The Road through Rushbury (Seasons of Change Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  It had certainly been his approach to Georgiana when she had arrived in Rushbury. Had he not classified her as an intruder, an enemy to what he was trying to accomplish and protect before he had even seen her?

  He had been wrong then, too. Or at least he had seemed to be. She was leaving, though, just as he had feared she would—abandoning Rushbury. Abandoning him. Like so many of her class, she didn’t care enough about Rushbury to remain there.

  And yet he had seen the way his words had hurt her. He hadn’t meant them. He didn’t regret her having come to Rushbury. Her time there had been the most joyful weeks for him in years.

  He had feared for John Reed, though. His arrest had shown Samuel just how quickly things could change—how swiftly someone he loved could be lost or taken from him. And in the anger and fear of the situation, he had sought distance between himself and Georgiana. He had pushed her away. And the conversation he had promised her? They had never had it.

  He leaned against the garden gate, rubbing his forehead harshly. What would Burke say if he were here?

  Samuel let out a wry chuckle. That was easy. Burke would tell him what a blockhead and a hypocrite he was being, accusing Georgiana of abandoning them when Samuel had abandoned her in his own way.

  He let out a groan and ran his fingers through his hair. He wanted more than anything to finish his conversation with Georgiana, to let her know that he wanted her here in Rushbury, that the prospect of the village without her made him feel bleak and hopeless. She might still choose to leave, and if she did, the pain would be unbearable. But he couldn’t let her leave without telling her how he felt.

  He might already be too late. Heaven forbid.

  The muffled sound of carriage wheels met his ears, and his eyes widened. He took in a large breath and then pushed it out through tight lips, turning and swinging the gate so quickly and so wide that it came off the hinges.

  Running toward the village road, he tried to peer through the trees which blocked his view. His breath came quickly as he reached the road, slowing to look toward the main highway, but there was no carriage there. He turned to look the other direction and his eyes met with the view of Burke’s wagon and a crowd of villagers surrounding it.

  Seeing him from afar, Burke squeezed through the group and jogged toward him.

  “What is it?” Samuel said, trying to see whoever the villagers were congregating around. They seemed to be taking turns embracing someone.

  “John Reed,” Burke said, grinning more widely than Samuel had ever seen. “He’s been released.”

  Samuel’s round eyes jumped back and forth between Burke and the congregated villagers. “But how?”

  Burke clapped him on the shoulder. “Who do you think?”

  Samuel stared.

  “Who else has shown herself capable of surmounting even the greatest obstacles we face in this village?” He smiled knowingly. “She spoke with Sir Clyde. Convinced him to take John on as manager over the planned mill for a trial period.”

  Samuel blinked. “As manager?” He looked toward the crowd, searching for Georgiana’s face. “Where is she?”

  Burke’s smile morphed into a tight-lipped grimace. His shoulders came up. “Gone. She and her brother left for London directly from Wakefield.”

  Clenching his eyes shut, Samuel dropped his head. He was too late.

  “Samuel!”

  He lifted his head. John Reed was striding toward him as quickly as he could, flanked as he was on either side by his children, who had their arms wrapped around his legs and were giggling at his attempts to walk.

  Pushing aside the defeat and anguish, Samuel summoned a tortured smile for John and wrapped him in an embrace, his eyes filling with tears. “I thought we had lost you,” he said into John’s ear, his voice gruff.

  “And it would have served me right,” John said, letting go of him and stepping back. He shook his head. “I am sorry, Samuel. Sorry for all of it.”

  Samuel took John’s hand between his and pressed it. “Let us put it all behind us and look to the future.” His mouth turned up in a half-smile. “A future managing Sir Clyde’s business, Burke tells me.”

  John’s chin trembled slightly. “An opportunity I don’t deserve, but one I will work to do justice to. All thanks to Miss Paige and her brother.”

  Samuel swallowed at the sound of her name but tilted his head, frowning. “Archie?”

  John nodded, but he was struggling to keep his emotions at bay, and one of his young daughters tugged on the leg of his trousers.

  Burke wrapped an arm around John’s shoulders with an understanding expression. “It seems Archie gave John the reward money from Sir Clyde—to put toward replacing the machines. Here now, little Miss Jane,” he said, picking up John’s daughter as John attended to the other. “I hear your mother calling for you.” He turned back toward the village only to pause and look once more at Samuel. “I thought perhaps you might wish to know that the Paiges intend to spend the night at Rotherham.” And with a raising of one brow, he was gone, and John Reed with him.

  Chapter 24

  The landscape of the West Riding passed—or rather jolted—by slowly through Georgiana’s window. Archie’s head was tipped back, his mouth open and his breath coming in faint snores. How he could rest with such violent bumping, Georgiana hardly understood. He had fallen asleep just twenty minutes outside of Wakefield, leaving her to a confusing mixture of thoughts ranging from the melancholy to the euphoric. The former seemed to be winning the day, though, perhaps helped along by the throbbing headache she was battling from the bumpiness of the roads—and perhaps a few silent tears shed once Archie had succumbed to slumber.

  She was thrilled for John Reed and for his family. It was the bright, silver lining to her departure, and she would never forget the look of unalloyed gratitude and relief on his face when he had understood the reason for her visit. She hadn’t been entirely certain what to expect from him—he was stubborn and opinionated enough that there had been a real possibility he would want to spit in her face for suggesting he oversee the beginnings of a mill.

  Samuel might still feel that way, in fact. He wanted no mill in Rushbury, and Georgiana’s act had all but made it inevitable. She had made a muddle of everything.

  She sniffed softly into her handkerchief, hoping not to wake her brother. He always panicked when confronted with tears, and she wanted to indulge herself a while longer.

  “Stop!” a muffled cry rang out. The carriage slowed precipitously.

  Georgiana stabilized herself with two hands on the sides of the carriage, her heart suddenly racing, while Archie startled awake, sliding forward on the seat until he put his hands out to stop himself.

  She hurriedly reached for the pistol in the velvet pocket of the carriage, straining her ears in vain to understand the muffled conversation occurring between the driver and whoever had caused him to stop.

  Archie blinked as he watched her. “What are you doing?”

  She cocked the pistol, breathing in deeply to prepare herself, her cheeks still wet. “I was set upon by highwaymen on the journey here and sent them on their way. I don’t intend to let them succeed this time either.”

  “Are you crying?” Archie stared at her.

  “Of course not,” she said impatiently, keeping her eyes trained on the carriage door.

  Footsteps drew nearer, and she moved so that she could point the pistol straight at the carriage door, gripping it to keep it steady, ready to confront whoever had the audacity to interrupt her journey—and the cry she had been needing for days now.

  The door rattled, sticking for a moment.

  “Give it to me,” Archie hissed, motioning for her to hand over the pistol.

  She shook her head. It was time for her to tell these Yorkshire types just what she thought of them. She wasn’t about to leave that to Archie.

  She put out a hand to push open the door, but it gave way before she reached it, and she fell forward, stumbling out of th
e carriage as a shot sounded and she tumbled into the arms of the highwayman. She pushed off of him, regaining her grip on the pistol and pointing it at him.

  At Samuel.

  The pistol smoked lightly, and Georgiana realized with wide, blinking eyes that she was responsible for the gunshot. Dread filled her as Samuel put both his hands up in a gesture of surrender, looking every bit as surprised as Georgiana.

  “Samuel?” she croaked. She scanned his body quickly, looking for evidence of a bullet hole, then dropped the pistol.

  He kept one hand up and his eyes on her, using the other to point toward a nearby tree. A small hole marred the otherwise smooth bark.

  Archie’s head appeared in the doorway of the carriage, scanning the scene before him. He swore. “You’ve not shot the vicar, Georgie, have you?”

  “No,” said Samuel, lowering his hands slowly, with the slightest flicker of a smile on his lips. “But not for lack of trying.”

  Georgiana shook her head, horrified. “It was a mistake, I assure you. If you hadn’t pulled the door so hard, I shouldn’t have lost my footing, and”—she stopped and, realizing that he was teasing her, averted her eyes with an embarrassed smile.

  Suddenly realizing that she was entirely in the dark regarding the reason for his presence there, she looked at Samuel. The outside air made her cheeks tingle where the tear trails stained them, and she brushed at them to hide the evidence of her crying.

  “What are you doing here?” It wasn’t the kindest way to ask the question, but there it was. If she tried to be kind, she might succumb to tears again, for seeing the vicar before her now intensified her anguish, sending a pang through her heart every time she looked at him.

  Samuel glanced at Archie, still standing in the doorway to the carriage. “Could you give us a moment, Archie?”

  Archie blinked, as if it had never occurred to him that the vicar and his sister might need to be alone.

  “O-of course,” he said with a stutter, and his head disappeared into the carriage, followed by his hand pulling the door shut.

  Georgiana swallowed, her heart galloping.

  “Will you take a walk with me?” Samuel said, his eyes flitting to the driver sitting on the box at the front of the carriage.

  She nodded, though she secretly wondered whether her legs would cooperate. They felt wobbly and unsure beneath her.

  He offered her his arm, and she took it somewhat stiffly, knowing that every point of contact between them added a thread to the connection she felt with him. She hadn’t any idea why he wished to speak with her, and it was all she could do to keep the hope at bay.

  They stepped into the trees that lined the road, but the way was so narrow that Samuel extracted his arm from hers and held her hand instead. Georgiana felt lightheaded at the touch, trying to ignore a wish to remove her glove so that she could really feel his hand holding hers.

  Nothing but a few snapping twigs filled the air as they came to a slight widening in the trees.

  He stopped and turned toward her, looking at her with something between a smile and a grimace. “I think I deserved that you should shoot at me. I have been the very worst of fools.”

  She shook her head, thinking of the tree with the bullet hole and cringing as she thought where the bullet could have ended up. It made her stomach contract, and she pushed away the images in her head. She had not shot him, thank heaven.

  “Georgiana,” he said, taking another step toward her so that there was only a foot between them. “I know you are on your way to London, and I wouldn’t blame you if you never wished to set foot in Rushbury again, but….” He scanned her face, his brows drawing together. “Have you been crying?” he asked, touching her cheek with a soft thumb.

  The touch sent a shiver through her, and she shut her eyes, scared of what she would feel if she looked into his. But shutting them only heightened her senses so that she could feel the path his finger traced on her cheek.

  “Only a little,” she lied, opening her eyes and smiling pathetically.

  His mouth turned up at the side. She had missed his smile terribly over the past few days.

  “Stay,” he said, leaving his hand on her cheek. “Please don’t go.”

  She put her hand over his, shutting her eyes again. How she had longed to hear those very words.

  “Rushbury needs you.”

  She opened her eyes, her brows knitting, and she bit her lip. “I know that the village means the world to you, Samuel. I have come to love it dearly myself. But”—she swallowed and looked him in the eye. “I don’t wish to be desired for what I bring to Rushbury.”

  He blinked and shook his head, looking dismayed. “Georgiana.” He let his hand drop from her cheek, staring into her eyes intently. “I don’t wish for you to stay for Rushbury’s sake. I wish for you to stay because I cannot imagine my life without you—I don’t want to imagine it. Please forgive me for being such a fool.”

  He took her face in both hands, staring down into her eyes with such earnestness that she had to force herself to breathe. She nodded quickly.

  “Rushbury is the only real home I have ever known,” he said. “And though I would love nothing more than to be there together, I could make a home anywhere, as long as you were by my side. You are my home.”

  Eyes burning at his words and under his gaze, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down until their lips met, soft and warm, familiar and yet entirely novel.

  All the despair of the past few days vanished with his arms around her and their lips locked. And once those feelings had gone, eight long years of discouragement and loneliness began to dissolve with every passing second.

  And she knew. She knew that she would live those eight years thrice over if it meant finding what she experienced in those moments of bliss with Samuel.

  She pulled away slightly so that their lips parted, her own widening in a mischievous smile so that, when he tried to kiss her again, his lips met her teeth. “If I stay, you know I shan’t rest until all the roads in the West Riding are seen to.”

  She felt his lips spread into an answering grin, their noses touching and his breath bathing her face in warmth. “And until every highwayman—or innocent vicar—has seen the barrel of your pistol?” he asked.

  She let her head fall back and laughed, reveling in the feeling of being so close to him that he could feel rather than just hear her laughter.

  “Precisely,” she said. She relaxed into him, resting her forehead against his and letting out a contented breath.

  “I love you, Georgiana,” he said softly, pulling her more tightly against him. “More than anything in this world.”

  “And I you,” she said. “I have never wanted to belong anywhere so much as I have wanted to belong with you.” She pulled away and looked him in the eyes, seeing herself reflected in them.

  His brows pulled together. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel anything but completely and utterly wanted. Like a fool, I let my fear overcome my faith at the first sign of trouble—I feared we were too different.”

  “What changed?” she asked.

  He let out an airy laugh. “Burke. He told me that”—he squinted his eyes—“what was it? The difference between two people is as short as their willingness to bridge it.” He cupped her face with two hands, staring down into her eyes. “We are different, Georgiana. Are you willing to bridge that distance together?”

  She flared her nostrils and nodded quickly, a smile stealing into her eyes. “Are you proposing some sort of statute labor for this bridge?”

  His lips stretched into an appreciative smile. “Yes. I suppose I am. A lifetime of statute labor together, I imagine, for who knows what kind of maintenance the bridge will require.”

  She reached up to kiss him again. “You bring the wheelbarrow, and I shall bring the shovel.”

  Epilogue

  Surrounded on all sides by cheering and clapping, Samuel helped lift his wife into the open carriage, his cheeks ac
hing from smiling and grains of rice falling from his hat onto the village road already covered in it.

  Georgiana settled into the carriage, looking around and smiling at the villagers, glowing so much that Samuel took a moment to admire her before climbing in to sit beside her. She was radiant and so utterly perfect. He wished his father could be there to see the woman he had married. Like Samuel, he would have been forced to reform his opinions of outsiders after meeting her.

  Georgiana looked at him, her smile somehow brightening even further as their eyes met, and he took her hand in his, drawing it to his mouth to kiss it.

  Burke handed the reins up to him. “A happier day than this would be difficult to imagine, Sam.” He indicated the villagers behind him with a toss of his head.

  Everyone was wearing their best attire, complemented by the smiles on their faces. Sir Clyde had agreed to John’s request to let the mill workers—all five of them, two of whom were new to Rushbury—off work early to attend the wedding. The vicar from the nearest parish stood serenely at the back of the crowd, a Bible clasped between his hands and beside him the entire Reed family, including Mary, whose hand rested on her round stomach.

  Georgiana’s family stood near the carriage, smiling up at them, Aunt Sara most of all. Georgiana’s parents had been far more kind and accepting of a lowly country vicar than Samuel could have hoped for—a fact Georgiana teasingly attributed to their relief at her marrying at all. But the truth was, they loved Samuel—Daphne in particular was elated at the match, declaring that she would be furious if her own husband was hiding out in a village somewhere when she had been scouring London for him.

  “An afternoon off work,” Burke said, “a sunny summer day, and the union of the two best-loved people in Rushbury.” He clapped a hand on Samuel’s knee. “No one deserves happiness more than you and Mrs. Derrick, my friend.”

  “We wouldn’t be here without you, Burke,” Samuel said.