by Ella Edon
He rode on in the fine warm day, with a few high soft clouds occasionally shadowing the sun. Before long, he started down the other side of the hill and followed another lane towards a great stand of trees – and yes, there they were. The horse raised his head as he caught sight of the fairly large crowd of people in the distance, who were all sitting on scattered colorful blankets and rugs thrown onto the grass of next of the rolling hills.
At the side of the lane, stood a small wagon loaded with extra picnic baskets and supplies, drawn by a tall black carriage horse, beside it, there was a little governess car drawn by a handsome pony. James also noticed an older lady, sitting in a chair near the edge of the gathering, who was watching a pony mare held by a groom, she seemed delighted by the antics of the mare's young foal as it scampered around.
Each of the little groups sitting together on a blanket had a large basket in front of them. Everyone seemed to be very busy devouring the picnic in between, all the talking and laughing.
Immediately, he spied a golden-haired woman, seated on a blanket. She was uncommonly pretty. She looked his way, giving him a haughty, appraising look. He tore his eyes away, looking for his cousin.
James spotted two people standing near the side of the picnic and immediately recognized his tall cousin, Thomas, Earl Worthington. With him, holding his arm and speaking to the guests, was a dark-haired young woman who could only be his wife, the new Lady Worthington.
James decided that he may as well make a grand entrance and sent Vireo into a canter over the grassy hilltop, enjoying the sight of the crowd suddenly falling silent and looking up at the sound of the hoofbeats.
In a moment, James halted his horse and dismounted, handing the reins off to one of the grooms. He walked to stand in front of Lord and Lady Worthington and bowed to the gathering, especially to Thomas and his wife. "Good day, Cousin Thomas.”
"James! So good of you to come,” Thomas said. “We've been looking forward to it. This is my wife, Grace, Lady Worthington."
"I am so pleased to meet you, Your Ladyship," he said, bowing again. Grace seemed to be a bit plain; but even though James had just met her, he could see how devoted she was to his cousin.
"And we are very happy you have come," she answered, with a bright smile. "Of course, you must stay for a few days – "
She broke off as two young women stepped in front of her. They behaved as though they were unaware of the earl and his wife, and then took their time dropping James a grand curtsy. He noted that one of the girls was brown-haired and somewhat plain, a bit like the earl's new wife. The other was the blonde that he had noticed as he rode up.
"Well! A very fine welcome this is, I must say," James told them, bowing in return. "I am James – "
Then he paused, for he found himself staring into the blue-grey eyes of the blonde woman. She was quite slim and fairly tall, with that cool, haughty expression on her face, as before, giving off the attitude of being slightly bored with a simple as a country picnic.
Yet he found himself struck again by her beauty. Her skin was smooth and very fair, with just a little touch of pink to her cheeks. Her features, and even her fingers, were quite fine and slender, and he was reminded of nothing so much as a lovely porcelain doll that his mother had kept from her childhood.
The doll had been fragile, though, and he was never allowed to touch it. This lady, he was sure, was far stronger, despite her delicate appearance. It was as though he could feel her strength – strength of character, strength of will – as he stood in front of her and took hold of her cool, slim fingers.
"James Brookford," he finally managed to say, bowing over her hand. "And – and I am at your service. Would you be so kind as to show me to the refreshments?"
"Of course, sir," said the blonde. “I am Merope Robbins.” She carefully withdrew her fingers and then placed her hand, feather-light on his arm. "Please come and join me and my friends. We have plenty of food left in our baskets." She had a slow and casual way of speaking and seemed to be one of those young women who was never impressed or excited by anything.
"Oh, we would love to have you sit with us, sir!" said the other one, the round-faced little brown-haired girl. He gave her the briefest of glances and saw the shining excitement in her brown eyes as she gazed up at him – the same excitement he had seen on the faces of too many girls, once they realized who he was. He gave her a brief nod and then instantly forgot her as the blonde started to walk him towards the picnic grounds.
James went with her, of course, and then realized that they had both been so taken with the sight of each other that they had neglected to introduce themselves. He looked around for someone who knew them both – someone like his cousin Thomas or his wife – but everyone seemed to have returned to their own companions.
Even the little brown-haired girl sat down at the edge of the blanket with them. Immediately, she faded in importance next to the stunning Miss Robbins.
Once again, he forgot about all of that while in the company of this cool and beautiful young woman, who seemed as fresh and unassuming as the countryside itself.
He helped her to sit down on the large piece of carpet, where her picnic baskets waited, and then sat down himself just across from her. Right away, she began searching through the baskets, taking out a wooden plate, a silver fork and knife, and a large linen napkin, and setting them down in front of James.
With a sly glance, she smiled and began to speak. "I suppose you find this all rather staid, Mr. Brookford.”
“Not at all, Miss Robbins,” he replied. “I grew tired of London, and am quite enjoying the country air.”
With a little smile, seemingly ignoring him, she withdrew her hand and looked into the other basket. In a moment, she began filling his wooden plate with food from the glass containers.
"There are apricot cakes for dessert," she said, handing him the plate at last.
"Thank you," he said, accepting the heavily loaded plate. "It looks wonderful. I rode for well over an hour – nearly two – to get here this morning with very little to eat before I left." He couldn’t have cared less about the food, for once in his life. She interested him far more.
"At least the weather has been good. I am glad we have such a fine day for our picnic."
"Indeed." He wanted to ask her about more than just the weather. He had not felt this way since Angela, a fact which was both thrilling and terrifying in equal measures.
"So, Miss Robbins," he said. "Are you from Birdwell?" He took a polite bite of chicken and parsley potatoes.
"I am. I was born and raised there. My parents were the town founders, Ezra and Agnes Robbins."
"Ah, I see. Yes, I have heard of them, of course. And I believe that your mother still manages the very fine Robbins Inn, does she not? The largest establishment in Birdwell?"
"And the finest, if I may say so. Indeed, my mother does run the inn, and sometimes I help her. My father died many years ago and she has continued to run it ever since." She raised her chin, smiling with pride.
"Of course. I suppose, then, that a brother must have inherited the inn upon your father's passing – "
"Oh, no, no, Mr. Brookford," she said, quite innocently. "I have no brother."
"I see," James answered, although he really did not. It seemed an unusual arrangement, but he supposed anything was possible. Perhaps a distant male relation owned the inn and allowed the two women to run it. All he'd have to do was take his share of the profit along the way without doing any other work.
He accepted another serving of cold chicken from her. He glanced over at Miss Robbins. The other young woman cleared her throat as if to speak. He glanced over at her, she smiled.
“I’m Sally Henson,” she said.
“Charmed,” he replied.
“My parents own the chicken farm, just outside of Birdwell,” Sally said.
“How lovely,” he replied politely. There was a long pause after that. James glanced over at Miss Robbins. She smiled at him, s
lowly, like a cat.
"Mair-oh-pea," he said, pronouncing the word very carefully. "I could not help but notice that your name is somewhat unusual, though very beautiful. Do you like it?"
"I do," she said, carefully rearranging all of the jars and containers down in the picnic baskets. "It was the name of one of the Pleiades, the seven sisters who appear in the faint constellation of the same name. Merope was the only one of them who married a mortal man."
"Indeed." James already knew that, but it was a pleasure to hear her speak. "It is unusual, as I said, but it is also familiar to me."
"Familiar?" She raised one eyebrow as she flicked her eyes towards him for an instant. "Oh. I suppose you mean you know another lady by the same name."
"No, I mean I believe I knew you."
She paused, and looked at him this time. "You and I have met? I am sorry, sir, but I do not recall."
He laughed, quickly touching his napkin to his mouth. "It would have been some six to seven years ago, before I left for university. You would only have been about twelve or thirteen, while I would have been a mere stripling lad of barely twenty. So, it is not likely our paths would have crossed, but I do seem to recall you from something . . . perhaps, some town fair, or a Christmas celebration at your inn, or even a wedding held at the little church."
She looked a bit surprised but seemed to be thinking hard as she finally looked more closely at him. "You may be right. If you lived at Albany, and came into Birdwell with your family from time to time, we may well have been at the same event without realizing it. I have lived there all my life and have rarely ever left."
James smiled at her. "I am glad to find you here now. And if we did meet before, I can only say it is a great pleasure to renew our acquaintance, Miss Robbins.”
"So, Mr. Brookford," she went on, "your family home is that lovely little estate called Albany, where they grow and grind all of that good wheat? And you have your law degree from Cambridge, and enjoy living in London?"
James paused for a moment, and then nodded. "You are quite correct, Miss Robbins. It is true that I am pleased to be here now, but – most of the time – I do enjoy the life to be found in the city."
Again, the cool smile, as she handed him yet another plate. "Would you care for a slice of apricot cake, Mr. Brookford?”
Sally Henson was sitting on the edge of the blanket. She had a plate in her lap, and she was pushing the end of her food around with a fork. Merope giggled in response to something that Mr. Brookford said.
Sally was still broken-hearted over the loss of Daniel Bird. The one man that Sally had thought was hers. After all, their parents had wanted them to marry, since they were both children. Merope Robbins had ruined everything. Merope laughed again at something that Mr. Brookford said. From their matching smiles, it was clear that they were both being flirtatious.
Anger flashed through Sally. How could Merope be flirting so openly with Mr. Brookford? Especially after she had mercilessly stolen Daniel Bird from Sally, no less than a month prior!
Sally looked between the two. Merope, pale and golden. Mr. James Brookford, brunet, handsome. They would make quite the striking pair. Why shouldn’t I be fine enough for Mr. Brookford? she wondered. Why should Merope have him?
If Daniel Bird no longer wanted her, then Mr. Brookford would be her object. Sally would do just as Merope had done, and then win him for her very own.
She began to make plans of her own, while Merope and Mr. Brookford chatted. She would beat Merope at her own game. After all, it was no less than cold-hearted Merope Robbins deserved.
Chapter Four
Merope was enjoying her conversation with Mr. Brookford. They sat on the blanket, while Sally sat nearby. At first glance, Mr. Brookford was everything that Merope was looking for in a man. Handsome, erudite, and in love with the city. Not to mention, he had very dark hair and very light hazel eyes. His form was slim, but strong, with fine broad shoulders
If only he proved to be honest, as well.
“How long will you be in Birdwell, Mr. Brookford?” she asked him.
He smiled at her, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. “Awhile, I think, Miss Robbins.”
Merope kept herself composed. It would not do to get too excited. Luckily, Sally cut in.
“Then we will see you often, Mr. Brookford,” she said.
“Indeed, you shall. I plan to stay through the hunting season, at the very least before I return to Albany.”
“Feel free to stop by the inn anytime,” Merope murmured. “My mother is renowned locally for her coffee.”
“I shall take you up on that, Miss Robbins.”
Merope grinned. Sally wouldn’t be able to make an offer of the kind. As much as she enjoyed Sally’s friendship, she could feel her trying to get Mr. Brookford’s attention off of Merope.
Mr. Brookford glanced around, his face falling. “Is the party breaking up already?”
“Indeed, Mr. Brookford,” Merope shot back. “For we have all been here for several hours already.”
“You were very late, Mr. Brookford,” Sally added.
Mr. Brookford helped both young women to their feet. Merope looked into his eyes.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, sir.” She curtsied.
“The pleasure was all mine.” He took her hand in his, bowing over it. His eyes looked into hers. Merope smiled, turning away. She walked slowly, following the others as they all walked back towards Worthington.
Some left on foot, for it was only about a mile to the town of Birdwell and even less to many of the cottages and small farms that surrounded it.
Others who had farther to go left on horseback or rode in small wagons or pony carts. Merope stood near the expansive portico of Worthington House, waiting for Sally Henson, for they had walked there together, and they should be leaving soon in order to get back to the inn before dark.
Finally, there she was, walking across the gravel-covered drive in front of the house. Sally glanced towards the portico but did not seem to notice her friend Merope who was waiting for her.
"Sally," called Merope, stepping down from the portico. "Are you planning to walk all the way back alone?"
"Oh," said Sally, stopping at last and pretending she had not seen Merope until just that moment. "Are you sure you want my company? You did not seem aware of me at all this afternoon!"
Merope just gave her a lazy smile. "What else is a gathering for, if not to meet, and be distracted by, a handsome man? Surely, you are not jealous."
By the frown on Sally's face, it was clear that she was feeling very jealous. "He barely even looked at me. All he saw was you. I never had a chance! I had to spend the whole afternoon sitting beside you two!"
Merope kept her mouth closed. There was nothing that she could say that wouldn’t sound like she was gloating.
Sally glanced towards the lane leading back to the main road, and sighed. "I suppose we should be leaving. Your mother will be waiting."
"We should. I am just waiting to make farewells to Lord and Lady Worthington, and then we can go."
Booted footsteps sounded on the gravel drive, and Merope looked up to see the earl, his wife, and James Brookford, walking towards them.
He had been very polite, but it was clear that he had been drawn to her from the start. It had not been lost on Merope that he had dismissed Sally Henson with barely a word – practically cut her dead.
Merope had found it all quite amusing, for Sally had seemed certain that she would be introduced to the earl's cousin and was very much looking forward to spending time with him.
And he had barely even noticed she was there.
As James walked towards them, Merope looked him over again – without letting him know it, of course. She almost wished she could teach Sally a thing or two about that, but then thought better of it. The less competition there was for the best man, the better.
She dismissed Sally from her thoughts as Mr. Brookford approached. He was nearly as tall as Ea
rl Worthington, she noted. Though both were handsome in different ways.
All in all, she found that he cut a very fine figure and seemed to have a kind and even fun-loving personality. This may well be worth pursuing, for he had already shown interest in her. As long as she did not have to contend with Sally for his attentions, all would be well – for Sally did not always play fair when it came to men.
She and Sally curtsied to the earl, his wife, and Mr. Brookford as they stopped. Again, Merope was pleased to note that Mr. Brookford seemed to notice only her, and paid absolutely no attention to the increasingly frustrated Sally Henson.
