A Warriner to Rescue Her

by Virginia Heath

  ‘My clothing was in disarray.’ That, he knew. He had seen those garters and they were hardly the sort of garters he would expect a vicar’s daughter to wear. ‘It would have been improper to leave it that way.’

  ‘Yet your nod to propriety proved to be remarkably ineffectual, did it not? Not only did it send us both crashing to the ground, it was a completely pointless exercise. Your skirts had been up for some time, Miss Reeves, and I am not blind.’

  She blushed then, quite prettily, and those huge brown eyes widened with alarm. ‘You might have told me. It was hardly gentlemanly for you to look.’

  ‘Perhaps you would have preferred I closed my eyes and groped around in the branches blindly in the vain hope I might grab you on the off chance?’

  ‘You did grab me, as I recall, and most improperly, too.’ Her freckled nose poked into the air as she delivered this set down.

  ‘You are absolutely right. I apologise sincerely for grabbing the only part of your body that I could reach as you careened towards me at dangerous speed. What I should have done was avoided grabbing you in the first place. That would have been the gentlemanly thing to do. It also would have meant that you would have plummeted out of the tree there and then, and thus relinquishing me from the noble task of breaking your fall.’

  * * *

  When he put it like that, Cassie was prepared to concede he had a point. She had practically flattened the man, the poor thing could barely breath a few moments ago. If only he hadn’t seen her pudgy thighs. Or manhandled her massive bottom. And if only he wasn’t so devilishly handsome then she wouldn’t be feeling so self-conscious about her entire, ungainly body below the waist, as well as already feeling ridiculous for getting herself stuck up a tree in the first place. Captain Warriner’s eyes were the absolute bluest eyes she had ever seen. Like the clearest summer’s sky flecked with speckles of lapis lazuli. With all the dark, slightly over-long black hair and permanently frowning expression, he was exactly what she imaged a pirate to look like. Or a highwayman. Or a mythical knight sat around King Arthur’s table. Very few men could carry off chainmail or a dashing pirate’s earring, but she was quite certain Captain Warriner would. She would store his appearance away in her memory for when she needed inspiration for a handsome rogue...

  But here she was, weaving him into one of her stories and the poor man was still sat on the floor. Probably still winded and trying to pretend not to be. Why, he hadn’t even raised himself from his seat on the grass.

  ‘I am being unforgivably ungrateful, Captain Warriner. You have been extremely decent in trying to save me and I am truly sorry for squashing you when I landed. If it’s any consolation, I did try to avoid you.’

  Her fictional, fantasy pirate was still frowning. ‘I already know I am going to regret asking this question, Miss Reeves, but how did you come to be stuck in one of my brother’s apple trees?’

  ‘I did not realise they belonged to someone, else I never would have taken the liberty.’ Stealing was a sin, after all, and she was guilty of enough of them already to add one to the list. It was the Eighth Commandment. Cassie knew all of the Commandments verbatim. Forwards and, because her attention had a tendency to waver, backwards as well.

  ‘Did you fail to notice the twenty-foot wall and giant wooden gates?’

  As he was gesturing behind her with his hand Cassie allowed her eyes to turn to take in the towering stone barricade looming against the horizon. Now that he happened to mention it, she had noticed the enormous structure as she had ridden down the unfamiliar lane, but as the gates were wide open, she had assumed it was a public park. Both Hyde Park and St James’s had gates, too, although granted nowhere near as imposing, so did the many parks she had frequented in Nottingham, Manchester, Birmingham, Liverpool and Bristol. But she was a very long way from those cities now and she supposed they had no real need for actual parks when lush, green countryside stretched out before you in every direction.

  ‘I did not realise this was private property. I am used to living in big towns, Captain Warriner, where people take the air in big parks. I feel very silly now.’

  He waved her explanation away impatiently. ‘Anyway—the tree, Miss Reeves?’

  She could tell by his expression he thought she was odd. His dark eyebrows were raised in question, but his eyes swirled with irritated bemusement. Cassie knew that look well. It was the way most people had always stared at her. Usually, it only hurt a little bit, because she was quite used to it—but for some reason having this dashing pirate view her in such a manner, when he had barely any time to get to know her, hurt a great deal. Clearly she was now irredeemably odd if an officer in the King’s army had spotted it straight away, when Cassie had been trying so very hard not to be quite so odd since she arrived in Retford. To make matters worse, her reasons for being up the tree were, now she considered it, quite daft indeed. Further evidence of her unfamiliarity with country life.

  ‘I was searching for apples for Orange Blossom. The ones on the lower branches were so very small and hard, I thought those higher up might be riper. Because they were closer to the sun...but I realise now, that it is far too early for any of the apples to be ripe. The ones I picked from the top were just as hard as the ones at the bottom.’

  ‘This, I am also aware of. The majority of them fell on my head while you were trying to adjust your clothing.’

  Could this day get any worse? She had made a fool of herself, unwittingly trespassed and stolen unripe apples, then winded the most handsome man she had ever seen after flashing her fat legs at him. ‘I am sorry about your head, too,’ she said miserably, ‘and for climbing the stupid tree in the first place. When the branch beneath my feet gave way, my dress got caught on something and I couldn’t move. I shall be eternally grateful you came along. I might still be stuck there otherwise and I promised Papa I would be home by four to listen to Sunday’s sermon.’ Stuck inside again when she so loved being outdoors.

  Captain Warriner merely stared at her, his magnificent eyes inscrutable, though obviously happy to end their acquaintance swiftly. Cassie stood up decisively and brushed the worst of the leaves and twigs out of her hair, chiding herself for her own ineptitude. Why did she always have to be so clumsy and so odd? People were always put off by her exuberance. As one pithy matron had said in the parish before the last one, Cassie was like a cup of tea with three sugars when only one was required. At little too much. Too loud. Too talkative. Far too passionate and prone to cause irritation in every quarter. Why couldn’t she simply pretend to be like all of the other young ladies? Why did her silly brain put daft ideas into her head and why did her even sillier head listen to them? Ripe apples and pirates. Two classic examples of her wandering, odd mind.

  ‘I suppose I should get going. Papa will be wondering where I have got to.’

  Captain Warriner nodded, seemingly content to remain seated on the grass. ‘Yes. Probably best.’ He was a man of few words—either that or he didn’t suffer fools like her gladly.

  ‘Well, good afternoon then. And thank you again.’ Cringing with awkwardness, Cassie untied Orange Blossom and began to lead her down the narrow path out of the dreaded Orchard of Embarrassment. A jet-black stallion, obviously as unimpressed with her shenanigans as his owner, glared at her in disgust.

  You are a very silly human, aren’t you?

  Don’t listen to him, said Orange Blossom loyally, you meant well, Cassie.

  It was cold comfort. Captain Galahad still thought her odd. For some reason, it was imperative she did not leave him on such a bad impression.

  ‘I am not normally this silly Captain.’ Cassie spun around only to see him wincing, resting painfully on one knee, as he tried to stand. ‘Oh, my goodness! You’ve hurt your leg.’ She dropped the reins and dashed to his side to offer him some assistance. ‘Let me help you up and then I will escort you home.’ After causing his injur
y it was the very least she could do.

  Those lovely blue eyes hardened to ice crystals. ‘I’m not a blasted invalid, woman! I can get myself up off the floor and find my own way home!’ To prove his point, he stood and stubbornly limped towards his horse.

  ‘Please, Captain Warriner—allow me to assist you. Your poor leg!’

  But he ignored her. He reached his horse quickly and grabbed the pommel of the saddle to steady himself. Then, with another wince, put all of his weight on his injured left leg so that he could place his right foot in the stirrup. He hauled himself upwards using only the power in his arms. Large muscles bulged under the fabric of his coat, emphasising his strength and excellent broad shoulders. He arranged himself comfortably before shooting her a scornful glare which could have curdled milk.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Reeves. Next time you decide to go out for a ride, kindly remember this is private property.’ He nudged the foreboding black stallion forward and the pair of them galloped off without a backward glance.

  Chapter Two

  Jamie dipped his brush in some water and used it to soften the cake of blue paint to create the perfect wash. He preferred to work with watercolours rather than oils. Oil took too long and he was never completely happy with the effect. With watercolour, you could play around with the finish. He loved the translucency it created when he painted skies or water, yet with less moisture you could still create solid lines and definition, and mixed with gouache it could mimic oil paint when he needed texture. It was the perfect combination for recreating scenes from nature, his preferred studies, and definitely the most therapeutic.

  He could paint a reasonable portrait if he put his mind to it, but his style was more romantic than practical, far too whimsical for a career soldier and most certainly not something he was ever prepared to discuss. Soldiers were not supposed to enjoy the shape and curve of a petal or the lyrical pictures drawn by clouds—yet he did. He always had. Right from the moment he had first discovered he could draw, somewhere around the age of seven or eight, Jamie had always created fanciful, dream-like depictions of all the beauty he saw around him. His father had always disparagingly claimed he painted like a girl. And as vexing his noxious father was something he had done thoroughly as a point of personal honour, the man’s obvious disgust had only encouraged his talent more.

  ‘That looks like the orchard.’ His sister-in-law Letty peered over his shoulder, smiling. ‘I always think things appear so much more beautiful once I have seen them through your eyes.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  It was as far as he was prepared to go in acknowledging her compliment and she knew him too well to push. He watched her move towards her favourite chair and carefully lower herself into it. There was no disguising the evidence of her pregnancy now, and every day it reminded Jamie of what he would never have. Not that he wasn’t happy for his elder brother Jack and his wife. He was delighted for them. They both deserved every happiness. A man would have to travel a very long way to find two better people. A part of him was even excited at the prospect of being an uncle—but it was bittersweet. He had always thought he would have a family, although he had never spoken about it aloud because admitting such things was not manly, but he had always hoped he would have a large one. The promise of it had sustained him during his years fighting on foreign battlefields: little, dark-haired versions of himself running riot and driving him to distraction.

  But the romantic part of his soul had refused to consider just any woman in those days. He had wanted the whole cake to eat, not just the icing. Fighting for King and country had occupied all of his time and he had stupidly assumed he still had plenty of time left to search for the woman of his dreams; that elusive soulmate who enjoyed nature’s beauty as much as he did and who would want to sit with him while he painted because they adored each other. With hindsight, Jamie probably should have married a few years ago, when he was handsome and complete. He doubted any woman would consider the broken man who had returned from the Peninsula. And who could blame them?

  Any decent young bride worth her salt would expect her new husband to be similarly brimming with vigour. Two working legs were a prerequisite, as was a sound financial future. Crippled soldiers had few career choices open to them and he could hardly expect a wife to be content to live under the benevolent charity of his brother for ever. He tried not to envy his three brothers. Jack was about to be a father, Joe was finally pursuing his dream of becoming a doctor by studying at medical school and Jacob was having the time of his life at university. Their lives were just starting while his had come to a grinding halt. A wife would definitely not want a man devoid of prospects.

  Nor could he ask one to cope with his other peculiarities—peculiarities so evident he could hardly keep them a secret from a wife. Finding the right words to explain them to the unfortunate woman, without making himself sound dangerous and ripe for immediate incarceration in Bedlam, was almost impossible. No, indeed, marriage and family were lost to him until he could find a way to fix it all and as he had spent the better part of a year since his return home failing dismally, he did not hold out much hope a solution was around the corner. Mulling the fact was not going to change it. It was the way it was, yet the death of his dream still stung.

  Jamie began to sweep the first layer of wash on to his paper, pleased with the hue he had mixed. It was exactly as he remembered the sky yesterday as he had stared mournfully up at it.

  ‘What made you draw it from that perspective?’ Letty was still scrutinising the picture and he supposed it was a little unusual to paint exactly what he had seen when he had been flat on his back, minus all of the hair covering his face, of course.

  ‘I thought I would try something different.’

  The lie seemed to appease her and she picked up her embroidery, but the truth was Jamie could not stop thinking about those damned pink garters. Or the way the wearer had pitied him when she had seen him struggle. At this stage he had no idea what colour to paint his complete humiliation. Black seemed fitting, but did not quite go with the sky. Maybe he would try to leave it out, in the vain hope he could erase the shameful memory from his mind by creating an alternative memory here on paper.

  Their butler crept in stealthily and coughed subtly. Every time Jamie saw him it gave him a start. Six months ago they had not even had a maid—now, thanks to Letty, there was a veritable army running Markham Manor, all transplanted from her opulent mansion in Mayfair.

  ‘You have a caller, my lady.’

  A rarity indeed. Nobody called on the Warriners unless they were baying for blood or demanding immediate payment.

  ‘A young lady. A Miss Reeves. She is enquiring as to whether Captain Warriner is at home.’

  Jamie could feel the beginnings of nerves in the pit of his stomach, warning of further impending humiliation, but tried to appear impassive.

  ‘Captain Warriner?’ Letty was staring at him with barely contained delight. ‘How very dashing that sounds.’

  ‘Tell her I am not at home, Chivers.’

  ‘Tell her no such thing! Have her shown in immediately, Chivers. And arrange for some tea.’ His sister-in-law tossed aside her already forgotten sewing and sat eagerly forward in her chair. ‘Why is a young lady calling for you, Jamie?’

  He considered lying, but as the real reason for Miss Reeves’s unwelcome visit was doubtless about to be unveiled there seemed little point. ‘I tried to rescue her from a tree yesterday.’

  ‘Tried?’

  ‘Yes. And failed. Miserably.’

  Further explanation was prevented by the arrival of his embarrassment. Just as it had yesterday, those red-gold curls refused to be tamed by her hairpins. Several very becoming silky tendrils poked out of her sensible bonnet and framed her pretty face. Her lovely chestnut eyes were wary as they darted between him and Letty.

  Politeness dictated he s
hould stand in the presence of a lady, but if he stood she would see more damning evidence of his infirmity and his pride was already bruised and battered quite enough. Letty, of course, sprang to her feet in an instant and gushingly greeted their guest.

  ‘Miss Reeves! I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I am Letty Warriner, technically the Countess of Markham, although my husband is reticent about using his title. Do take a seat. I hope you will join us for tea?’

  It was all a little over the top, in Jamie’s opinion. Yes, a visitor was something of a rarity here, but the way Letty was behaving was a little too effusive. Especially as he was already counting the seconds until Miss Reeves left him in humiliated solitary peace.

  ‘Tea would be lovely,’ she said, flicking her eyes towards his briefly as she arranged her bottom on a chair. Jamie could still remember the feel of it in his hands. Firm. Rounded. Womanly. Which of course made him think about the incongruous garters again. ‘I came to check on Captain Warriner’s recovery. Because of my own lack of judgement, he was injured yesterday.’

  Jamie stared straight ahead, but could feel Letty’s eyes boring into him. ‘Really? Jamie made no mention of an injury. Come to mention it, he also made no mention of the accident which must have led to the injury. All I know is what I have just been told. You were apparently stuck in a tree, Miss Reeves, and my brother-in-law tried and failed to get you down.’

  She put unnecessary emphasis on the words brother-in-law, clearly making a point to their guest. A point which made Jamie uncomfortable.

  He is single, in case you were wondering, Miss Reeves, and desperately in want of a wife. Try to ignore the fact he is lame, futureless and has the potential to kill if the mood takes him.

  Miss Reeves blushed like a beetroot, a beetroot with distracting freckles on her dainty button of a nose, and wore a pained expression. ‘Captain Warriner climbed the apple tree to save me, but I fidgeted too much and the branch snapped. I am afraid we both fell to the ground. The poor captain absorbed the brunt of the impact.’