An understatement. His ribs had damn near snapped in half.
Letty was grinning like an idiot. ‘You fell on top of him? In the orchard?’ And like a nodcock he just happened to be painting the same blasted orchard and things looked so much more beautiful through his stupid eyes.
Miss Reeves nodded. ‘I feel awful about it.’
For his own sake, now was the opportune time to intervene, before Letty started to matchmake in earnest. ‘As you can see, I am in fine fettle, Miss Reeves. You needn’t have troubled yourself by coming all this way to see the evidence for yourself.’ His sister-in-law shot him a pointed glance for his rudeness, but Jamie was unrepentant. The last thing he needed was Letty reading more into his choice of painting than he was comfortable with her knowing. Miss Reeves’s fine eyes swivelled towards his leg, raised as always on a supportive footstool, and he inwardly cringed.
‘But I can see your leg is still injured, Captain Warriner, and that is completely my fault.’
She thought his infirmity was a temporary affliction, and as tempting as it was to go along with the fantasy, his innate sense of futility kicked in. ‘This is Napoleon’s fault, Miss Reeves. Not yours.’
Now, please go away, woman!
‘Napoleon?’
‘Indirectly. It was his guns which fired the musket balls.’
‘Balls!’
Her voice came out a little high-pitched and he simply nodded. He had no intention of telling her how they had had to dig three of the blighters out of his thigh while he was still conscious and he’d very nearly lost the whole leg, as well as his life, to infection afterwards. She blinked rapidly and Jamie could see her imagination filling in the blanks, those long lashes fluttering like butterflies as she did so.
Very pretty.
Somehow that made it worse. Pretty and pity made him feel less of a man than he usually did. However, under the circumstances, it was probably best to divulge the horrible truth and suffer her pity rather than give Letty false hope that this delightful armful of woman might enter into a romance with a dangerous invalid. ‘They left me crippled, Miss Reeves.’ And cripples were not attractive. Especially not to freckle-faced fertility goddesses with positively sinful hair and saucy garters.
* * *
Cassie had no idea how to respond to such a statement. Part of her was sorry he had suffered, another part of her was hugely relieved not to have been the cause of his injury and a bigger part of her kept remembering how very big, solid and manly his body had been sprawled beneath hers. Just thinking about it made her feel all warm and those deliciously sinful sapphire eyes were not helping. Once again those exuberant passions she was trying her hardest to suppress jumped to the fore. Fortunately, the arrival of the tea tray meant she did not have to respond and had a perfectly reasonable excuse for removing her bonnet before she began to perspire from her wayward, wicked thoughts.
‘Do you take sugar, Miss Reeves?’
‘Just one, please, Mrs...er...my lady.’
The pretty blonde woman giggled. ‘To be honest, it confuses me, too. Perhaps we should simply dispense with the formalities. Why don’t you call me Letty?’
‘In that case, please feel free to call me Cassie.’ She risked peeking at Captain Galahad, but he made no move to invite her to call him anything familiar. In fact, he looked quite irritated at her continued presence. His gorgeous eyes were distinctly narrowed, which made her babble. ‘I am new to the area. My father has recently been appointed the vicar of this parish. We live at the vicarage.’ A completely ridiculous clarification only an idiot would make. It would probably be sensible to stop babbling nonsense and wait to be asked a question. Unfortunately, once her nerves got the better of her, Cassie’s mouth had a habit of running away with itself. ‘I couldn’t help noticing you are going to have a baby.’ Was it polite to mention such things?
Whether it was or it wasn’t, her hostess smiled and Cassie watched in wonder as the young woman’s hand automatically went to her protruding stomach lovingly. ‘Yes, indeed. But not until the autumn. I appear to have got very fat very quickly.’ She handed Cassie her tea. ‘Are you engaged to be married, Miss Reeves, or is there an ardent suitor on the cusp of proposing to you in the near future?’
A very sore point.
Cassie’s odd personality, off-putting exuberance, unfortunate freckles combined with her father’s ferocious temperament had all proved to be highly effective deterrents to the male sex. ‘No to both questions, I’m afraid.’
I am doomed to sit on the shelf and gather dust; I only hope it is sturdy enough and wide enough to bear my weight.
‘Well, I am sure it won’t be long before some lucky gentleman snaps you up—you are uncommonly pretty, Miss Reeves. Isn’t that right, Jamie?’
Captain Galahad grunted and appeared very bored. Clearly he disagreed. He was sipping his tea and practically glaring at her over the rim of the ridiculously delicate cup in his large, manly hand. Or perhaps he was glaring at his sister-in-law for asking him such an impertinent question? It was quite difficult to tell.
‘Did you enjoy being a soldier, Captain?’
A safer topic might make their exchange less awkward, although this also seemed to annoy him because he frowned.
‘It had its moments.’
‘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 broa
ched 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
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.
A Warriner to Rescue Her Page 3
