Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3)

by Rosemary Morris

  With an effort, instead of dwelling on her losses, Harriet forced herself to ask a question. ‘Has your family been linked to this area for a long time?”

  “Yes, since the eleventh century.”

  Chills shivered up and down her spine. She wondered if the ghostly apparitions she sensed were imaginary.

  “It is a little cold in here, shall we go out into the sunshine and then return to the Rectory?” Dominic asked.

  “Yes please,” Harriet answered, eager to leave the spectres, who might haunt the church. In step with Dominic, she walked back through the graveyard with its grim reminder of mortality, and retraced her footsteps through the old lych-gate.

  The rector gestured to the left. “Opposite St Michael’s and All Saints are the alms-houses built on the orders of the eighth Earl of Faucon to house twenty of the deserving poor.”

  Harriet observed the neat line of single-storey buildings with thatched roofs and gardens crammed with fruit, vegetables and colourful flowers. “Are all of them occupied?”

  “Yes, by decent parishioners fallen on hard times, who have no family able to support them. The only stipulation is, that unless they are too unwell, they must attend the church service on Sunday mornings.

  “If they are sick, my sister makes sure they are well looked after, and gives them baskets of food suitable for invalids.”

  “She is good.” Harriet’s conscience goaded her. She should see to the welfare of villagers on her father-in-law’s estate. Along with privilege came obligations, which she suspected the earl neglected.

  Dominic led her forward. “On your right, my lady, is the school built on my father’s orders. It is attended by the sons of shopkeepers, farmers and the like.”

  “Do you teach the children?”

  “I prepare them for confirmation by teaching them the catechism, but not how to read, write and figure. Of course, I ensure that, according to my father’s wishes, they and their families attend church on Sundays.”

  “Do their sisters receive an education?” Harriet asked, grateful to her parents for ensuring she received a good education in spite of many difficulties.

  Dominic shrugged. “I prepare them for confirmation. Apart from that most of them are taught at home in accordance with their parents’ wishes.”

  “The villagers’ children?”

  “They attend the dame school.” Dominic looked down the road at a pair of horses trotting towards them. When the riders drew rein, he doffed his hat. “Lady Castleton, may I introduce Squire Clifford’s daughters. Miss Clifford and Miss Emily?” he asked, the expression in his eyes rueful.

  “Good day.” Harriet tilted her head back to look up at them.

  “So, you are the Earl of Pennington’s daughter-in-law, and you have a handsome little boy called Arthur! I’ve seen him riding with his grandfather,” gabbled Emily, a plump girl, who could be no more than fifteen or sixteen years old.

  Harriet presumed her arrival in the area must have caused a great deal of gossip.

  Miss Clifford frowned at her sister. “Lady Castleton, I beg you to forgive Emily for prattling. I hope you’re not displeased.”

  “No, I am not. How could any mother be irritated when someone says her son handsome?”

  “I can only imagine she wouldn’t.” While Miss Clifford addressed her, she fluttered her long, thick eyelashes at Mister Markham “Lady Castleton, I’m sure our rector will not think it immodest of me if I say I hope to have a child one day.”

  A swift glance at the rector sufficed for Harriet to ponder on the quizzical expression in his eyes.

  Emily leaned forward in the saddle. “Lady Castleton, does the Earl of Pennington intend to hold a ball to introduce you to his neighbours? If he does, I hope I will receive an invitation.”

  “Emily, you’re too forward!” her sister exclaimed. “Even if you received one, Mamma would not allow you to accept it. You’re only a schoolgirl.”

  The younger girl pouted before she spoke again, a cunning expression in her amber eyes. “Our mother would allow you to accept it. And I’m sure you would like Mister Markham to dance with you.”

  “Hush.” Miss Clifford did not look entirely displeased. Her eyes luminous and soft, she gazed at the rector with palpable admiration.

  “Oh,” he responded, “I doubt a mere clergyman is of sufficient importance to be invited to a ball.”

  “I disagree.” Miss Clifford tapped his shoulder with her riding crop. “I don’t think the earl would slight you.”

  A twitch of Mister Markham’s eyebrows revealed his irritation, that Harriet noticed, but she doubted either young lady did.

  Dominic inclined his head. “You must excuse us, Miss Clifford, Miss Emily.”

  Harriet wondered if she imagined the squire’s older daughter looked at her with dislike in her expressive eyes, for the impression quickly faded.

  “Good day to you, ladies.’ Dominic inclined his head to the squire’s daughters. “Lady Castleton, my sister is waiting for us.”

  Harriet waved her free hand at the sisters. “I daresay we shall see each other again,” she murmured, although she did not care whether they would or not.

  Mister Markham led her down the path to the Rectory. “A fortunate escape,” he muttered. “Oh, I beg your pardon, Lady Castleton.” His laughter made him seem like a carefree young man. “At the risk of sounding conceited, I am always glad to escape from one of the Band of Hopefuls.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Gwenifer’s name for young ladies, who lay traps in an attempt to snare a husband.” He sighed. “Even from the pulpit, I am aware of them. I dread being compromised, so I remain constantly on my guard.”

  Until this moment, Harriet merely admired his appearance. Now, she completely appreciated his exceptional good looks. Taller than most men, with an athletic figure, legs shown off to perfection in his skin-tight, perfectly cut pantaloons, his abundant black curls would tempt any female to run her fingers through them. Heat scalded her cheeks. At the thought of one of the ‘band of hopefuls’ snaring Dominic Markham in a well-laid trap she suffered from a jealous pang.

  “Are you overheated, Lady Castleton? Would you care for some refreshments?”

  “What time is it?” she asked, thankful because the observant gentleman could not read her mind.

  Mister Markham consulted his pocket watch. “Nearly half past one.”

  “I should return to Clarencieux. The Earl might be worried because I did not return for nuncheon so.”

  “You could send your groom with a message to inform your father-in-law where you are, and tell him I shall escort you back to the abbey. In the meantime, you might enjoy some tea or barley water, which is very refreshing in this hot weather. Or, perhaps, you would prefer a glass of wine. ”

  “Thank you for the suggestion, which I accept. Barley water would be welcome. Afterwards, with your permission, perhaps I may give you my reference for Bessie, and also show you the notes I have made about my family.”

  “By all means, Lady Castleton.”

  They strolled through the house, and a pair of open doors into the beautiful garden, with beds of herbs and flowers contained by low box hedges.

  With appreciation, Harriet breathed in the scent of roses and honeysuckle. “This is like Mamma’s description of the garden at her father’s house.”

  “My sister’s domain,” Dominic explained. “Please sit at the garden table, and excuse me for a moment while I send for your barley water, and some of cook’s excellent gingerbread, to which I admit I am very partial.”

  Harriet admired his easy gait as she watched him retrace his footsteps. A long forgotten, but familiar flutter, stirred within her. Shocked by her reaction to Mister Markham, Harriet half rose in her chair. It was so long since she conversed at any length with any gentleman that – What?

  She completely understood why Mister Markham’s handsome appearance, enhanced by clerical black coats and pantaloons, and his good manners
drew young ladies to him like bees to a honeypot. Harriet straightened her back. She would not be one of an attentive hive of admirers. Her hot cheeks were due to the weather not-

  “I hope Gwenifer, will join us in a few minutes.” Dominic’s well-modulated voice startled her.

  “Good, I am delighted to have met your sister, and look forward to furthering our acquaintanceship.”

  Dominic’s eyebrows twitched. What did her face reveal when she looked up at him? Harriet sought for something to say. “Er, Miss Clifford is a beautiful young lady.”

  “Not as young as you might think. I believe she is twenty-one.”

  Harriet’s jaw tightened. How old did he think she was? What did it matter? Why should he spare a glance for a twenty-four-year-old lady? Lud, what was she thinking? Why should she want him to pay her particular attention? Yet she could not banish the hope he would attend the ball and dance with her.

  * * *

  “More lemon barley water, Harriet?” Gwenifer asked.

  “No, thank you although it was cool, and very welcome, and so was the gingerbread. Please congratulate your cook. It is delicious,” Harriet replied.

  Gwenifer stared over Harriet’s shoulder. “Yes, I will.” She seemed distracted.

  Harriet turned around on her chair to find out what engaged Gwenifer’s attention. Oh, Miss Clifford and Miss Emily had returned. She turned back to look at her hostess.

  “Drat them,” Gwenifer breathed.

  Miss Clifford curtsied. “Mister Markham, Lady Gwenifer, please forgive our intrusion. I lost my locket during my ride. I thought that if it fell off near the rectory, someone might have been kind enough to bring it here for safe keeping.”

  Harriet bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing at the look of dismay in Mister Markham’s eyes.

  Gwenifer rang a hand bell. She stood. “The servants have not mentioned anyone leaving it here.” She glanced at the maidservant, who answered the summons. “You may clear the table.” Gwenifer inclined her head to the squire’s daughters. “Please excuse us, we have some urgent business. If the locket is handed in I shall send it to the Manor.”

  “Thank you,” Miss Clifford answered, obviously downcast because she and her sister had not been invited to join them.

  Harriet noticed Miss Emily shift from one foot to the other. Perhaps Mister Markham’s next sermon should be on the subject of deceit.

  The squire’s daughters curtsied. Arm-in-arm, they walked across the lawn towards the side of the building. Before they turned around the corner, Miss Clifford looked back at the rector and smiled mischievously at him.

  “Minxes!” Gwenifer exclaimed.

  “Thank you for rescuing me from them.” Dominic laughed. “I fear I am an unworthy vicar for not reprimanding you for fibbing on my behalf.”

  “My dear brother, next time a lady tries to foist herself on you I shall leave you at her mercy instead of saying you have urgent business.”

  “My sweet sister, not even you could not be so hard-hearted.”

  Gwenifer chuckled. “Could I not?”

  Chapter Ten

  Dominic indicated the pair of straight-backed chairs opposite his desk. “Please be seated, Lady Castleton.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet sat, the tips of her toes, sheathed by her riding boots, visible on the chair rail.

  An unexpected desire to protect her surged through Dominic. “Ah,” he began, surprised by the vehemence of his sudden impulse, “here are the papers which you entrusted to me.”

  “Thank you. I have written Bessie’s reference.” Harriet untied the ribbon around the packet, withdrew a paper, and offered it to him, at the same time looking intently at him. “Mister Markham.” Her voice sounded unsure.

  Lost in admiration of her ladyship, Dominic realised his intense scrutiny embarrassed her. He looked down into her apprehensive eyes, with the sincere hope his smile would reassure her. He bent forward to take the reference. Lady Castleton’s flowery perfume combined with the sweetness of vanilla and a hint of something sharp, aroused his desire to kiss her pretty mouth. Somewhat shaken, by his involuntary response to the lady, after he took the paper from her small, outstretched hand, he retreated his chair on the other side of the desk.

  “You are kind, Lady Castleton,” Dominic commented, after he read the reference.

  “Every word is true. Bessie is an excellent nurse. In fact, Arthur told his grandfather he misses her, and asked him if she may return to Clarencieux.”

  For several seconds, the sight of the tip of between her lips, while she frowned, increased the rate of his pulse.

  “Perhaps my father-in-law will try to persuade Bessie to return,” Harriet mused.

  Dominic took several deep breaths before he spoke. “I shall give your reference to her.”

  Harriet unfolded several papers and slid them towards him across the desk. “I appreciate your generous offer of help. I have written down everything I know about my parents’ families.” She shrugged. “I know both my father and mother had brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles.” Her forehead wrinkled. My parents only mentioned one or two names, which I cannot remember.”

  Who could ignore the frustration in her ladyship’s eyes? Only someone with a much harder heart than his. Conscious of the blessing of his affectionate family, Dominic could scarcely imagine what it was like for Lady Castleton, an orphan dependent on a father-in-law, who seemed determined to alienate his grandson from his mother.

  “Lady Castleton, if you agree, to allow me to help you find your relatives, I suggest we begin the search with advertisements in the broadsheets. I also think a search of the church register in the Devonshire parish of Loxbeare might be fruitful.”

  “Those are excellent ideas. Mister Markham.” She blinked. “Loxbeare is a long way from here. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

  Much addicted to tales of King Arthur when he was young, Dominic imagined being a knight of old to be willing to lay down his life for a lady. He gave himself a mental shake, and, not for the first time, told himself not to be so whimsical. Even a gentleman versed in the ways of ladies would know the young widow’s heart had, most probably, been interred with her husband. Yet, it was more common for widows to marry than not.

  “The search will not inconvenience me, my lady. I shall write to the incumbent of the parish and ask him to search the register on your behalf.” He smiled again, in an attempt to alleviate the anxiety on her expressive face. “Most clergymen are willing to help each other.”

  “Y…yes, of course, how foolish of me to assume you would seek evidence in person.” Harriet stood. “I must return to Clarencieux.” She softened her abrupt words with a smile.

  “If you must, it shall be my pleasure to escort you.”

  * ** *

  “Mamma often told me how pretty the English countryside is,” Harriet remarked, while she and Mister Markham rode along the leafy lane leading south towards the village. “I think she yearned to return to England with Papa, who would never have agreed to resign from the army until the war ended. When I was a young child I did not understand the depth of her love which compelled her to following the drum. After I married, I fully understood.” At the sound of a squirrel overhead she broke off for a moment. “I should not chatter like that little creature. I cannot think why I did, for I am not in the habit of doing so.”

  “I would be pleased to listen with interest to your ... er … chatter.”

  “Thank you, Mister Markham. You are patient,” she replied demurely, although he seemed amused.

  They rode in silence until they reached the village green, edged on three sides by elegant houses built in the middle of the third King George’s reign. Two drakes quacked, and skimmed the water in the village pond. Further along the high street, they passed a village shop with bow windows. Harriet tried to peer through the glass, marked by whorls, which made it almost impossible to see inside, even from a short distance.

  She looked ahead at a square i
n the centre of which stood a weather worn stone cross encrusted with lichen. Opposite stood an inn, with timbers blackened with age and white walls.

  “Should I fetch a tankard of ale, Rector?” a man called from the doorway.

  Dominic waved a hand at him. “Thank you, Jim, not today, although I know the ale you brew is the best for miles around.”

  “Perhaps the lady would enjoy a glass of wine while you drink a mug of ale to put heart into you.”

  Dominic laughed. “I hope God has already granted me sufficient heart.”

  “No need to dismount,” Jim persisted. “I can serve you outside.”

  “No, thank you, Jim,” Dominic repeated. “Good day to you.”

  They rode on past a row of cottages. Several women, most of them with small children, who either helped or hampered them, busy tending front gardens in which cabbages, marigolds and other vegetables and flowers grew next to each other. When they noticed Mister Markham, they came to their garden gates to greet him. A very different reaction to the sullen one received by her father-in-law from the inhabitants of Clarencieux Village.

  To Harriet’s surprise, when the cottagers gathered on the street, Dominic reined in his horse and spoke to them.

  Impressed, because he asked after their husbands by name, and also knew those of each child, she observed him talk to them with the same courtesy he would address ladies of equal rank to his own.

  “How are you, Mrs Page?” he asked a young woman, who held a baby in the crook of one arm and a toddler’s hand with her free one. “You have not been to church for several weeks. I hope it is not due to ill health.”

  The other women bobbed curtseys and returned to their gardens.

  “It’s my ma-in-law, sir. The old woman is as hale and hearty as my husband and me, but claims she’s too ill to walk to church. What’s more, she won’t let me leave her alone in the cottage. So I stay here while my man goes to morning service.”