his brow and the opportunity to converse with just about the only person outside his immediate circle of friends who was not afraid to express her opinions, or take exception if he said something she disagreed with.

  Accustomed to sycophants and servants who wouldn’t dare to question a word he said, Miss Flora Latimer’s company made a refreshing change. She had saved him from making a disastrous mistake that would have seen him married to a totally inappropriate and highly ambitious female bent upon ruining his family’s name and reputation. For that reason, even if he hadn’t enjoyed her society, he would not have attempted to avoid it.

  ‘Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?’ she asked. ‘Some hapless tenant you need to terrorise, or reports that require your attention? Great men are plagued by such responsibilities, are they not? Please don’t let me keep you from them.’

  ‘Just so that you are aware, I am not in the habit of terrorising my tenants. And no, I have no pressing engagements and am quite content to bide you company. On that subject, who were you talking to just now?’

  She lifted one shoulder but didn’t look at him. ‘Myself, of course.’

  ‘You make a habit out of speaking aloud to yourself?’

  ‘Naturally. Doesn’t everyone?’

  He chuckled. ‘I do not. I find myself required to speak with far too many people every day. It is a relief to be alone with my thoughts, which I don’t feel any pressing need to articulate aloud.’