by Cari Hislop
“I’ll have no hermitress in my garden thinking about some dead Frenchman. You either take my coin and think of me or stay here with Uncle Penryth and eat porridge alone.”
“I’ll be your hermitress; I’ll think of you every day. I’ll even sing songs when you come to visit me.”
“Bawdy ones? About ladies losing their stockings?”
“Don’t be disgusting. I’ll be your hermitress not your mistress. I’ll only sing nice songs about…lovers.”
“I don’t know if I want a hermitress who won’t sing me bawdy songs.”
“You can’t keep changing what you expect me to do Idiot! Do you need a hermitress or not?” The man holding her burst out laughing holding her tightly in his arms.
“What’s so funny?”
He was laughing so hard his eyes were watering. “You’re such a silly goose; having a hermit in the garden went out of fashion years ago and I wouldn’t let you sleep in a cave Goosey-girl; you’d be ravaged by every libertine this side of Offa’s dyke.”
“I hate you!” Her heart threatened to crack as she renewed her sobs. She was going to be left behind and she’d never see him. She was still crying when he’d run out of laughter.
He sighed in contentment his voice suddenly husky, “Will you hate me Goosey if I tell you that your recent hermiting has hurt like a rotten tooth?”
“You’re lying!”
“No.”
“You missed me?”
“Terribly. Why were you hiding from me?”
“I was practicing being lonely without you. I miss you and you haven’t even left yet. I’ll be lucky if I see you once a year and I want to die.”
“Silly goose…” She was swept off her feet into his arms like the time she was ill and couldn’t make it back up the stairs to her room. She wrapped an arm around his neck knowing she’d have to soon let go; he’d sworn countless times he’d never ask her to marry him a second time. He was shouting orders over her head and then she was being carried outside. She could feel sunlight on her arm and his footsteps crunching over the drive. Then he was stopping. “Hop in and sit down. There’s something I want to show you.” She was eased out of his arms into a carriage. She sat on the forward facing bench and looked through her tears to see he was reaching out the door for something. A few seconds later he turned back towards her holding one of her bonnets. “I told them I wanted the blue one and they brought the blue-green one. It’ll have to do. Here put this on.”
She was so surprised by the inanity of the statement she stopped crying. “Why?”
“Trust me!”
“Every time you say that I end up eating porridge and water for a fortnight.”
“You’ll never eat porridge again, I promise.”
She wiped her eyes and listened to the familiar thud of trunks being dropped onto the carriage as she tied the ribbons on her bonnet into a bow. “Where are we going?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute…no that trunk goes on top…here give me my hat…yes, tell Mrs Jones we’ll eat the cake…Oh Mam bach! What now? Leave it. I’m not waiting ten minutes for a blasted bonnet.” William climbed in now carrying a basket and wearing a hat. Pulling the door closed with a satisfying click he sat down across from her with his back to the horses. “Servants!” He dropped the basket on the bench and held out his handkerchief. “It’s mostly clean.”
The coachman cracked the whip and they were trundling down the drive. She tried to blow her nose, but she inhaled his scent and burst into tears. “We’re going to get in trouble…Uncle will make me eat porridge for a month.”
“You won’t eat porridge again, I’m kidnapping you.”
“But you lost last month’s allowance for shooting Mr Lloyd’s prize milk cow.”
“That was very unfair. I wasn’t aiming for the stupid cow, I was practicing my shot. The stupid animal committed suicide.”
“Cows can’t commit suicide; they don’t even know they’re alive.”
He laughed from the belly and then sighed in contentment. “That’s why I’m kidnapping you.”
“You’re kidnapping me because cows can’t commit suicide?”
“I’m kidnapping you because you’re a silly goose who makes me laugh.”
“You’re mad! Where are we going?”
“Scotland. I understand the scenery is quite stunning this time of year.”
“How can you afford a trip to Scotland? You told me three months ago you’d spent all your money. Did you steal from Uncle Penryth? He’ll kill you!”
“I borrowed two hundred pounds from Jones. The old miser tried to charge me forty percent interest. He refused to go under twenty-five percent, but it’s worth it.”
“How would Jones have two hundred pounds? And why would he lend it to you?”
“He’s probably made a fortune off Uncle. He’ll earn 50 pounds, why wouldn’t he lend it to me? I bought you something. He dug in the basket and pulled out what looked like a thick stumpy tube of paper.
Grace untied the string and unrolled a blue silk shawl that would have matched her blue hat. “Oh William…it’s lovely…”
“Not as lovely as you.”
She hadn’t seen that look since the morning she’d seduced him. She blushed in relief that he couldn’t remember. “I can’t be your mistress; I’d rather eat porridge the rest of my life. I thought we were friends. I thought you cared; you know it hurts when people sneer at me for being a disgraced bastard. Why would I want to add hussy to the list?”
“Only my Goosey-girl would think on being told that she’s being carried off to Scotland that her abductor wanted her to be his mistress. When the smithy strikes the anvil and I address you as Mrs Bowen will you let me kiss you?”
“But you said you’d never marry me.”
“No, I said I’d never ask you to marry me again; they’re two separate things silly.” Her traveling companion suddenly switched seats and slid up next to her. “Give me your hand.”
“Why?”
“I want to practice holding it for the ceremony.” He took her offered hand and pulled it to his lips.
“I didn’t think we had to hold hands to be married over an anvil.”
“We don’t, but you’ll hold my hand.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you and I want to hold your hand.”
Grace felt her heart lurch as she snapped her head to the side to see his whole face. “You love me?”
“Since the day we met. I asked you a question and you said something silly that made me laugh for days. I thought I’d never drag you away from those simpering English Lords long enough to convince you I was superior in every way.”
“Uncle said you never loved me.”
“How would that old fart know what I felt? Every time I look at you I feel like I’m in heaven. You’re the loveliest Goosey-girl ever born.” Grace blushed with pleasure at hearing the longed for words. “You may now tell me how much you admire my handsome figure. Don’t try to deny it. I’ve seen you watching me.”
“Vain beastly toad! If I didn’t love you I’d marry Mr Price. He never laughs at me or calls me an idiot.”
William pulled her hand to his lips. “Goosey-girl, he doesn’t know you like I do and even if he did his heart couldn’t love you more than mine. If you’re an idiot, it’s because you love me even though you know I’m a toad. If that awful Miss Gruffydd knew what a heartless cad I can be she’d run away so fast they’d say her mother had four legs. Now how can I not love you for being the most charming, loveliest idiot?”
“You’ll never disown me?”
“The day I disown my Goosey-girl I’ll be a lunatic chained to a wall. In which case I hope you discount it as the ravings of a madman and visit me all the same because deep down I’ll be dying for you.”
“I love you.” He looked nineteen as he clutched her hand and leaned closer. She tipped back her head and stared into adoring eyes. “Are you really taking me to Scotland to marry me?”
“Na! If you weren’t a toad I’d think you were possessed by an angel. I’d have to get a priest in to exercise you.” Her companion burst out laughing and took possession of her lips leaving no room for the past or the future.
…
Behind them, standing in front of the house Mr Jones smiled as his wife appeared at his side. “I’ll send word after Master Bowen that all has gone to plan.”
“Do you think they’ll ever guess the Master masterminded their elopement?”
“I planted the idea of kidnapping Miss Grace so subtly Master William will think it his own idea to his dying day. Master Bowen said I could keep the interest; the easiest fifty pounds I’ll ever earn. I’m going to buy you a new bonnet. I hate that one you bought in London.”
“I like it.”
“It doesn’t suit you. It’s too…cheap.”
“You just hate being reminded you were wrong; I told you Mr Bowen would fall in love again. It’s a pity she’s English, but no one’s perfect.”
“No one except for you, Mrs Jones.”
Mrs Jones silently accepted the compliment with an adoring look reserved for her husband. “I hope they reach Scotland; you know what happened last time Master William insisted he knew the way to Cardiff. Heaven only knows how he ended up in Swansea.”
“The coachman knows the way and has specific instructions to be deaf to any of Master William’s suggestions of shorter routes. I sent that irritating Goodman with them. I hope he gets left behind in Scotland. I don’t like how he looks at you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Mr Jones; he’s just kind.”
“If he’s kind, I’m English. No, when he looks at you his heart is singing…” Mr Jones filled his lungs and in the lovely tenor voice that first won his wife’s heart sang,
“A simple youthful lad am I
Who loves at fancy’s pleasure:
I fondly watch the blooming wheat,
Another reaps the treasure.
Oh! Wherefore still despise my suit,
Why sighing keep thy lover?
For some new charm, thou matchless fair,
I day by day discover.
Each day reveals some newborn grace,
Or does fond faith deceive me?
In love to Him who formed thy face,
With pity now receive me,
Then lift thine eyes, one look bestow.
Give me thy hand, my fairest,
For in thy bosom, lovely maid,
My heart’s true key thou barest.
While hair adorns this aching brow
Still I will love sincerely,
While ocean rolls its briny flow
Still I will love thee dearly.
Then tell the truth, in secret tell,
And under seal discover,
If it be I or who is blest
As thy true heart’s best lover”
