When we arrive we the tide is out, and there is plenty of space to set up our picnic on the sands. I used to love doing this as a girl, picnicking on the beach at Brighton, and I knew it was just what these children needed. As we sit eating, we attempt to get the kite up and flying, that Laurence has brought along. I may be proficient in the education of children, but when it comes to the technicalities of a kite, I am completely lost. Still, we give it a go and try to get it to fly in the winds of the English shoreline. For some reason, it just will not leave the ground, and each of us is flummoxed as to why. Even the poor maids had a go at fixing it.
“It’s all in the tension,” a voice shouted over our giggles, from behind us.
I turn quickly, not having seen anyone arrive, and am surprised to see a young man grinning at us. He is tall and lean. His features are quite strong with a prominent nose, square firm jaw and deep dark eyes. His head is topped off with a dark mop of unruly hair, which is being buffered by the wind. What is perhaps most striking about him, is that he only has one arm. The sleeve of his shirt is sewn closed at the elbow.
“Can you help us, Sir?” Margaret cries out, running up to him with the tangled cords of the kite.
“I can indeed,” he laughs back at her, reaching out to take the kite from her hands.
As if she had only just noticed his affliction, she pauses with a frown on her face.
“Oh, sorry, I did not realise, how will you untangle it all with only one arm?” she says, awkwardly.
“Fear not, I’ve been playing with kites since I was as high as that little nipper there,” he says, nodding at Laurence before reaching out for the kite.
I stand watching him as he interacts with the children. He seems a natural with them and I wonder if he is from a large family. He carries himself with confidence and with a certain stance, one I am familiar with. It is the same stance that Peter had, and I suspect he is an ex-soldier.
Walking up to him, I finally find my tongue, “Please sir, I insist that we help, even between all of us we struggle to untangle this thing, you cannot do it alone,” I smile at him.
“Okay, you lot untangle the cord and I’ll sort out the tension,” he suggests. “We’ll have this thing flying in no time,” he promises.
Now I am closer to him I can see that he has a certain rugged handsomeness about him. He is lean, but I can tell from the tightness of his shirt that his frame is wiry and strong. He is also wearing tight breeches and I am guessing he has been running on the beach for exercise, as soldiers often do. Peter was the same before he left to go to his posting.
“If you get that kite to fly, it will be a miracle,” I say to him, as the children help to unravel the cord under his instruction.
“No miracle, it’s simply technique,” he tells me. “What would be a miracle is if a pretty young lady like you would walk along the beach with a man like me? With the children as chaperones, of course.”
Mary giggles at his words and I do my best to ignore his complement, even though I can feel the heat rise in my face.
“We would happily walk with you, Sir, if you fly our kite,” I smile back, trying hard to show I am unruffled by his words.
From that moment on, our afternoon was wonderful. The man is called, Harry Ashbourne and was a corporal in the Napoleonic wars, but lost his arm in the battlefields of Belgium. The children love his tales of the war and the life of a soldier. As we stroll along the beach flying the kite, they bombard him with questions, which he seems more than willing to answer.
We sit and leave the children to fly the kite, which is now successfully soaring high above us. While we sit alone he reveals a little about himself. He lives in a nearby village and his father is a skilled jeweler in Rochester. It seems he is to learn the trade as it is all that is left for him now. I sense a tinge of disappointment and press him on the matter.
“I believe that to be an honest trade, Harry, but yet you sound disappointed?” I ask him, “Surely a good trade is essential in these hard times?”
“It is, and you’re right. I am grateful for having the opportunity, now the war is over. I have seen many of my former colleagues become homeless and destitute,” he pauses momentarily, seeming to recall his friends. “It’s just that, like many young men, I wanted to travel. The army seemed to be a perfect way to do so. As a young man, the adventure appeals. Unfortunately, I was only out there a few months before I was injured and then medically discharged from the army.”
“You should not be disappointed, Harry, you were brave to go in the first place. Facing battle is not something all young men are willing to do.”
“I find facing you, to ask to see you again, much more terrifying,” he says as he takes a gentle hold of my elbow to turn me towards him.
I look down at the ground, almost in shame, remembering what I have only recently done. Yet, how can I compare Harry to Guy? Harry is kind and caring; Guy is an upper class cad.
“I tell you what, why don’t you come and visit me in my father’s shop in Rochester. He’s recently had the sign above the shop repainted to say, Ashbourne and son, Jewelers, so you can’t miss it. I know a wonderful coffee house nearby.”
A part of me wants to accept his offer. My heart still aches from my recent disappointment with Guy, but I am intrigued by this young man. With a little trepidation, I agree to meet him after church on Sunday, as it is the only time I am free. I can request time off, but I am loathed to leave the children when they have just shown me how much they need a set routine in their lives.
We pass through the local village, where he happens to live with his father, leaving him at his house. Our little troop then continues on, to the mansion of the Duke of Norwood. All of us are very tired, but happy. The children rush off to change for dinner and I return to my rooms feeling slightly happier than I have for days.
Chapter 16
It seems an age before Sunday comes around. All I can think of over the week is meeting with Harry, after church. Our chance encounter on the beach that day has put me in a much better frame of mind, and Guy has hardly been in my thoughts at all.
We all go to church together, the Duke and staff arriving as one party. The children spot our new friend first, at the church, and wave over to Harry enthusiastically. He looks even more handsome in his Sunday best suit, and beside him sits his father. I can see where he gains his good looks, for although an older version, they are very much alike. To think, his father may have been at the same church every week I have attended, and I never noticed. For all I know, Harry could have been there too, but surely I would have noticed him. The service passed by quickly and afterwards we met at the gate of the church grounds, where everyone passes through to leave. As it is my half day off from my teaching duties, I am free to spend the rest of the day as I wish, and I wished to spend it with him.
He has brought with him a two seater buggy and a picnic basket. It seems he has thought the day out well. I am amazed at how well he handles the buggy, with just one arm, but he does so very capably. After a short ride we arrive in a small woodland, by a river. It was a beautiful setting. I see a curved, stone bridge and under the bridge is a small pebble beach. I hope that no one else has the same idea. It is so idyllic, and I want it all to myself.
“I come here when I need to think,” he smiles, helping me get down from the buggy. “It is such a peaceful and serene place, and very few people know of it.”
I approach the horse that has drawn us here, and rub her behind the ears. The mare is a beauty with black and white patches that are most stunning.
“You have a good taste in horses, what is her name?” I ask, still stroking her nose.
“Here, give her this,” he laughs, handing me a small apple. “We have a tree full of those and she’ll eat the lot, I guarantee it, every year. We call her Patchy, for obvious reasons.”
“She is lovely,” I say as I feed her the apple. “Do you ride her?”
“I do,” he says proudly. “Do you ride, Miss
Blackwood?”
“I love to ride,” I reply. “Please, call me Rosalind; we don’t have to be so formal, do we?”
“I think your name is very appropriate. You remind me of a pretty rose, Rosalind,” he compliments me.
I can’t help but blush at his words and I can see he feels embarrassed, and he quickly changes the subject.
“I’ll spread the blanket by the running water. We’re lucky it’s a fine day for a picnic, and if it rains, we can run underneath the bridge,” he suggests.
The food is very welcome as I am rather famished; breakfast on a Sunday is a light affair. We chatter and I decide to tell him about Peter. They have the war in common so it seems good to share our private experiences of that terrible event. I see his face sadden as I tell him my tale.
“The war in Belgium was not kind to many of us. I was lucky to return home, but I do grieve for the many friends that I lost, so I share your pain.” He has a heavy note of sorrow in his voice, but he looks me directly in the eyes as he speaks, and I can sense his empathy and sadness at my loss, is genuine.
He encloses my hand in his large ones and squeezed firmly, though not painfully. It is a welcome human touch, as I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes.
I don’t want this day to be only about sadness, I’ve had enough of that recently. I tell him about my parents and my home in Worthing. How I had a wonderful childhood there, and I really miss my home town. It turns out he has been to Brighton, which is not far from where my parents live, and we speak about how we both love the sea. By the end of our day together, I feel I have made a new friend, one that I could enjoy sharing company with. It is not until this moment that I realized how lonely I have become. Losing Peter and then leaving home, has left me vulnerable. I am not making excuses for my shameful behaviour with Lord Guy, but nonetheless, I think in some ways I am still deeply entranced in my grief.
We ride back together and I thank him for such a wonderful day. When we dismount, he walks with me to the door of the Duke’s mansion. As I approach the entrance, I can see that someone else is arriving. The staff are out on the door step and the Duke is there to greet his eldest granddaughter, Lady Harriet, back home from Bath. I stay my distance, it is after all my time off and I’m not expected to perform family duties. However, the children have other ideas and they soon run over to me, especially when they see, and recognize, my companion. At this point I feel obliged to approach the welcoming committee. I bravely take my companion with me, and introduce Harry to the Duke of Norwood. It turns out there is no need as the he already knows Harry, and his father, well.
“Do you still do much fishing Harry?” Lord Guy asks him as he approaches us.
“It’s harder these days, Sir, what with my arm. Also, my father is working me hard in his workshop,” he smiles back at Lord Guy.
“Ah yes, your father, the finest jeweler in all of England,” Lord Guy replies. “Tell me, how is the wedding ring coming along?”
“It is almost complete, Sir, exactly as you ordered it. My father will bring it along in a day or two now that you have returned,” Harry says.
I look on in wonder as the two of them chat as if they have known each other all of their lives. Lord Guy says nothing to me, and neither does Lady Harriet, who passes us with her new companion, the young lady I had seen naked.
As everyone goes inside, I take the opportunity to thank Harry, once again, for my wonderful day.
“You want to stay away from that one,” he warns me.
“Who?” I ask, but I knew who he meant.
“Lord Guy, he’s a rascal with the women. He’s broken a few hearts in the village. It’s well known that he likes to prey on the local woman. I would hate to be his wife, that’s for sure,” he shakes his head as if in sympathy to the future spouse of Lord Guy.
“Well, you would look rather preposterous with a frilly dress on,” I joke, imagining Harry as a wife gives me a giggle.
I do not tell of my own personal experience with Lord Guy, but perhaps I will share it with him one day, when our trust has been secured.
“Good day to you then, Rose, erm, I mean, Rosalind,” he stutters, “or Miss Blackwood, whichever you prefer when you’re on your employer’s lands.”
“I like Rose very much, Harry, let that be your name for me, I would like that,” I say, rather pleased with being named after a beautiful flower.
“Very good,” he replies, “I like that too. I mean, having a special name for you.”
He stops fidgeting and puts his hat back on his head, making his way to the small carriage.
“Until next time then,” he calls over. “See you next Sunday, after church, yes?” he asks.
I nod my agreement. A warm glow sweeps through me and I feel a sense of happiness and contentment. I have a new friend and he is the perfect tonic to the toxic presence of Lord Guy.
Chapter 17
Over the next few weeks the household is in chaos, over the impending wedding. This makes me all the more determined to ensure that the children have a good routine. Children feel so much happier and secure, if they know what they are doing day to day. That’s not to say that the routine cannot be broken occasionally, because it can. It is important for children to feel there is some stability in their lives.
I have been making great progress with them and they are all coming along leaps and bounds, not only in the classroom, they are all developing in to able young people. After weeks of trying, I eventually managed to convince Margaret that it was time to be riding a horse again. Today we are going to walk it around the stable yard, with me by her side. I am pleased that I have gained the confidence of my charges, all but Lady Harriet, that is. I wish I could tell her not to marry Lord Guy, but she is so blinded by him, as was I.
The man even had the nerve to approach me again, and that is with his other mistress right under his nose. In some ways I feel pity for Lady Harriet that she cannot see what this man is. Or, maybe she does, but choses to ignore it. For me, it will take a long time to rid myself of the shame that man caused me, or I caused myself.
Tomorrow I shall meet with Harry again, after church, and I am very much looking forward to it. He is taking me to his home for dinner, where I will meet with his father. They live in a house similar to my own father’s, so I should feel comfortable.
“Are you ready, Lady Margaret?” I ask, as we head for the stables.
When we get there, there does not seem to be any stable boys around to help, so we go inside in search of one. Margaret decides that she will go and pet the horses, to help build up her courage, while I search for the stable master. She has a few apples with her as treats for the horses. I leave her to go her own, as I want her to be daring and approach the animals on her own. I’m told she was a very good rider, which was probably her downfall, she might have been too confident.
As I see the stable master entering, I approach him to check where our horse is. That is when I hear a terrible scream from the horse stalls. I fear that Margaret has been kicked by a horse and both I and the stable master run quickly to her aid. As we rush into the stable, I see Margaret stood by the open door of one of the horse stalls, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with shock. Just for a moment I fear she has seen a dead body on the floor, maybe the missing stable boy. I quickly rush between Margaret and the horse stall, in a hope of averting her eyes away from the scene. When I look in, it is not a dead body I see, but Lord Guy, his breeches around his ankles. Lying on the floor next to him, desperately trying to rearrange her clothing is one of the housemaids.
I pull Lady Margaret away, though she is transfixed by the sight before her. Inside, I have a little smile to myself, so very pleased that the stupid man has got himself caught with his pants down, literally. The game is up for him now. Margaret is not the most secretive of people and the news will be all around the household in minutes, once she returns. She pulls away from me and runs off to the big house. I walk briskly after her, although pleased that Guy h
as finally been uncovered, though I would prefer Lady Harriet to find out a little less dramatically. Margaret is too far in front of me as I watch her run through the front entrance. Even from here I can hear her shouting for her sister, Harriet. My fears are confirmed, it seems she is going to be the first to find out.
There is such a calamity by the time I arrive in the large reception hall of the mansion. Lady Harriet and Margaret are in a furious argument, and as I enter the hallway, Harriet slaps her sister across the face.
“Liar!” Lady Harriet shouts out. “How could you spread such a malicious lie?”
ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories) Page 78
