P.S. I Love You

by Jo Noelle

  When May settled at the end, James and Lord Bellion ran the course.

  Cora watched the men swing to the right and the horses jump first a pole fence, then a pile of logs before the trail turned back on itself. The obstacles along that stretch were a hedge and a hill with a stack of logs on the downhill side. The final leg of the course required the horses to jump a fence, land in water, and then jump back out over a pole. The end of the race was marked with a narrow gate that would only allow one horse through—Satan and James were the winners.

  May made eye contact with Cora as she held her horse side by side with Mr. Echols. With a wave, May signaled the start of the race.

  Cricket and Homer jumped anxiously into the race, neck and neck through the fence and log jumps. As they rounded the corner, Mr. Echols took a slight lead heading toward the hedge. He kept that lead as they ran toward the final obstacle, and by the time his horse descended toward the water, Mr. Echols was far out of position, leaning forward instead of back for his horse’s landing.

  Cora concentrated on her own position, leaning well back on her seat. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Echols tumble over the front of his horse into the creek as her horse leaped out of the water on the other side, then went on to finish the course.

  On the way back to the house, May rode beside Lord Bellion. James and Cora chatted happily. Mr. Echols was completely silent. Cora wished she’d thought of this earlier. During the ride home, she admitted that she wasn't playing the bachelorette game very well, considering she was finding reasons to disqualify each potential suitor. Again, none of them compared to Simon. He was the spoiler—the Mr. Darcy to make everyone else pale into a Mr. Collins.

  When they returned, Lady Cottrell paused while walking past the stables with several gardeners following in her wake carrying baskets of vegetables. “How was your ride?” she asked.

  Cora looked toward Mr. Echols, then back to Lady Cottrell and said with a wink, “Bruising.”

  Cora changed into a deep green dress with small colorful flowers lining the neck and hem. She also picked up the bonnet with the bright orange bow Simon had teased her about.

  May likewise changed and met Cora in the hall then walked with her to the parlor. When they entered, Lady Cottrell rose. “We’re all here. If you’ll follow me to the dining room, we’ll get started.” More than a dozen young women chatted excitedly at they walked together.

  Silk flowers, bright ribbons, and small crafted birds and animals littered the dining table. Spaced along the edges sat fifteen baskets. Each basket was identical.

  “Today's box lunch will be an auction. The gentlemen will pay for having the favor of eating with you ladies. The meals will be the same, but you will decorate a basket,” Lady Cottrell announced. “They will be presented by the servants. None of the men will know which basket belongs to which lady, but by purchasing the basket, they arrange to have lunch with you.”

  A few of the girls giggled with excitement. Clearly they were enjoying the mystery of this as much as they hoped the men would. More than once, Cora heard the names “Hertfordshire” or “Albans” whispered. Apparently, she wasn't the only one who wished for Simon’s company that day. It was possible that another man could win her basket. She had a hard time imagining which of the gentlemen she would rather sit with for the picnic. None.

  May got right to work. She walked along the table choosing anything that was pink—pink lace, pink bows, pink flowers, and even a pink ostrich feather. She gathered her arms full, taking all the pink with her, before returning to a basket at the end of the table. She methodically began choosing arrangements, holding this grouping or that grouping up for scrutiny. When she was satisfied, she tied them onto her basket.

  Cora realized that Mary's dress was completely pink as well. She was certain the color was meant to signal Lord Saalfeld to purchase May’s basket. It was a brilliant idea.

  How could she signal Simon? She looked down at her dress—too many colors. That wouldn’t work. Then she recalled his fascination with her little purse at Nellie’s picnic. Cora left the dining hall and bounded up the staircase to her room. Searching through her trunks, she found the little yellow silk purse and hurried back downstairs.

  Cora chose one flower of each color from her dress and tucked the stems inside the little purse. Its strings were wound around the top of the handle of the basket. It hung down like a dainty potted plant. She pulled the orange ribbon from her bonnet and tied it on top of the handle in a large bow with the tails hanging down to each side.

  When all the baskets were completed, Cora was impressed with the talents the women displayed in the floral arrangements. The servants came in and picked up the baskets, carrying them outside, the ladies following behind. At Cora’s side, May was wearing the pink ostrich feather in her hat.

  The baskets were arranged on a long table, and Lord Cottrell stood before them to explain the auction. “Thank you, ladies. The baskets are lovely.” He nodded with acknowledgement to the women. Toward the men seated a few feet away, he said, “The highest bidder among you will win the corresponding lady’s company for lunch. When a basket is purchased, the lady belonging to that basket will stand and take the basket to the gentleman. Then they will find a blanket where they will enjoy their meal al fresco.” He waved his hand toward the blankets arranged in the shadows at the edge of the woods.

  Lady Cottrell added, “I’m sorry to say that there are more gentlemen than ladies this afternoon, so bid to win. Remember, this charity event will provide children with warm coats, blankets, and shoes for the coming winter. With all my heart, I say that your generosity is greatly appreciated.”

  Lord Cottrell placed his hand on the small of his wife’s back and was rewarded with a loving smile. The warmth of their relationship was clear to Cora. She could see why the woman chose to stay. She chose him, and he happened to live in the nineteenth century.

  The Cottrells’ butler ceremoniously held up the first basket. Cora was impressed that none of the women gave away the ownership. The bidding started at two pounds and sold for fifteen. As if that set the going price, each basket sold for between ten and twenty pounds, but the men made a sport of it, bidding such and such pounds and so many shillings.

  May leaned toward Cora. “That amount of money probably doesn’t mean much to you, but it’s roughly the cost of the yearly salary for a maid.” Cora gave her a surprised look, and May replied, “They are being extremely generous. Mother will be thrilled.”

  Several baskets were dispersed. Cora was glad to see that Mr. Echols and Lord Bellion won bids on lunches early.

  Next, the butler held the very pink basket aloft. Lord Cottrell looked at his wife, who hid a smile behind her hand. They knew their daughter well. “Where shall we start the bidding this time?” he asked her, teasing their daughter and the audience. She whispered something in his ear, and he smiled broadly. “Excellent idea. The bidding will start at twenty pounds, which I bid myself. I think I should quite enjoy this little meal.”

  The crowd laughed, but May’s countenance was quizzical.

  “Are there any other bids?” Without waiting for a response, he said, “If not, I should like to—”

  “Fifty pounds.”

  Cora saw May gasp. All eyes turned toward Lord Saalfeld, who had been sitting beside Everett and Simon but now was standing, boldly eyeing Lord Cottrell.

  Before Lord Cottrell could give another bid, Lady Cottrell shouted, “Sold to Lord Saalfeld. The children thank you.”

  After a moment of stunned silence, Lord Cottrell said, “Yes, well, that’s the spirit,” though Cora thought his sentiment was more like “Well, should I suspect your motives?”

  May jumped up without looking toward her parents and retrieved the basket, then the couple retired to a blanket to watch the rest of the bidding.

  There were only three baskets left. The butler stepped over and raised Cora’s basket as Lord Cottrell shouted, “Who’ll start us off?”

 
“Twenty pounds.” That was the first bid Wetheridge had made on any basket yet. Did he know it was hers?

  “Fifty pounds.” All eyes swung toward Simon at the other end of the men’s group. He obviously didn’t expect to be challenged on his bid and gazed expectantly toward Lord Cottrell to grant him the purchase.

  “Fifty-five pounds.” Wetheridge turned to face Simon.

  Seemingly without thought, though Cora saw Everett tap Simon’s boot with his own, Simon bid. “Sixty pounds.”

  Wetheridge paused. His jaw was set, and he clenched it twice before speaking again. “Sixty-five pounds.”

  The watching audience was completely silent. Cora sneaked a look at May. While many people’s faces had the look of watching a carriage accident, May had a broad smile, and she was nearly strangling Lord Saalfeld’s arm with excitement.

  Simon stared straight ahead, calling out, “Seventy pounds.” Cora made eye contact with him. Just one side of his lips tipped up in a smile, but she quickly glanced away not to give away her own elation.

  Wetheridge had considered each time he’d countered Simon. He paused, and the whole group waited to see if he would raise the bid or wave off the auction. “Seventy-five pounds.” His voice was not as strong as it had been just moments ago.

  This time Simon stood, making direct eye contact with Lord Wetheridge before calling out, “One hundred pounds.” He looked expectantly at the man. There was no doubt to Cora, or possibly anyone watching the scene, that Simon planned to win the lunch at any cost, and that price would be above what Wetheridge could afford. Maybe it already was.

  Some anger shown in Wetheridge’s eyes, or maybe it was disdain. He called out, “I concede to His Grace. May you enjoy the spoils with lovely company.” To the rest of the group, he said, “It must be nice to be a duke.”

  Cora picked up the basket and made her way to Simon, who stood with the kind of smile she’d witnessed on Lord Cottrell when he looked at his wife. Immediately, Simon took the basket from her hands, offered his elbow to her, and escorted her to the blanket with Saalfeld and May.

  As they approached, Cora could feel the stupid smile she must have on her face but couldn’t remove it. May jumped up and hugged her. Saalfeld just raise a quizzical eyebrow toward Simon.

  Without being asked, Simon justified the purchase by saying, “It was rumored that the plates in this basket were gold.”

  “That must be American gold.” Saalfeld laughed and added, “Or perhaps it was rumored that it belonged to a certain American with golden hair.”

  Everett purchased Lucy’s basket. Twice he bid against himself to raise the price to the delight of both Lucy and the gathered crowd. He and Lucy joined Saalfeld and Simon on their blanket.

  At the end of the auction, Lady Cottrell stood before the group. “Thank you for your generous donations to the children's school. If you were not lucky enough to purchase a basket, the earl and I invite you to dine with us. If you would like to make a small donation, please speak to Lord Cottrell before you leave this evening.”

  After her speech, Lady Cottrell approached Wetheridge. “It’s so good to see you, Charles. How is your mother?” She led him to a blanket with a large basket and several other guests. Lord Cottrell did the same with other guests.

  The men seemed starved, digging into the baskets and laying out the goodies they found within. Simon peeked inside a linen napkin and showed Cora the fruit turnovers. He set each new item out within arm’s reach. A miniature banquet littered the blanket—a variety of cold meats and cheeses, grapes, biscuits, and a tub of stewed berries. From the bottom of the basket, he retrieved plates and silverware, and then began serving the plates.

  Cora could feel her heart bobbing against her ribs. It didn't just feel good only because he purchased the basket for a large amount, but because it was worth it to him to sit with her for a luncheon. And she knew she was returning that regard.

  For the sake of sparing them both when she left, she hoped she mistook his glance. She hoped she was reading more into it than he was feeling. But a little voice whispered behind those thoughts, saying she hoped he was falling for her the way she was falling for him. With that, she stopped herself. I won't let it go any further—just friends.

  Cora thought she saw more than appreciation in his eyes as they sat next to each other enjoying lunch. It was heady to realize that such an amazing person wanted her company. A small bit of doubt and guilt quickly sank into her chest. Would she break his heart if she left? When she left? With this game of bachelorette, was she playing with Simon’s feelings?

  After they had eaten, they were invited to enjoy the garden or to wander the path through the forest, or the woods, as they called them. Couples joined together to take a walk around the estate. Cora accepted Simon’s extended arm without even a thought until she reflected on how natural it had been to take it, one hand on his bicep and the other on his forearm. His face smiled down at her. The warmth in his eyes made her heart flip-flop. She had no words for the desire she felt. He cleared his throat and inclined his head for them to follow Saalfeld and Everett on the path at the woods’ edge.

  Although they began walking, Cora still felt a strong connection to Simon, hyper-aware of his nearness, trying to distract her mind from him. “I see those small flowers everywhere.” She noted clumps of small bluish flowers, so much like daisies except having petals that were lacy at their blunt ends.

  “Chicory. It’s the official flower of my home county.” Simon picked several and paused, watching her face as he tucked them into her hair.

  “Thank you. I believe this is my favorite flower now.” She pulled his arm closer to her as she held it.

  After they had made several turns Cora noticed that May and Lord Saalfeld were no longer with the group. There was more to that relationship—she was sure of it now.

  Chapter 9

  Simon

  “Right sporting of you to allow other men to court your wife.” Everett’s words felt like blows, but Simon noticed his friend busily engaged in cleaning his gun for that morning’s shoot.

  “I don’t have a wife.” Simon’s response sounded surly even to himself. Cora’s face filled his mind’s eye—waking up with her each morning, her rosy lips, her teasing smile, and her laugh being the music behind it all. Wife. He had to admit there was more than a little charm to thinking of her that way.

  “Seems that Cora is considered a diamond with the bachelors we know.” Everett’s voice held a note of sarcasm in it. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  Everett only seemed to be studiously cleaning and reassembling his rifle. Simon saw it for what it was—bating him. “Wonderful,” Simon agreed without a smile, returning to work on his own gun.

  Everett kept his eyes trained on his work, but Simon looked at the man. “Why bring this up?” What was he playing at? Simon determined to remain indifferent to the conversation. “And why would she not? She’s beautiful and intelligent. She …” Simon held back the thought that she deserved the best life offered—love, loyalty, security. How had this group of men infiltrated her life? Not one of them was worthy of her. “Cora’s being pursued by fools and rakes.” His voice grew louder. “She won’t take any of them seriously.”

  So much for proving his indifference.

  Everett’s head tipped up, and his gaze locked with Simon’s before he asked, “Why do you care?”

  He threw his cleaning rag to the floor and stood with his gun. “I don’t.” Simon stalked to the back door to join the rest of the men.

  “It sounds like you do,” Everett commented as they strode across the veranda.

  The gentlemen gathered on the back lawn. Not long after, a dozen young women in walking dresses assembled behind them. Although Simon stood quietly with the group of men, a roaring conversation filled his head.

  If I held her in special regard, I would have singled her out. I would have changed my plans for her. I would gladly accept her company at whatever personal cost. Simon thought ba
ck to the moment he’d met her behind the curtains in the music room and every moment since then. He sighed. Everett is right—I’ve done all of that.

  Cora was just outside his view, but he knew her exact location within the women. He couldn’t hear her words, but recognized the tone that was uniquely her, and now and again her laughter. If he were to look, he’d see her confidence in the way she stood. He would recognize her quick humor by the twinkle in her eye. From a glance as the women walked up behind him minutes ago, he knew she was wearing the palest green and carried a parasol as did two other women though he couldn’t say exactly who.

  Something about Cora stayed with him long after she was no longer in his sight or location, like looking at the flame of a candle, then closing his eyes.

  The image of Cora’s face disappeared when Everett jabbed his elbow into Simon’s ribs. He noticed the group beginning to move toward a thin tree line that separated the back lawns and gardens from a field beyond. They weren’t going far from the house, but the group seemed to be walking inordinately slowly. Many of the men looked behind them toward the women.

  “What's the quarry today? It’s a competition, right?” asked a woman directly behind his right shoulder.

  Cora replied loudly enough for Simon and probably all of the women to hear. “Yes, it is. For us, like every day, the quarry today is men.” Giggles broke out among the women, completely capturing the attention of many men.

  Simon noticed Wetheridge step off to the side and stop as if to wait for the ladies. Simon guessed he was waiting for Cora. Simon quickly did the same, and the entire men's group came to a halt.

  “May I escort you to the field, ladies?” Simon asked Cora and the woman next to her. From the corner of his eye, he saw Wetheridge scowl in his direction. Simon wondered if it was bad timing to anger a man right before handing him a loaded gun.

  “Of course,” Cora answered, resting her hand on his extended arm.

  For the last few yards, the gentlemen escorted the women.