The Apple Blossom Bower (Historical Romance Novella)

by Margaret Evans Porter

  “What lady?” the squire inquired.

  “Mr. Corston’s sister. Sir Edwin means to offer for her.”

  “He most certainly does not.”

  His conviction was unmistakable, but her doubts were not so easily vanquished. “I’d like to believe you, but—”

  “I’ve heard the truth of the matter from Sir Edwin’s lips. Indeed there is a lady he wants to wed, but her name is not Corston.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap to conceal the fact that they were shaking. “Oh, sir, you’ve misunderstood him. How could he marry Jem Kelland’s daughter?”

  The squire climbed to his feet. “My dear, your mother is an excellent woman, but you mustn’t be swayed by her false notions about Sir Edwin. He’s no more deterred by your father’s sad history than I was when I married your mother. He cares even less about your relationship to me, and my position in the neighborhood. I’ve no cause to question his honor, no more have you. There, that brings the smile back to your face,” he observed with pleasure. “Would that your suitor could see you now! He’s a splendid fellow, Annis, and very nearly worthy of you.”

  Mixed with joy was shame at her longtime prejudice against her guardian. Not only had he demonstrated an interest in her welfare and provided solace, he was a more objective advisor than her overly judgmental mother.

  Rising, she said, “I hardly deserve that commendation, sir. I’ve not been a true daughter to you. For that I am sorry.”

  He cupped her cheek. “All these years I tried so hard to win your affection that I must have chased it away. What’s past is past. Be assured that you can come to me for advice at any time. Your comfort and happiness are important to me.”

  Even in a state of delirious excitement, Annis didn’t forget to wash her face with the elderflower water before going to bed that night. If Sir Edwin had informed her stepfather that he had marriage in mind, something she still had difficulty accepting, it was imperative that she rid herself of her freckles. In order to derive the greatest benefit from the concoction she bathed her cheeks a second time.

  * * *

  ~ Chapter 4 ~

  “These hangings are entirely too dark for this room,” Edwin pronounced while fingering a sun-faded damask curtain. “I should’ve replaced them when I took up residence here.”

  His housekeeper hunched her shoulders diffidently and lisped through the great gap in her front teeth, “S’all I take ’em down, then? Not sure I’ve got strength enough for it—my back plagues me powerful bad today.”

  “Never mind, it can wait until after I’m—” Reconsidering, Edwin chose not to inform her of his marital aspirations. “It needn’t been done immediately.”

  He turned away from the window to study the room with newly critical eyes. It was gloomily masculine in its appointments and excessively cluttered, the antithesis of the cheerful simplicity of the parlor at Orchard Place. His ancestors’ ancient fowling pieces, however decorative, rightfully belonged in the gun room. And he’d never miss the framed painting of a battle scene between opposing armies. Would Annis like that stuffed pheasant in the glass case? Edwin wasn’t at all sure he cared for it. And he definitely intended to remove the rack of antlers hanging on the wall, adorned with cobwebs spun by generations of spiders. The trophies, so dear to his great-grandfather, had no meaning for him and would have still less for his future bride.

  “Send for some village girls to come in,” he told his elderly retainer. “Get as many of them as you need for a very thorough cleaning of the house, from garret to cellar.”

  “Aye, sir.” The housekeeper merely bobbed her head, for her arthritic legs prevented her from curtsying, something she hadn’t been able to do since long before Edwin had taken possession of his inheritance.

  A few minutes after her departure Garth Corston entered the parlor, a strip of linen wrapped around his head. This was his first day out of bed, and he stated forthrightly that he meant to make the most of it.

  “You said we could ride to Dartmoor,” he reminded Edwin.

  “I know, but I can’t go there today. I’ve so much to accomplish in too short a time—that is, I’ve given the servants several things to do and I feel I ought to be here to supervise. What’s your opinion of this?” Edwin picked up a bust of a laurel-wreathed gentleman who was missing most of his nose.

  “Isn’t he someone famous? Caesar, or some other blasted Roman? There was a chap just like him in the pater’s study. He fetched quite a good price at the sale.”

  “What sale?”

  Garth chewed his lower lip, his face unnaturally flushed. “Before we left the London house, my parents sold off a few articles they didn’t’ wish to move. Pictures, furniture, that sort of thing.”

  “I should do the same,” Edwin commented dryly. “Not that I think anyone would buy a moth-eaten pheasant behind glass. Or a threadbare rug,” he added, frowning down at the one beneath his boots.

  “Oh, you’d be surprised,” said his friend airily. “But why d’you want to be rid of them?”

  “The house wants refurbishing,” was the extent of Edwin’s explanation.

  Garth narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “It ain’t on my account you’re banishing the pheasant. I’ll be bound this has something to do with a female.”

  Finding himself backed into a corner, Edwin did not quite deny the truth of it. “Nothing’s certain—I’ve not yet informed the lady of my intentions.”

  “You’re taking a wife?”

  “If Miss Kelland will have me.”

  “That wench who came here t’other day, the smuggler’s daughter?” Garth was patently horrified. “Good God, man, where are your wits? You act as though you’re the one who took a blow to the head!”

  “Shouldn’t a betrothal announcement prompt hearty felicitations?” Edwin struggled to keep his temper in check.

  His visitor strode about the room, jaw tightly clenched. “Lizzie will be most distressed—my parents, too,” Garth muttered. “To make a fool of yourself over a girl like that…incomprehensible! Bed her if you must—I’d do the same—but don’t ruin your life by marrying the slut.”

  Edwin’s hand curled itself into a fist. “I’ll not listen to such slander, Garth. Apologize—now.”

  “For what? I called her what she is, it’s been clear enough to me since that night at the inn. I saw how she looked at you, eyes all soft and her lashes fluttering.”

  “I’m still awaiting your apology.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, never doubt it. Sorry that you’re so numb-brained you’ve been taken in by a schemer like that one. Why, I’ll wager she’s lain with half the lads in this part of the shire.”

  “That’s quite enough,” Edwin barked. “I don’t care to come to blows with a guest in my house, but if you don’t guard your tongue...” He left his threat hanging ominously between them.

  “I seem to have worn out my welcome at Harbourne Court. I suppose I could go.”

  Edwin wasted no time in seizing upon this half-hearted suggestion. “Yes, that would probably be for the best,” he said sternly.

  “But—” Garth stared back at him in dismay, but evidently he understood that there was nothing more to be said and stalked out of the room.

  This midday sun cast its warming rays across the barton at Orchard Place. Annis, crossing the farmyard with a pail of milk, paused to lift her face to the sky, careless of any damage to her complexion. From the bird’s nest tucked into a corner of an outbuilding she heard the cries of hatchlings. Bees darted from flower-laden trees to the row of skeps behind the apple house. The orchard was in full bloom, and a sight to behold, for each tree was surrounded by a nimbus of palest pink. She hoped Edwin would come today, that he might see the glorious vista of blossoms.

  Hearing hoofbeats and wheels in the yard, she peeked hopefully around the corner of the building where the apple carts were emptied at harvest time. Sir Edwin’s leggy gray horse was pulling a gig—Mr. Corston held the reins, a white bandage visible beneat
h his cocked hat.

  “Miss Kelland,” he greeted her, climbing down from the vehicle. “The very person I’m seeking.”

  Mistrusting his broad smile, Annis squared her shoulders. “You are not welcome here.”

  “Even though I come from Harbourne Court, bringing fresh news of its master?”

  Unwilling to be observed in his company, she reluctantly led him to the rear of the cider house.

  “I’m here on an errand of mercy,” he began. “Despite his prior courtship of my sister, Eddie cannot be dissuaded from his infatuation with you. If you cherish dreams of becoming Lady Page, I can bring it about.” Moving closer, he added, “But for my efforts I require a reward.”

  “Even if I had anything to give you, Mr. Corston, I wouldn’t.”

  His low chuckle was far from pleasant. “What a little liar you are, Annis Kelland. You might as well tell me where you keep your gold. Better still, show me. I need money. We both know his fortune far exceeds whatever paltry sum your father left you. Stop being such a stubborn little fool, denying what I know to be fact.”

  “You are the foolish one,” Annis retorted, her eyes glistening with anger. “What you suggest is as despicable as it is impossible. Be gone, sir—I’ve no time to waste upon you.”

  His hand shot out and gripped her arm. “Not so fast. You think you can win Sir Edwin Page without my help, do you? If I told him I’d had you first—you know what I mean—I can spoil your feeble chance of marriage. He’ll believe me over any protests of yours.”

  She twisted about, desperate to break free of his cruel grasp. “Release me, else I’ll scream!”

  “And when your parents come rushing to save you, I’ll tell them about the many times we’ve lain together. Once at the inn in Dartmouth, and also the day you visited Harbourne Court. And again just now, in the shade of the apple trees.”

  Her breath came in short, erratic bursts. “You wouldn’t dare! My stepfather will throttle you!”

  Pulling her closer, he contradicted her by saying, “At worst he’d demand that I marry you, and I’d have to flee the shire. But not before spreading the sordid tale of our liaison.”

  Feeling his hot breath on her cheek, Annis wrenched away. Fortunately a weapon was a hand, the long wooden pole leaning against the wall of the cider house. It could be useful for more than knocking ripe apples out of the trees.

  Seizing it, she pointed it at him. “Keep your distance.”

  Apparently unconcerned, he lunged at her.

  Annis swung the makeshift weapon, first delivering a hard blow to his upper arm, then employing it as a prod. She drove him around the side of the building and into the stable yard, ceasing her attack after he backed into a mounting block and lost his footing.

  “Arrogant bitch,” he grunted, scrambling toward the gig. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll make sure Eddie marries Lizzie after all.”

  Hastily he gathered up the reins and hastened to escape from Orchard Place.

  Shocked and shaken by her own violent actions, Annis dropped the pole.

  Instinctively seeking a familiar refuge, she picked up her skirts and ran through the orchard, weaving between the blossoming trees. No chance of solitude for mediation—her stepfather stood at the base of her special tree, glaring up at a flame-breasted robin perched on a branch.

  “This cheeky fellow seems to think he owns our Dundridge’s Glory,” the squire greeted her.

  “Chase him away,” Annis begged. “They’re such unlucky birds.”

  “Come now, you’re too sharp to believe your mother’s superstitions,” he chided.

  Summoning a hollow laugh, she acknowledged that her luck couldn’t possibly get any worse.

  “Now that’s a puzzler. At breakfast you were all smiles and sighs.”

  She gave him a pithy account of her encounter with Garth Corston.

  “After he has blackened my reputation, Sir Edwin will be done with me,” she concluded miserably. “And once I’ve lost his esteem, I’ll never be able to recover it.”

  Breaking off a thoughtful silence, the squire said, “If this young villain is intent on making trouble, you’d better take refuge with that cousin of mine in Totnes. Now hear me out, Annis, before you refuse. Besides getting you out of Corston’s way, a visit to Myra will do you a world of good. She knows everything about choosing servants, entertaining guests, mixing with the gentry—skills you need when you’re the mistress of a great house.”

  “If I run away I can’t defend myself against Mr. Corston’s falsehoods.”

  “Never fear, I’ll make sure Sir Edwin knows where you’ve gone—and why. Harbourne Court is nearer Totnes than Orchard Place. I don’t doubt he’ll be calling upon you there.”

  Upon consideration, she found no reason to oppose his suggestion. “I will go.”

  “By the time you see your baronet again, he’ll know his friend’s untrustworthiness—I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Oh, I do wish he had come instead of Mr. Corston! You’ve raised my hopes so high—and in a way, that scoundrel did as well. But Sir Edwin hasn’t offered for me.”

  “Not yet,” his said sympathetically. “I predict that within a very short time your future will be settled to your satisfaction. I’m off to explain to your mother that you’ll be off to Totnes by evening. I’m off to the cellar for a cask of my apple brandy to send.”

  After he left her Annis remembered the pail of milk she’d abandoned outside the dairy. When she went back to fetch it, she discovered that the kitchen cats had tipped it over onto its side and were lapping up the last drops of milk, most of which had seeped into the earth. That robin, she thought glumly, had definitely been a harbinger of ill-fortune.

  Late in the day, as thick, dark clouds obscured the lowering sun, Annis departed for Totnes. The box-like trunk containing her finest garments was strapped to the pony’s back, along with a small round keg, Squire Dundridge’s gift to his cousin. Pippin’s pace was typically slow, and Annis doubted she’d reach the town before the rain began to fall.

  Passing Sir Edwin’s gates, she looked toward the distant manor house, just visible through a screen of trees. Should she stop—did she dare?

  It was an opportunity, she decided, to refute Garth Corston’s vicious lies before they took root. Guiding Pippin between the ivy-hung pedestals marking the entrance, she swatted his rump with her willow switch, wishing he’d lift his heavy feet more quickly.

  The stable boy Bart took charge of the pony. He bobbed his curly head in affirmation when she asked if his master was at home. “Aye, and proper busy he is.”

  Annis reconsidered her plan—but when Sir Edwin heard she’d stopped there, he would wonder why she went away without seeing him.

  She crossed the lawn, dotted with gay yellow celandines and white ox-eye daisies. The front door flew open at her approach, startling her.

  The man she loved beyond reason invited her to enter his house.

  “I saw you from the parlor window,” he said, stepping aside to permit her entrance. “This is an unexpected and most welcome surprise.”

  “I’m on my way to Totnes,” she blurted.

  He led her into the parlor, in a pitiable state of disarray. She had interrupted his dinner—atop a gate-leg table was an array of serving dishes and cutlery.

  “Pray excuse the untidiness. The business of imposing order can be a messy one, I’ve discovered. So many objects, and many of them unnecessary. There is, however, one thing the place sorely lacks. A mistress.” Reaching for her hand, he drew her to the window. Pointing at a stand of flowering trees, their branches whipped by the wind, he asked, “What do you think of my orchard? It’s not as large or as fine as yours, but it does produce excellent fruit—or will if we can keep the bullfinches from eating all the blossoms. The squire says most of my trees are an old Devonshire variety, the Red Quarrenden.”

  “A good sort for cooking and eating,” she said, nodding approval. “Though the land is partly responsible for the qual
ity—the finer the soil, the sweeter the apples.” She was silenced by raindrops slamming against the windowpanes.

  “You cannot ride to Totnes in a storm,” Edwin pointed out. “Stay and share my dinner. Mr. Corston left me this morning, I loaned him my gig for his journey. He won’t return.”

  For Annis, fortunate development. Her enemy hadn’t returned to Harbourne Court after his visit to Orchard Placing—meaning he hadn’t spouted his lies about her to Edwin.

  “I don’t know about you,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear, “but I hope this storm doesn’t subside too soon. For I’ve something to say to you, Annis Kelland. And to ask.”

  Turning from the window, she met his gaze. Her heart skipped erratically.

  “This house and the orchard, and all my other worldly goods can be yours—including that stuffed pheasant in the case, which I’ve not yet consigned to the attic. If you want them, you must take me as well. Would that be too severe a hardship?”

  She smiled back at him. “To be sure, you’re the best of the lot.”

  “Flatterer,” he accused. “It’s the pheasant that you’re after, admit it”

  Annis placed one hand upon his chest, confiding, “I wanted to be your wife long before I knew about your silly pheasant.”

  “Ah, Annis,” he breathed, his mouth hovering near hers, “you do me great honor.”

  * * *

  ~ Chapter 5 ~

  Deep breathing roused Annis from slumber. When the feather mattress suddenly shifted beneath the heavier weight of another body she was startled into full consciousness. Discovering that she lay naked in a bed beside Sir Edwin Page, she recalled how they had come to be there, and everything that they had said—and done.

  Unaware of her scrutiny, her lover slept on. He was no less handsome when his chestnut hair was madly tousled and his strong jaw was shadowed with dark whiskers.

  Her pledge to marry him had earned her many tender kisses and avowals of devotion. The storm hadn’t abated, nor had Edwin been at all eager to send her off to Totnes in his carriage.