Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  The afternoon activity would be fan flirting lessons offered to the female guests by Lady Davenport.

  They met in the rose parlor, and for reasons only Claire and Ellie knew, Chase Hart lingered to watch the display.

  “You see, my dears,” their hostess explained, “you hold the fan in the left hand. With a slow wave, you indicate, ‘No darling, I already have a lover.’ A fast wave with the right hand means, ‘Married. Stop your attentions or my husband will cause you regret.’”

  Mincing across the drawing room toward Chase, the older woman stroked her fan down her cheek and tucked it becomingly beneath her generous mammaries. “Amoré, girls,” she said, turning to address them. “This gesture means, ‘I love you.’”

  “Ellie, would you like to try?”

  “What, me?” squeaked Ellie. “I’ll give it a go, but I can’t imagine men really understand these signals.”

  At that moment Hugh wandered into the room. “Sorry to disturb you, ladies,” he said, “I’ll just grab my pipe and be gone.”

  “Ellie,” Lady Davenport directed, “show us the gesture for ‘I love you.’ Watch this, Hugh.”

  The man stood frozen as a rabbit in a hound house. Embarrassed, Ellie swept the fan rapidly down her cheek, jostling her spectacles. Hugh looked annoyed.

  “No, dear,” Lady Davenport said, “lean into your right hip, dip your head, flutter your eyelashes, and brush gently down the cheek. Hugh, stand still a minute and let her practice. Go ahead, dear.”

  Feeling as if the dusty world between the floorboards would be preferable, Ellie followed Lady Davenport’s orders.

  “Oh my, you can do better than that,” the older woman scolded. “Put a little purpose into it.”

  Ellie pushed her glasses tight to her nose. Clearly, Lady Davenport was not going to set her free. She would just have to make the most of Hugh’s undivided, if hostile, attention. Executing a few hip-swinging, seductive steps toward her prey, Ellie stopped, thrust her right hip out, batted her blue eyes, and stroked her cheek with the sensuality of a rose on a hot day.

  Hugh backed away and folded his arms across his chest. “Exemplary work, Mother.” His voice grated nastily. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sirens of the sophisticated set, I’ve some labor to accomplish.” He quit the room, leaving a shadow of disapproval in his wake.

  “He seems to have forgotten his pipe,” Lady Davenport said, a smile playing across her lips.

  Hugh’s receding footsteps echoed down the hall.

  Peggity sidled up to Ellie and whispered, “I’m not certain ‘enchanted’ would describe his reaction.”

  Chapter Six

  “We don’t want to give a little muscle strain a chance to grow into a problem,” Ellie told Hugh as she saddled Manifesto in the barn early the next day. “I’d like to take it easy on him this morning, and I’m sure Valaire could benefit from light exercise.”

  Hugh brushed a small bit of dust from her cheek with his thumb. “Whatever you say,” he told her.

  “Are there any interesting places to ride nearby?”

  He tucked a strand of white hair under her floppy hat. “A trail or park, perhaps?” she asked, suppressing laughter as he straightened her cravat.

  “Shall I take you around Cowick Hill?”

  “That would be perfect.” Ellie led Manifesto from the barn, put her foot in the stirrup and swung aboard.

  • • •

  “Master Hugh!” cried a florid little woman who raced into the lane from the yard of her cottage. “Come look at me cabbages, they’s spotted.”

  “Mrs. Tippet,” he said, dismounting from Valaire, “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, “Mr. Toby Coopersmith.”

  “It’s a pleasure, sir.” Mrs. Tippet shook Ellie’s hand. “You’re a wee bit of a thing, aren’t ye?”

  Ellie drew a startled breath. “He’s a jockey,” Hugh explained.

  “Aye, a jockey with a girl’s touch on the reins,” Mrs. Tippet declared.

  “He’s strong as any man and twice as good on a horse,” said Hugh, laughing nervously. “Now, what’s that business about your cabbages, Mrs. Tippet?”

  A snaggletooth grin filled her face. She took Hugh by the arm and hurried him into her overgrown garden. “Now come, Master Hugh. Take a look at them spots. I’m afraid me whole crop’s ruined, and I got a terrible feeling it’ll be a rough winter for a widow like meself.” The little lady plucked a cabbage off its root and held it under Hugh’s nose. “Spots, Master Hugh. You see ’em?”

  Hugh took the cabbage from her unsteady hand and rotated it, observing every leaf. The vegetable had one tiny round mark on its side. “Mrs. Tippet,” he said with mock seriousness, “I’m afraid you’ve been lying.”

  The tiny woman puffed like an adder. “Never in me born days … ”

  “ … because this is the finest vegetable I’ve laid eyes on this season. Just give a little weeding around the base. You’ll take first at the Exeter Fair this year, so help me.”

  Mrs. Tippet giggled like a schoolgirl. The look of worry melted from her face as she gave Hugh a playful smack on the arm. “Aw, Master Hugh, you’re a cunning devil, you are. Could have felt the hard side of me rolling pin with that ‘lying’ business.”

  “And your rolling pin, I’ve heard, is an experience devoutly to be missed.”

  “Ay, that’s true,” the little woman said, head high. “I can still whack the best of ’em.”

  Hugh patted her arm and swung back onto Valaire. “Now don’t forget that weeding. We can’t have our Cowick Hill widows showing rotten cabbages and making a mess of our reputation.”

  Mrs. Tippet rocked back and forth with laughter. “Nay, Master Hugh, I’ll not shame ye. These cabbages don’t straighten out with your advice I’ll be at your doorstep faster than a miner to the ale house.”

  When they were out of earshot, Ellie turned to Hugh. “You were very nice to her.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “I saw the gold coins you dropped into the weeds. She’ll have a warm winter because of them.”

  At that moment, a young, clear-eyed farmer threw down his pitchfork and ran to the fence bordering the lane. “My lord, can I have your ear a minute?”

  Hugh stopped Valaire. “What is it, Mr. Smythe?”

  “Got a bit of a legal allercation, my lord, with a certain perpetrator by the name of farmer Fergus, who’s me neighbor.”

  “An ‘allercation,’ eh?” Hugh said, suppressing a smile.

  “Aye, my lord. It’s concerning a pup which goes by the name of Tracker, on account of his nose is so good.”

  “And what is the ‘allercation’ concerning the pup?”

  “Are ye talking Tracker?” barked an angry voice from the other side of the lane.

  “I am, Mr. Fergus,” Smythe replied. “I’m beggin’ Lord Davenport for the herewith decision as to who is the right and legal owner of that pup.”

  Fergus’s fierce eyes flashed. He jammed the points of his pitchfork into the ground and nimbly vaulted the wood fence on his side of the lane.

  Squeezing through the rails of his own fence, Smythe met tiny Fergus in the center of the dirt road. The younger man towered over the little farmer, yet Ellie didn’t doubt who would win in hand-to-hand combat. Fergus radiated a prickly energy that warned all comers to beware.

  Hugh dismounted and stood between the farmers. Ellie swung down from Manifesto and held the horses.

  “Here’s ’ow it is, Master Hugh,” Fergus explained, fixing a steely-eyed glare on Smythe. “This one left his cow Bissey in the field three days lame and nothing done for it. I’ll not have a man treating my Tracker that way.”

  “And I’ve told ye again and again, Mr. Fergus, ’twas an accident only! Bissey was with calf. I thought she was hiding wit
h the wee thing ’til she felt right to bring it home.”

  The young farmer appealed to Hugh. “The facts is these, your Lordship. Mr. Fergus promised me a pup from Queenie’s litter, and Tracker be the one I choose. I promised him good cash money for the privilege.”

  Fergus spat in the dirt. “My Queenie’s a champion herd dog. I’ll not see her pup neglected for any money.” The farmers took a threatening step toward one another.

  “Hold, gentlemen. Hold,” Hugh said, putting himself in their path. “Mr. Fergus, could you bring me the pup?”

  Without moving an inch or taking his eyes off Smythe, Fergus let out a piercing whistle. A minute later a small black and white sheep dog escorted by a gangly, flop-eared puppy came running over the hill. Queenie dashed to Fergus’s side and licked his hand. “Good girl,” he said, keeping his fist clenched, ready to sock Smythe.

  Tracker wandered among them all, sniffing and hitting everyone’s legs with his wagging tail. He tried to lick the horse’s noses. Manifesto snorted.

  “I’m going to draw a circle,” Hugh said, picking up a stick and dragging it through the dirt on the road. “Mr. Smythe, you stand here. Mr. Fergus, here,” he said, positioning the farmers on opposite sides.

  “Come here, Tracker.” The puppy bounded to Hugh. “Now Mr. Smythe, you take hold of the puppy’s ears, and Mr. Fergus, you grab his tail. The one who pulls Tracker out of the circle gets the pup.”

  Horror filled Smythe’s eyes. “If I do that, I’ll hurt the dog.”

  “I’ll not be roughing my beasts,” cried Fergus. “His tail would snap like a twig.”

  “So neither of you is willing to pull on the pup?”

  Smythe petted Tracker’s head. “I couldna’ do it, your lordship. I’d rather not have ’em as hurt ’em.”

  “What do you say?” Hugh said, addressing the feisty little Fergus. “In my judgment, a man who wouldn’t hurt a dog to have him is kind enough for your pup.”

  A furrow appeared in Fergus’s brow. His eyes searched the ground as if he’d find an answer in the rutted lane. Finally, he spat, and looked up with merry eyes. “I’m thinkin’ he’s yours,” the farmer said, holding out a hand to Smythe.

  Ellie wanted to applaud. She and Hugh smiled at one another as the farmers patted Tracker and clapped each other on the back.

  “You were splendid,” she whispered as she and Hugh mounted again.

  He laughed and winked as they headed back to the barn.

  • • •

  This is fun, thought Ellie in the quiet of the garden shed. How entertaining to see the two sides of Hugh Davenport. Lord Iceblock in proper company, and the warmest, most charming fellow whenever he was around plain country folk. She chuckled and threw her dress on over her head.

  Wrapping herself in her shawl, she dashed out hoping to find Claire to act as lady’s maid.

  She spied her sister in the garden with Sport nosing around at the end of his leash. The dog may have been preoccupied, but hanging on Claire’s every word was Flavian Monroe. A dash of alarm entered Claire’s eyes upon seeing Ellie. “Good morning,” she said, and gave a slight shake of her head, indicating the spaniel hadn’t cooperated.

  “Good morning to you, and to you, Lord Monroe,” said Ellie.

  “Good morning,” Flavian said.

  As she passed them, Ellie turned and walked backward, hiding her wide open dress. “It’s a lovely morning. I hope you have a pleasant walk.”

  “Yes,” Claire said. “You too.”

  “And you as well, Lord Monroe.”

  “Thank you, Lady Ellie. We shall.”

  “And Sport, you have a nice walk, too. Be productive.”

  “Yes, I will,” said Claire in a growly spaniel voice. “You’ll be amazed at what I can do … do.”

  “Good boy,” cried Ellie. She ducked into a grove of trees and laughed ’til her stomach ached.

  • • •

  From a charmed morning the weather held, making a perfect afternoon — until Lady Davenport declared it “Archery Day.” She told Ellie she wanted the girls outdoors so the breeze could pink their cheeks.

  The company paraded to a hill overlooking the grand estate. Suppressing a laugh, Ellie watched Lady Davenport arranging partners so Chase Hart would be with the older woman. Hugh and Ellie were teamed, Claire was paired with Algie Swift, Poultney Bigalow with Rosemarie Philapot, Peggity with George Pitt, and his twin sister Hester with Flavian Monroe.

  “Do you know how to shoot?” Hugh asked Ellie as they positioned themselves in front of the target.

  “Naturally,” said Ellie, scarcely able to see the target through the fog of her lenses.

  She took aim with the rest of the women, drew back the bow, and watched the arrow sail well over the target. Peering around the tortoiseshell frames, she was shocked at how poorly she’d done. The spectacles ruined her aim.

  Her second shot smacked the side of Claire and Algie Swift’s target, bounced, and hit the dirt. Though he stood behind her, she could feel Hugh’s growing disdain.

  “Gad,” Algie said, “with practice you could shoot a barn.”

  “Or the House of Commons,” added Poultney.

  “I thought you said you knew how to do this,” Hugh growled.

  “I do, it’s just that my aim is off today.”

  “Perhaps you ought to give Miss Ellie a little archery instruction,” his mother suggested, a sly twinkle in her eye.

  “I’m sure Miss Ellie would rather practice a little before someone starts bothering her,” he replied.

  “Not at all, dear. Miss Ellie needs help now, don’t you darling?”

  Ellie looked in the direction of the blob she identified as her hostess. “I’d rather not trouble Lord Davenport,” she told her, a nervous thump beginning in her heart.

  “Nonsense.” The hostess beamed. “My son could teach a woman anything.”

  “Except how to behave themselves, eh, Mother?”

  “The best teachers lead by example,” the older woman replied. “You are an excellent shot. I’m sure Miss Ellie could benefit from your expertise.”

  “Bull’s eye,” Chase Hart added with a smirk.

  Hugh glared at Chase then turned his attention to Ellie. He assessed her as if she were a side of beef. “Take aim,” he commanded. His eyes, so close they magnified into huge icy orbs, spelled doom if she didn’t hit the mark. Ellie raised the bow, pulled back the string and aimed at the blur she assumed was the target. Hugh inspected her position.

  “Close your left eye,” he barked. “Face your left shoulder toward the target. Ready. Fire!”

  The arrow whirred to the right, crossed in front of several of the company and landed in the grass before Flavian and Hester’s target. Hester squeaked and ran for the house. “She frightens easily,” George explained apologetically. He ran after her.

  “I declare,” Poultney said, “if you were cupid, I’d be marrying a rock.”

  “Better a rock than the grave,” Algie rejoined.

  “Sorry,” said Ellie. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

  Rosemarie Philapot snickered. “Do it like this,” she said, winging her arrow into the golden ring at the center of her target.

  “Yes, thank you. Good advice.” Mortification dug a pit in Ellie’s stomach.

  “Take off those bloody glasses,” Hugh instructed, giving first Ellie then his mother a furious look.

  “She can’t,” Claire sputtered. “It’s for health reasons.”

  Hugh rolled his eyes. Stepping behind Ellie, he put his arms around her, and placed his hands over hers as she gripped the bow and arrow. She felt the warmth of his body, his breath against her neck. Her body tingled with excitement, and she relaxed a bit.

  “Are you toying with me?
” he whispered.

  All the tension returned a hundred fold. “Do you mean flirting?”

  “That is precisely what I mean.”

  “Could I mistake you for a man enjoying himself right now?”

  “Probably not.”

  “No one shoots like I am by choice.”

  “Humph,” Hugh said.

  “Good boy,” his mother trilled. “You’ll see, Miss Ellie, what a wonderful teacher he is.”

  In response, Hugh brutally gripped her hand, pulled back on the bow, and let the arrow fly. It hit the target square in the center.

  “Got it?” he asked, stepping away. He planted a cold eye first on his mother, then on Ellie.

  Where does the sweet Hugh hide while this monster prowls? Ellie wondered. All eyes focused on her. The thought of furthering her humiliation turned her muscles to wood. “Shouldn’t the men have a turn now?”

  “That’s all right, dear,” Lady Davenport cooed. “You take one more for practice, and then the men can go.”

  What Ellie wanted was to dig a pit, leap in, and pile the dirt on top. Trying to subdue the trembling in her arms, she drew back the bow, tucked it next to her cheek, squinted through her right eye, and let go. Pain seared through her arm. The arrow cleared the target, zigged to the left, bounced off a bush, and nearly pierced Sport. The little dog let out a yelp. “Oh, Sport! I’m so sorry,” cried Ellie, as the spaniel raced to Hugh and jumped into his arms for safety.

  “Gad woman, you’re a menace,” Hugh said.

  “The dog is fine,” she replied, anger leaking into humiliation. She examined the inside of her arm. Layers of skin at the elbow had been shaved off by the string.

  “Oh, you poor dear,” Claire said. “Let’s put some herbs on your arm before it gets swollen.”

  “Oh yes,” said Peggity. “Our sister swells a lot. We need to take her inside.”

  “So sorry to break up the contest.” Claire pulled Ellie away from the group.

  Never had Ellie been so grateful to her sisters in her life. The three held hands and ran down the hill for the house, skipping and giggling the further away they got from anything to do with archery.