Wellchester Triplets Series: A Historical Regency Romance Box Set

by Laura Locke

  Her soldier was there, but this time out in the open, frying a fish over a campfire. “Good morning,” he greeted her without turning his back. “I wondered when you’d be back. Would you happen to have some of that excellent bread with you? I’ll share my fish.”

  Johanna walked up to stand just behind him, pulling out the bread and handing it to him over his shoulder.

  “Mmmmm…”

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “Your horse is ready, he knows as well.”

  “Very observant. I will say again, you certainly do know your horseflesh.”

  “Where are you headed?” She felt empty inside. She had only known him for less than a week, yet she felt a very unusual connection to him. Perhaps it was the healer to the patient.

  “I’m not at liberty to tell you and if I did, you would likely not know where it is, I’m sorry. Have you ever been beyond your village?”

  She shook her head.

  “Would you like to at some point in your future?”

  “Yes, very much. Not just England. I would like to travel to the Colonies.”

  “That is an ambitious goal for a young woman alone,” he commented.

  “Perhaps, but imagine all the new and unusual nature to be found there. Flowers, birds, fish. Why, I hear they have an inland sea that has no salt. I should like to explore that.”

  “And you would do this all alone?” he asked her, strangely stirred by the excitement in her voice.

  “Oh, I should hope not. I hope to someday find a husband who would likewise enjoy travelling and we would go together. Who knows, we may even decide to stay there, if they’re suitably civilized.”

  He laughed. How would you describe civilized?”

  Turning her face away, she blushed. “I did not mean to sound conceited. I only know what I read, and what people tell me. I have heard they have a peoples known as Indians there, who live off the land and make their own medicinal cures. They sleep in tents.”

  “You are endearing, do you know that? I’ve been there, you know.”

  “You have? Truly?” Johanna’s voice was filled with curiosity.

  “Indeed. I travelled there shortly with my father on business. We also sailed to the islands in the Indies and then back through Italy, Portugal and up the coast past France.”

  “Tell me what it was like; the colonies?”

  “Probably not nearly so barbaric as your imagination might lead you to think. Actually, in the larger cities, they aren’t so very different from us here. It is a huge place, thousands of miles between coasts. On the north the land is cold and it snows a good deal. There are very large creatures, buffalo, they’re called, that roam the plains. Their meat is food for the Indians you mention and their fur is made into clothing and covers the tents, or teepees you already know about. In the south it is hot, equatorial heat. There is another ocean there filled with many islands with a different peoples who wear few clothes and live on the beaches and fish in the sea. They eat fresh fruit each day. But they are a heathen bunch, worshipping their own gods, not ours.”

  “Are they dangerous?”

  “No, the southern people are generally very friendly and share with visitors. They will protect themselves, however, so one should still be respectful. They grow unusual spices which the ships often bring back with them.”

  “It all sounds so wonderful,” Johanna said in a dreamy voice.

  “You would miss all this, though, eventually,” he cautioned her in a gentle voice, the images of returning to England still fresh in his memory.

  “This?”

  “England. As interesting as it may be to visit new lands, there is no replacement for these moors and the sea. Regardless, you would miss your family.”

  Johanna frowned. “I think not as much as you might believe. Please, let me look at your wound.”

  He drew in his breath, caught unaware by her inquiry. Finally, he nodded and pulled off his jacket and opened his shirt. Johanna approached, her gaze intent upon the workmanship of her stitching. Her delicate fingers grazed his abdomen, not touching the wound but in a fond manner of caring. He tensed.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I did not mean to cause you pain,” she said softly.

  “Pain? Oh, no, Nurse Johanna. It is hardly pain you are causing.”

  Johanna frowned, not understanding what he meant, but the look on his face told her it would not be seemly to inquire further.

  “Will I live?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “If you stay away from whomever did this to you,” she commented, replacing the bandages. If you are leaving, you should see a physician and have those bandages replaced. I really did not have the necessary supplies out here…” her voice trailed off as she contemplated the desolation she would feel when her soldier was no longer waiting for her.

  The space between them was filled with a sweet sadness. He wanted to reach out and take her hand, to pull her into his embrace and perhaps even kiss her. They both felt an aching to find some sort of attachment, some thin, connecting rope they could tug on to find one another again. They knew it was impossible. He was obviously a man who would travel to distant lands in His Majesty’s service and she, nothing more than a petite young woman who had never seen the world beyond the gates of her own village. This encounter had been a freak occurrence; a chance meeting.

  He cleared his throat, and she knew. The time had come.

  “I need to be going,” Johanna said in a voice that was filled with emotion. She knew if she stayed she might cry, and how inappropriate that would be? “I wish you a safe journey.”

  She turned and did not see his expression, his mouth open and his hand reaching toward her. She did not see him form her name upon his lips but not allow a voice to fuel it. She only knew that she was leaving behind something very dear, and perhaps the man who was meant for her. She might never meet another, but for now, she would have the memory of him. Her face clouded and it became difficult to keep her footing as the tears marbled her vision.

  That was when she realized. She did not even know his name.

  Chapter 11

  The forest was quiet as William took one last look at the tiny hut where Johanna had left him. It was as if she had spirited the creatures away with her, leaving him void of any companionship whatsoever. Even Raven, his horse, seemed to plod from necessity and without joy. It felt as though the world had faded to gray.

  William noticed that Raven was slowing even more. At first, he suspicioned that there may be another rider nearby and became wary. Then he realized that Raven was actually limping. He stopped and climbed down, examining the hoof. Raven flinched and there appeared to be some small object embedded in the hoof. William tried to remove it, but there were drops of blood. He walked the horse and headed in the direction of the village that Johanna had referenced.

  The canopy of leaves began to thin, telling William that a break was ahead, most likely Tymington. A few minutes later they were standing in the underbrush at the edge of the street, the tiny village to his right. He started down the street and came upon a house where an elderly woman sat upon her porch in a white-washed rocker. She peered over spectacles as William approached, her curiosity piqued by the strange and obviously well-worn soldier before her house.

  “Pardon me, madam,” he called to her, bowing slightly in respect.

  She hesitated, sizing him up a moment. “Yes, what can I do for you young man?”

  “I wonder, madam, if you could tell me if there is a blacksmith in the village? It seems my horse has gone lame and needs attention.”

  “Indeed? Well, you are in luck, sir, for indeed we do. Well, at least the son is there for the father has travelled to aid a sick family member.”

  William could tell this matron was evidently the keeper of all that went on in the village.

  “Come and sit down a moment,” she invited. “I can see you are one of the King’s men and that you’ve been in
jured, by the look of your jacket.”

  “Only a scratch. I do not wish to bother you, madam. If you could direct me to the smithy?”

  She sat back, a look of disappointment on her face. She was bored and learning about a stranger was her self-awarded responsibility. “Have you seen battle, sir? Are there skirmishes with the Scots again?” she asked. “They always stand ready to fight, you know.”

  “Indeed, I do know very well,” he agreed.

  Aunt Margaret was not to be left short. “Might I ask your name?” she inquired.

  “Of course, Madam, my apologies for not having introduced myself. I am William Bower.”

  She sat up straighter. “William Bower. Not perchance the son of Lord Cunningham?”

  “Indeed, one and the same, madam.”

  “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Lord Cunningham,” she said politely.

  “Not until my father passes, madam, but pleasant to make your acquaintance as well, I’m sure. Now, if you could direct me to the smithy?”

  She wanted to know more but could see he was not in a talkative mood. “Indeed. If you proceed down this lane, perhaps another two leagues to the Wellchester farm, you’ll find the barn where young Richard is working his father’s smithy. He will help you out, to be sure. Just go along there and you will find it,” she motioned.

  William nodded, bowed and continued down the lane toward the Wellchester farm.

  He thought about Johanna as they walked. She was everything he wanted in a wife. Sweet-natured, empathetic, gentle, intelligent and yet not dominating. He knew she would make an excellent mother. He was, however, not in a position to take on a wife as of yet. His father, Lord Cunningham, had suffered financial setbacks due to excessive drinking and gambling, leave his estate in disrepair and his son’s future uncertain. Lord Cunningham’s health was suffering and William knew his father was probably not long for the world. It was not that William cared a whit about the title or the estate; he loved his father. When his father was clear-headed, he was a genius tactician, and the two of them had enjoyed long and spirited conversations well into the night. He pleaded with his father over and over to modify his ways, to allow his health to recover on its own. It was his father who had taken him to the colonies and had introduced him to new and wondrous adventures as they travelled. William hoped to one day have a son so that he might repeat the journey, a sort of legacy where none in property or wealth remained.

  Eventually, William heard a clanging sound and recognized a farrier’s hammer striking an anvil. He could smell a light burning odor and knew he’d found the Wellchester farm. He turned down the drive and headed toward the barn that lay behind the white-washed cottage.

  “Hello?” he called toward the barn.

  A young man came out, his face covered with soot.

  “Help you, sir?”

  “My horse is lame. He picked up something in his hoof. Can you take a look?”

  “Indeed, sir. If you will take your ease on the bench there in the shade, I will see to him immediately.”

  William nodded and handed him the reins. There was something familiar about farrier, but his face was black from soot. There was something in the eyes, though, and his hair…

  William found the bench and sat down, relaxing as best as he could. He was combing his memory, trying to place the young farrier. He caught a movement from his periphery and looked toward the cottage. Suddenly, his stomach clenched. It was Johanna, looking down at him.

  Another movement in front of him caught his attention as a door opened and a young woman with a basket emerged, her back to him as she closed it. She turned and was startled to see him sitting so nearby. She smiled. “Hello.”

  William’s mouth dropped open. It was Johanna! “Hello!” he responded with enthusiasm. How had she come down from the window so quickly? He looked back to the window and there she was, still watching him, her hand over her mouth in a frightened gesture. Suddenly he remembered her words—that she had two siblings and only one was a girl. She was one of triplets! The boy in the barn was her brother and the girl with the basket, her sister. Then it all made sense.

  He looked back up but the window was empty. He suspected that the brother and sister knew nothing about him. More to the point, he may cause her considerable trouble and embarrassment were he to bring it up, so kept his peace.

  It wasn’t long before the boy emerged, Raven’s lead in his hand. “All fixed. He should be fine, now.”

  William removed a coin from his pocket and handed it to Richard. “I apologize for the interruption and appreciate your help,” he said, shaking Richard’s hand. He tipped his hand to his forehead in a gesture of respect and mounted Raven, leaving the farm, and the woman he wanted, behind.

  Chapter 12

  Johanna watched as Richard handed over the reins to his horse and her soldier mounted and rode off. She had seen him look to her window, but had pulled back out of view lest he see her crying. She could not afford to give herself away and both Melody and Richard would have instantly noticed her behavior and known something was afoot. Thus, he had come, likely innocently, and left, likely forever.

  The fates are so cruel, she bemoaned to herself, and took to her bed.

  “What’s wrong?” Melody asked from the doorway.

  Keeping her back to the doorway, Johanna answered, “I have a most dreadful headache. Leave me be for a bit so I might rest and I will be down shortly and prepare dinner.”

  Although they fought like tiger cubs, the siblings were close and would have one another’s back in any fight. “Are you sure you are well? Shall I mix up something from Mother’s herbs for you?”

  “No, no, do not bother. I will be fine shortly,” Johanna urged her sister to move along and leave her in peace.

  Melody nodded and went back downstairs to her sewing. She knew instinctively that something was not all well with her sister, but she knew not to press. If Johanna wanted to talk about it, she would, but in her own good time.

  It was time for dinner and Johanna had risen, rinsed her face in the cool well water and managed to put together a chicken stew from one of the hens who was no longer laying. She called Richard in. He was in high spirits.

  “We had a customer earlier today,” he boasted, drying his hands as he sat at the table.

  “I saw him as I came out to feed the chickens,” Melody piped up. “He startled me. So fearsome looking. A soldier of the King’s Army,” she told Johanna, assuming her sister had not seen anything that had transpired. “His jacket was torn and in sad condition. I almost offered to mend it but he would have been shirtless. Most inappropriate. I thought the King would keep his men in better form,” she commented as an afterthought and Johanna had to bite her tongue from saying anything. She wanted to defend her soldier, but the stakes were too high.

  Instead she changed the subject. “I’m going into the village tomorrow to buy some ribbons for my hair. I feel the need to liven up my wardrobe a bit,” she added before anyone could begin questioning.

  “Have you money for that?” Melody asked, surprised.

  “Enough,” Johanna said. She wanted to consult with Aunt Margaret and needed a pretense to do so.

  Richard nodded absentmindedly, thinking instead of the soldier and wondering what it would be like to be in his place. Richard was growing old enough to be eager for adventure, and there was little enough of that to be had in a smithy.

  The next morning Johanna left breakfast behind and began walking to the village. To her surprise and joy, Aunt Margaret was once again sitting on her porch, waiting for the world to go by. She was about to call to her when Aunt Margaret called to her instead.

  “See there, Johanna, is that you?”

  “Yes, Aunt Margaret, it is I.”

  “Come girl, I wish to speak with you,” Aunt Margaret called, putting down her embroidery and sitting straight in anticipation.

  Johanna had barely taken a seat on the step of the porch when Aunt Margaret burst.
“Did he come?”

  Johanna was puzzled. “Do you mean Father?”

  “No, you silly girl. The soldier. Yesterday. He came by here in search of a farrier for his horse had gone lame. I gave him directions to Wellchester, naturally.”

  Johanna felt her heart thump and emotion tightened her throat. “Yes, I believe he did. Richard spoke of him at dinner last evening. Melody saw him, too.”

  “And not you?”

  “I?”

  “Well, who else?”

  “I was attending to chores upstairs and did not see him seated on the bench,” Johanna explained.

  Aunt Margaret’s head cocked in skepticism. “Then how do you know he sat upon the bench and where you were while he was there?”

  Johanna had caught herself in her own trap. Her face snapped up to look at Aunt Margaret and then down at the ground. She burst into tears.

  “There, now, girl, what’s all this about?” Aunt Margaret reached forward and lay a hand on Johanna’s shoulder. “Don’t try to keep it from me. It will do you no good. Out with it.”

  Finally, Johanna could hold it back no longer. The entire, wretched story poured out. “Yes, I know the man of which you speak. A few days ago I found his horse grazing as I walked through the forest and he was lying on the ground, bleeding and sorely wounded. I found a place to shelter him for I could not bring him home and feared for his life if the men in the village were to find him. So, I stitched his wound, brought him some bread and built a small fire to keep him warm. He recovered quickly and left. I never expected to see him again, and then, there he sat, in our very own garden. He saw me briefly in the window, I think, but made no mention of it. Richard and Melody went on and on, and I could not say anything lest they think I had done something wrong. Oh, Aunt Margaret, tell me my life is not forever ruined.”

  Aunt Margaret straightened. “Now I will ask you this one time and we will not speak of it again. Did you allow him to touch you, in any untoward manner?”