A Matter of Choice

Chapter Fifty-Two

Though Emily had no desire to reside in Bath, she was relieved that her aunt Letty and the general's man of business had finally convinced him to retrench. With all the land mortgaged he was receiving little income from the estate, and the family expenditures were far greater than what funds were accessible. Indeed, if the general were to satisfy all his creditors outright, it would necessitate the sale not only of all the land, but Barstow Hall itself. When this was brought home to him he realised he had no other choice. The good luck to have a willing tenant readily at hand outweighed the fact that he was a wealthy merchant and not a gentleman.

Living in a city brought no joy to Emily. Certainly, Bath was not a teeming metropolis like London, but still, Emily's heart yearned for the country lanes and open fields. Her joy of being home after a month long sojourn in London was expressed in solitary rambles along her favourite byways. She no longer heeded her father's strictures to not walk beyond the estate grounds, but instead walked where she wished. In the early morning hours it was possible to find her standing upon the old stone bridge, gazing at the slow moving water of the river below. She even ventured down the river path and found the same spot she had sat and spoken with James, and presented him with the handkerchief she had made. That seemed so very long ago.

Her time for walking was the early morning because the rest of her days were filled with decisions of what was to be packed and taken to Bath, what was to be left to the use of their new tenant, and what was to be put into storage. Emily also set aside items to be disbursed among the poor, which she had Alice pack up into bundles and take to the parsonage in the gig.

Two days after her return, while she was working in a back parlour, she was informed that a visitor was awaiting her in the drawing room. Her heart beat recklessly, but she stilled it swiftly, realising that James would at that moment be at Ann's wedding and could not possibly be in her sitting room. She removed her kerchief and apron and wiped her hands on a dust cloth before she made her way down the hall.

"Isn't it frightful!" cried Sophie Farquar as Emily entered the room. "That conniving Carmen Fuentes has captured Lord Ralph away from me! Have you heard? They are to be married in six months time, when Lady Prescott comes out of mourning. I have been very sorely used!"

"I have heard," said Emily. "I wish them both all happiness. In what manner have you been mistreated?"

"How could you, of all people, ask me such a question, Emily dear? Why it is close to ten months ago that I professed my love of him to you."

Emily remembered that incident quite clearly, but she also recalled all Sophie had to say about love when they had spoken of the broken engagement. Her emotions appeared to change as her whims dictated. "But did Lord Ralph make you any promises he has not fulfilled?"

"You must have seen how he always doted on me! I was sure that was why you let him go in the first place. He did not say as much to me with words, but his manner was more than promising."

"Then it would seem you set too much in store by his gallant flirtation. I do not see how you can call that mistreatment. Do you expect all the gentleman you flirt with to offer for you? How many have done?"

Sophie blushed. "That is entirely beside the point. I believed you were my true friend! I thought you, at least, would commiserate with me, but I see I was sorely mistaken! You prefer rather to ridicule me now that I have lost in love. You probably regret your rash decision to give up Lord Ralph, and are taking your sorrows out on me! I always thought you a simpleton for doing that."

"I apologise if I have offended you, Sophie," said Emily seriously, "my intent was not to ridicule you, but to point out how meaningless flirtation really is. As for regrets, the only thing that I rue regarding Lord Ralph is that I did not come to my senses sooner and break off the engagement years before!"

"Oh, that you had! Your timing could not have been worse! Just think -- she would not have been here then and he would have been mine. Lady Sophie Prescott -- how well that sounds. As it is my hard work has been all for naught and I will have to start fresh with some other wealthy gentleman. Now that Mr. Braithwaite has gone there is no one acceptable in the community."

"What of Mr. Lampton or Mr. Billingsworth? I'm certain either of them would be more than honoured to marry you," said Emily.

"Do be serious! They are both the veriest moonlings, with not enough fortune to make the venture worthwhile."

"There will be our tenant, Mr. Smythe. I believe he is all of five and thirty but he has a great fortune," said Emily, turning to hide her smile. She knew what reaction she would get from teasing Sophie even so slightly.

"A Merchant! All the money in the world would not make him a worthy match for me. I must marry a gentleman!"

"I can quite see that the match would be unequal," said Emily, but she did not specify which would be the unworthy party.

"So how did you find London? Did you meet no one there to suit your fancy?"

"I met Mr. Warrington's youngest sister, Miss Mary, and I was very taken with her," replied Emily.

"Silly goose," said Sophie. "I was referring to gentlemen! Though probably none of the gentlemen you met took any notice of you, since you are looking so pale and peaked, and never make an effort to appear to advantage. I can hardly countenance Bertie telling me a while back how your looks had improved. He must have been a trifle overtaken. I think I will go to London; there is no sense staying here now that Lord Ralph is out of reach once more, and you will be up in Bath."

Sophie continued to rattle on in the same manner. Emily excused herself as soon as politeness allowed and returned to her work. The wedding would be over by now, most likely, and the wedding breakfast. Would Mary give him the message straight off, or had she already done so? How would he react? Would he come to her? Emily had to admit that even if the message caused James to return, he would need first to return to Bedfordshire and organise his business matters before he could plan a journey. She sighed at the knowledge that if he did come, it would not be for two or three weeks, and she would already be in Bath. But she could have no way of knowing, one way or the other, until the event transpired, if it transpired at all. It was a sea of uncertainty she was in and the only way to cope was for her to throw all her energies into her tasks and attempt to keep her thoughts at bay.

It was late the following afternoon when James turned Sophocles through the gates and up the drive that led to Wortham Lodge. He thought nothing of the fact that he had not written ahead to inform his uncle of his coming -- his only thought was that he was finally home. All the familiar sights as he neared Barstow had filled his heart with elation till he felt it would burst, and it took all his resolution not to go directly to the Hall, all weary and stained with travel, to declare himself at once. He was greeted heartily by the groom and the stable lads who came running when he entered, each vying for the right to tend to Sophocles.

"Pleased to see you, Mr. Warrington, sir," said the butler as he ushered James into the house. "I'll have your room ready in a trice. I'll send word when the hot water is sent up."

"Thank you, Winters," said James. "I'll show myself in."

The butler nodded and then rushed off to inform the housekeeper to hurry quick about setting the young master's room to rights.

"Well I'll be blessed!" cried Sir Edward as James entered the room. "Felicity my dear, look who providence has brought us. Come in, come in, I have never been more happy to see someone."

James greeted both his relatives and realised that he had missed much more than Emily while he was gone. These two people were very dear to him and just seeing them again brought tears to his eyes.

"Take a seat, take a seat, lad," effused his uncle. "This is a wonderful surprise. Please say that you are back with us for good! Not that young Turnbull isn't up to snuff. He has served us very well, but we have missed you something fierce."

"Indeed," said Lady Warrington, giving him a steady gaze. "What are your plans?"

"I would very much like to return to work here at Wortham, if I may," said James.

"To be sure, to be sure," said Sir Edward, rubbing his hands together. "This must mean that you have straightened out all the problems on your brother's estate. I knew that you would, and in very good time too, after all you made short work of the mess that you were saddled with here. I was just telling Felicity the other day that we should expect to see you soon."

"To tell the truth, James," said his aunt, "he has told me that at least once a week since your departure."

"And I was right, was I not, for here he is in our very drawing room at last! So tell us how you have fared, boy. You look tired, but it is no wonder after your long journey from Bedfordshire."

"Actually, I have come from London. I left the city yesterday about noon. I was there for my sister Anne's wedding."

"I recall, you wrote to us that she was to be wed," said his aunt. "Did you stay long in London?"

"No, I arrived the night before, and only stayed for the ceremony and the wedding breakfast."

"That is a pity because a friend of yours was recently in London, and I thought you might have seen her," said Lady Warrington. "Miss Sidford returned before you could have got there, but I understand Olivia is still there."

"I did see Olivia but had no chance to speak with her, there was such a crowd. My sister Mary told me that she met Miss Sidford, though." A conscious look came upon James' face when he mentioned her name, and his aunt smiled.
"Mention of the young lady has put me in mind of something," said Sir Edward. "Do you recall when you left for Bedfordshire? Well, shortly after that, I believe it was -- am I right, Felicity? Yes, I do think it was shortly after -- the girl, Miss Sidford, broke off that longstanding engagement she had with Lord Ralph. Betrothed since birth, they were. I always thought it an odd arrangement. Shouldn't have liked it myself. I don't mean I shouldn't have liked to have been betrothed to Miss Sidford, because she seems a very lovely girl. I mean that I should have liked to choose a wife for myself, as I did. Well the long and short of it is she decided she did not want to be married to him after all, and now, just recently, he has got himself engaged to the pretty Spanish lady that has been their house guest these two months. Her mother is an old friend of Lady Prescott's -- British, of course, but the father was a Spanish Count."

"I wish them very well," said James politely.

His aunt had been watching him steadily throughout the rather rambling disclosure her husband had made. "I see you were already aware of the broken engagement. Did Mr. Turnbull inform you of it?"

"No," said James, blushing despite himself. "Robbie Turnbull gave me no news other than estate business. I don't believe he enjoys correspondence. I learned of it from Mary."

His aunt smiled and nodded. The sudden appearance of her nephew made perfect sense to her now.

Winters appeared at the door and announced that Mr. Warrington's water was ready for him now. James excused himself and hurried to his room to bathe and then think about his next move. Half an hour later he was dry and dressing in the clothes that Winters himself had laid out for him. It was the suit that he had worn to the wedding, but the only clean apparel that he had in his portmanteau. His travelling clothes had all been removed to the laundry. His cupboards were bare. He would have to send off a letter to Tynestead as soon as possible, and have some clothing sent to him. He also needed to inform them of the change of steward. A letter to his brother was in order too. The next thing he needed to attend to was to find Robbie Turnbull and send him off to Bedfordshire post haste. Hopefully he could be ready to leave in the morning. He saw an evening ahead of him filled with explaining all there was to know about the running of Tynestead, and acquainting himself with all that was taking place at Wortham. His real business would have to wait until the morrow.

Chapter Fifty-Three

Though he had been up late into the night going over estate matters with Robbie Turnbull, James awoke before first light. He lay in bed for another half-hour until he accepted the fact that sleep would not come again, then he got up and looked through his window. The sky was visibly lightening in the east. Faint strands of pale light stretched across the horizon. Seized by the sudden need to be out of doors, James dressed hurriedly and made his way to the stables. When he led a saddled Sophocles out into the courtyard, colour was streaking across the sky. He threw himself into the saddle and headed out across the meadow and along the lane that would eventually bring him to the old stone bridge.

He dismounted and sat on the balustrade, looking at the dark water that flowed smoothly below. Sophocles came closer and nudged his shoulder with his soft nose.

"Thanks, old fellow. I knew she would not be here, but I had to come," said James as he gently rubbed the horse's neck. "I'm quite the foolish romantic, am I not? I meet a girl once on a bridge and it is forever connected with her in my memory."

He thought back to that meeting. To the way she had looked standing in the partial shadows, with her hair escaping from its bun and her clear eyes regarding him. He had not yet been in love with her, but he had felt inexplicably drawn; since that meeting had found it increasingly difficult to stop thinking of her. Emily. His heart twisted in his chest. He could not say when his feelings of interest had changed from warm regard to love, but when he had met her again by the river, along the river path, he knew now that his heart had already been hers even if at the time he refused to admit it.

He remounted and directed Sophocles towards that rustic trail. If he was to make a journey through his memories as the sun slowly brought in the day he may as well include the little glen where she had given him the handkerchief that resided in his breast pocket. That was the day she had cried, and he had been unable to hold her for fear of scaring her away. That was the day that in his need to bring her comfort, he had given her further reason to marry Lord Ralph by telling her what power to help the poor she would have as Lady Prescott. He had deeply felt the wedge her engagement to Lord Ralph placed between them, but now she was free and he had to believe that she cared, even in a small way, for him. He did not have Mary's certainty, but he did have hope, and that hope would carry him through the day until he finally saw Emily and would know if they were destined only to be friends, or to spend their lives together. If friendship was all he could hope for, this time he would accept it gratefully and not let her down again.

Emily lay in her bed watching the dark sky pale to a summer blue, fiery orange streaks dim to a light yellow and then disappear. Outside the chorus of birdsong outdid any symphony in the drawing rooms of London. Or Bath. How would she be able to give all this up and live within the confines of a city? She arose and stood gazing out the window. Wisteria hung about it in profusion, the long panicles of violet blossoms stirring gently as a light breeze filtered through them. Emily opened the window and leaned out on the sill, breathing in the soft fragrance. The garden beckoned with its dew sparkled grass and abundant flowers.

She would go out now, before the heat of the day, and collect enough roses to fill her room. Later she could leave her chores and go for a long walk, perhaps to visit Ruth. She needed to escape the dust of the attics for a few hours. In the shadowy gables of Barstow Hall her thoughts continued to stray towards Bedfordshire to the estate where she imagined James must now have returned. All she could think about was whether he would come or not, and if so, when? She needed to get out and find some other direction for her thoughts, talk with somebody other than her immediate family about something other than what should stay and what should go. She smiled wanly at her reflection as she sat before her dressing table and quickly arranged her hair.

After breakfasting, James took Sophocles out once again. His problem now was how to meet up with Emily. Could he go directly to Barstow Hall and ask for her? How would he be received? He had never visited that house in the past, so come by at this time would appear highly unusual. It was hard to predict the reaction of Emily's parents if he were to call on them. It was also doubtful that he would be given an opportunity to speak with her alone. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that to first set eyes upon Emily after such a long absence in her drawing room in front of her parents was not what he really wished.

He directed his horse along the lanes, past burgeoning hedges, until he came upon their special meeting place. The gate that held so many conflicting memories. There he had told Emily about Turnip Townshend, sat beside her as they regarded the Malvern Hills, made little snow people when they were unable to meet and taken his leave of her with a shattered heart as her face filled with confusion. Was it possible that she still came here to sit and gaze at the hills, and even that she thought about her meetings with him when she did so?

Nearly an hour later James realised the futility of standing by the gate in the vain hope that she would come. There was nothing for it but to brave the reception at Barstow Hall and knock upon her very door. An austere butler opened the portal and informed him that he would enquire if the family were in. Five minutes later, a very long five minutes to James who had to restrain himself from pacing back and forth in the entrance hall, the butler returned and ushered him formally into the drawing room. The only people present were Mrs. Sidford and Emily's aunt.

"Mr. Warrington," said Maude Sidford distantly after they had greeted one another, "I was under the impression you had left the neighbourhood altogether."

"I had some business with my brother's estate in Bedfordshire, but it has been taken care of. I have now returned to stay."

Upon hearing this Letty smiled and was about to comment, but Maude Sidford had no intentions of giving up control of the conversation. "Ah, estate duties," she said with a trace of disdain. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit? If you have some matter of business to take up with my husband, I suggest you make an appointment with his bailiff."

"It is a social call," said James awkwardly.

"And we are most pleased to see you," cut in Letty quickly. "How are dear Sir Edward and Lady Warrington?"

"Very well, thank you, ma'am," said James, smiling at her appreciatively. "Is Miss Sidford at home? My sister Mary has charged me with greetings for her. They met recently in London."

Maude Sidford unbent just a little. "Well that does explain your visit then. I was quite unaware that Emily had made the acquaintance of your sister, but she met so very many people in London while she was staying with the Rutherfords. Of course, Miss Olivia is in some way related to your family, so I suppose it natural that they should have met. How are your parents? I was sincerely attached to your mother when we were both young."

"When last I saw them, they were well."

"Were you in London as well while Emily was there?"

"I arrived for my sister Anne's wedding just after she left, so unfortunately I did not see her," said James.

"A pity," said Mrs. Sidford, but she made it sound like she didn't think it a pity at all. "Who did you say your sister was married to?"

"She married a Lord Branwick."

"Indeed! How wonderful for her. You must give my congratulations to your family for such a fine match."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sidford." James hesitated and then continued determinedly, "You have not yet informed me as to whether Miss Sidford is in. I would like to extend my sister's greetings to her."

"I'm afraid that will not be possible, Mr. Warrington. Emily has gone out, but I do assure you we will give her your message. We are relocating to Bath shortly and are all very busy preparing for that. It was so good of you to call."

It was obvious to James that he was being dismissed. He had no idea if Emily was away from the house or not. Her aunt had looked puzzled when Mrs. Sidford had said it, and it was very possible that she did not want the two of them to meet, but he really had no other option but to depart. At least now she would know he was home and wanting to see her. He took his leave of the two ladies and was soon out upon the road with Sophocles once more.

"Where to now, old fellow?" he asked absently as he stroked his horse's velvet nose. "How can I arrange a meeting? Is there someone who can . . . of course! I'll go and see Miss Chesterton. She has already as much as told me she knows of my feelings for Emily and approves of them. I'm sure she can arrange something." With a lightened heart he hoisted himself up into the saddle and set off for the parsonage.

James wound Sophocles' reins about a post at the park paling and entered the grounds of the parsonage through the pleasure gardens just as he had that first visit in the fall. As he came around the large weigela bush he almost expected to bump into Emily as he had done on that previous occasion, but there was no one in the garden. He arrived at the house after a most uneventful walk and was greeted happily by all the Chesterton family who implored him to stay and take luncheon with them. After the meal, Francis and Peter would not be content until James had gone with them to the stables to see a litter of kittens that the mother cat was fiercely guarding from the two inquisitive dogs. There were then a number of badger holes and fishing spots at the creek that the boys were certain he would be equally excited to visit.

Emily came down from the attics to her room and gratefully breathed in the delicate scent of the roses, replacing the fusty smell of years of dust and gloom that had clogged her senses. She threw off her dingy overdress, and washed her face and hands in the cool water from her pitcher. Shaking out her skirts, she decided that her dress was still clean enough to wear for her walk, and she went downstairs to partake of a quick lunch. She had little conversation with her mother and father, and did not see her Aunt Letty at all for she was visiting Elspeth Craddock in the village.

The sun was high in the sky as Emily set out in her light summery gown and straw bonnet. She did not mind the heat at all; it was glorious to be out of the attics and in the warmth and brightness of the sunshine. By the time she had reached the churchyard, though, Emily was overheated and she took some time out to relish the welcome coolness of the old stone church. Urns of lilac graced the altar and filled the air with gentle sweetness. Light coming through the old stained glass windows painted patterns across the weathered floor by the communion rail. Emily knelt for a few moments in silent prayer and then slipped out the side door and through the gate that led into the gardens of the manse.

She wandered among the overgrown shrubs until she came to the huge weigela bush. It was in full bloom, covered with the carmine bells that had only decorated it sparingly in the fall. She remembered studying the small blossoms that day so long ago, staring into their pink hearts and feeling the velvet softness with her eyes. At that time James had almost run into her. She stood, mesmerised by the colour, by the bees that drifted from flower to flower, the sun hot on her back. She turned her head ever so slightly and suddenly beheld James standing not ten feet away. Still lost in her daze, she couldn't have moved or spoken if she had wanted to. But her mind did not even think of such things; all it was able to comprehend was that James was standing there. She was capable of doing nothing more than looking.

James stood still, disbelieving. He had left the boys to their own devices and, lost in thought, walked through the garden to return to Sophocles. He had come out of his reverie to see the object of his thoughts standing not far from him. She turned in his direction and their eyes met for a moment that stretched, unbreaking. His breathing became uneven and he took a step forward.

"Emily -- is that really you, or has my mind just conjured up the thing that I most wanted to see?"

His words released Emily from her trance. "James . . . you are here. You came."

Her face took on a warming glow and her eyes still never left his. He shortened the distance between them in a heartbeat, took her hand in a spontaneous gesture and brought it to his lips. "Yes, I came."

"And you will stay?"

"I'll not leave you again."

Emily blushed, suddenly realising just what she had asked, and the import of James' answer. She stumblingly tried to say something, anything, to relieve the awkwardness of the moment. "I broke off the engagement with Lord Ralph the very day after you left. You brought me to finally understand that I could not marry a man I did not love. Thank you."

James looked at her earnestly. "Was it very difficult?"

"Telling him I could not marry him was easy -- I felt such a weight slip from my shoulders. But my family strongly disapproved of my action and have not made my life at home very pleasant."

"And I left you to face it all on your own. I'm sorry -- I thought I was sparing your feelings by running away, but I now see that I acted very selfishly."

"Your intentions were honourable," said Emily. "You could not have foreseen . . . you did not know . . . even I did not know . . ." Her voice trailed away. She was suddenly unable to meet his eyes and her heart was beating strongly, high in her chest.

James was still holding her hand, absently running the fingers of his other hand across the back of it. He was silent for what seemed like a very long time. "I think you know what I feel for you -- I was quite clear in my letter, though I did not say the words. I could not when you were engaged to another. Now I am free to speak even though I am unsure of my reception."

Emily's eyes flew up to his. "You need not be," she whispered.

Still holding her hand, James brought himself closer so that their bodies were almost touching, and he bent his head close to her ear. "I have a confession that must be made. Even had you been free then, I would not have offered for you. I thought that I could not ask it of you, that we could never marry because your fortune is greater than my own. It was all pride, and caused needless anguish. I have nothing to offer you but my love; that I have in abundance. Would you . . . would you consider being the wife of a steward, and living in a house not much bigger than a cottage, and having your fortune settled upon our many children?"

"Are we to have many children?" asked Emily breathlessly.

"If you would like."

"I would like that very much," said Emily smiling up at him. "I have always wished to be in a family like the Chestertons. There is only one small problem. I no longer have a fortune to be settled on our children. My father has gambled everything away."

James looked at her in surprise for a moment and then smiled deeply. "I don't think our children would mind that in the least," he said, releasing her hand and taking her into his arms as he wanted to so many times before. "I have really been a fool, worrying over money that did not exist."

"It only serves to make you much more dear to me that you overcame your pride and let love win out," said Emily softly, snuggling closer to him.

They stood like that for some time. Somehow Emily's bonnet had fallen back upon its strings and James was able to rest his head upon her soft, brown hair. "It is still hard for me to believe that you are here with me," he whispered. "I have dreamt of this moment too many times."

"I am here in your arms where I belong," she said into his chest. "We neither of us ever have to just dream of it again."

James reached out and plucked a spray from the weigela and tucked it behind her ear, then he kissed her hair softly.

Emily turned her head up to look at his face. "Did I tell you how much I love you?"

"You didn't need to, my love. I can see it in your eyes."

Emily smiled and touched his cheek tentatively. "When you looked at me that day with such pain and longing and called me Emily and said you would never forget me, something happened deep inside, and that is when I knew -- really knew -- that I loved you. Before that I just wanted to always be with you and talk to you without knowing why."

James smiled down at her. "You are so sweet, my love." He kissed her forehead with a feather-light touch of his lips. "Let us not dwell on that painful day - I have thought of it too much these two months. Now that we have come to this happy understanding I must talk to your father soon as can be."

"My father will not be so pleased with you as I am," said Emily becoming suddenly serious. "I don't think he will look favourably on you at all."

"Will that matter to you?"

"Not if you can convince him to allow me to marry you. But I don't want him to disparage you."

"I shall manage him, never fear," said James with confidence. "Nothing can keep us apart again." He wound a strand of hair about his finger and watched it fall against her cheek when a thought struck him. "Sophocles! He has been tied to the park paling for hours, poor fellow. Are you on your way to see Miss Chesterton, or can you accompany me to my horse?"

"No one is expecting me at the parsonage," said Emily smiling, "and I would dearly love to see Sophocles again. After that I am afraid we will have to part, though even then we will not be parted."

James took her hand and kissed it tenderly, then drew Emily along with him towards the far gate. They walked hand in hand, their heads close together, oblivious of all the beauties about them. Still, somehow they managed to take a long time before they finally reached Sophocles, who nickered upon hearing Emily's voice. The grass on his side of the fence was very much shorter than it had been when James had left him. Emily stroked his nose and kissed his cheek, then whispered in his ear. He, in turn, looked over at James approvingly.

Chapter Fifty-Four

Spending the rest of the day with Emily was all that James wanted to do, but he knew that not only did she have to return to her home, he had a lot of business to attend to now that he was back in charge of Wortham again. He really should have gone out to check on the crews of labourers first thing in the morning and to visit all his tenants to apprise them of his return. These concerns kept him busy until the setting of the sun brought the darkening dusk down upon the verdant fields. The whole time he had been partially distracted with thoughts of Emily and how it felt to have her in his arms. The softness of her hair upon his cheek, her fresh clean scent with the hint of rose petals. His happiness was barely contained, and all that he met thought it remarkable that he should be so pleased to be back among them.

For her part, Emily returned home in a contented daze that she could not shake. She barely attended to her parents or even her Aunt Letty at dinnertime until her aunt mentioned James' visit. She smiled and thanked her for the message from Mary Warrington, and then looked over at her mother who was eyeing her closely.

"I find such upstart pretensions annoying. Imagine! Thinking that he could contrive an entrée to this house on such a flimsy excuse. Penelope and I have been more than gracious to him based on our slight acquaintance with his mother, but he has lowered himself socially and should not expect such favours in the future."

"Mama! Mr. Warrington is a very respectable person, and of a better family than our own! I see no shame in his being a steward. And his sister is a lovely girl -- I was most pleased to meet her," replied Emily in consternation.

"I am not saying his connections are not good," said her mother. "But the man has made choices in his career that ought to remove him from our sphere. I am afraid you saw entirely too much of him at the Chestertons'. It is deplorable that they fraternise with such riffraff as they do. I hear that a farmer's son dines with their family regularly. If they don't take care, one of their daughters will end up marrying the fellow. It is a great relief to me that we shall be repairing to Bath soon where you will be sure of more elevated society."

Emily was saved having to respond by Aunt Letty who quickly diverted the conversation to Bath, and the acquaintances she hoped to meet up with soon in the pump room. As soon as she finished her meal, Emily excused herself for the evening claiming a headache. She did not want to discuss the matter further with her mother until tomorrow when everything would be out in the open. If her parents had an inkling of the import of his coming visit, her father might refuse to see James and they could not afford for that to happen.

In the quiet of her room Emily regained her composure and her confidence. She sat in the chair by her fire and let her thoughts drift back to their encounter, and the sight of James in the parsonage garden. She touched her forehead where his lips had settled ever so fleetingly and smiled. She wondered what it would feel like for those lips to meet hers and she blushed at the thought, but she couldn't help contemplating it again and again. When at last she went to bed she lay nestled in her blankets with his handkerchief which had given her so much solace the last lonely months. This time, instead of using it to staunch her tears, she pressed it to her lips as she murmured his name and slipped into a deep and blissful sleep.

The next morning James arose well rested and ready to meet any challenges he should face. He dressed with care and then breakfasted quickly before attending to the most pressing estate matters. By eleven o'clock he had discharged all his duties and was upon the Sidfords' imposing doorstep, ringing the bell.

The butler opened the door slowly and looked down his nose at James.

"Would you please inform General Sidford that Mr. Warrington wishes to speak with him privately?" said James.

"I will ascertain if my master is in," said the butler stiffly. In a few moments he returned and addressed James once more. "The general is not at home." He made as if to close the door.

James agilely slipped past him and into the entranceway. "I don't mind waiting," he said affably. "I am completely at the general's disposal." When the butler eyed him warily he added, "You may go about your business. Inform me when the general returns; until then I will admire these fine paintings." He then stood in front of a dark painting of a brace of pheasants and affected interest.

"Very good, sir," said the butler as he bowed and slipped down a hallway. He returned after a while and hovered near the door for five minutes or so. James moved to look at a picture of two spaniels lying at their master's feet, and directed some good-natured comments about it to the butler who attempted to remain impassive and noncommittal. It wasn't long, however, before James' friendliness had won him over and he was pointing out the painting that he preferred above all the others.

"I think my master may have returned from his walk," said the butler presently. "I'll be back shortly."

Ten minutes later James was ushered to the general's study door. He thanked the butler with a smile and strode into the room. General Sidford was sitting at his desk, a sheaf of papers before him and a brandy by his side. He rose as James came forward with his hand outstretched and waved him into a chair.

"What business do you have with me?" he asked directly.

"I think you may already have guessed that I have come to ask for permission to marry your daughter," said James calmly.

"If we are to be blunt, then let me tell you no right now so that you can go on your way and I can have my study to myself again," barked the general.

"That is not an answer that will satisfy me," said James. "I do not mean to leave this room until I have your blessing."

"Young man! You weasel your way into my presence by intimidating my butler, and then have the audacity to say you want to marry my daughter. What do you have to recommend yourself? Nothing! You are not worthy enough to even be considered. For god's sake you are my neighbour's steward! Emily was engaged to Lord Ralph Prescott and he wasn't good enough for her. What makes you think she would even look at you?"

"Sir," said James emphatically, "I had once thought that because I am only a steward I was unworthy of Miss Sidford, but I now know I was wrong. I am, after all, a gentleman and the son of a baronet. More importantly, I love your daughter very much and she cares for me in return. I believe that I can provide for her and I would never do anything that would harm her."

"You young jackanapes! So, you are the one who turned Emily's head and convinced her to give up Lord Ralph. I'll have your hide for that! A fortune hunter such as yourself will never steal my daughter away! She'll be brought to reason and will make a good match yet. I have no more to say to you."

"But I have much more to say to you, General Sidford. I am no fortune hunter. Neither did convince your daughter against marrying Lord Ralph, though I knew he would never make her happy. I am an honourable man. I know I have no riches, but I am willing to work to provide for Miss Sidford. I have two hundred pounds a year, and another three hundred for the services I render my uncle. I do not have extravagant tastes, nor does Em . . . Miss Sidford."

"What would you say if I told you she has no fortune?" asked the general belligerently. "What would happen to all your professions of undying love?"

"She has told me she has no fortune, and I am happy for it. My love for her is true and real and never faltered even when I had no hope. Sir, you must understand that what is paramount here is what Emily wants - that she be happy. You cannot expect her to tie herself to someone she does not love. She has already proven to you that she will do no such thing."

The general sputtered when he heard James use Emily's given name. "Warrington, you forget yourself! I will not have Emily's name bandied about like that!"

At the same moment as this conversation was going on in the general's study, Maude Sidford had called Emily to speak with her in the drawing room.

"Are you aware who is visiting with your father at this moment?" she asked in raised accents.

"By your reaction I can only suppose it to be Mr. Warrington," answered Emily.

"Were you aware that he was coming? Do you know what his business is?" Maude Sidford's face was livid as she stared at Emily accusingly.

"Yes, mother. He has come to ask for permission to marry me."

"It is worse than I had expected!" cried Mrs. Sidford. "I was afraid that he would be attempting to court you, but now it appears you have an understanding! How could you be so foolish, girl? He is nobody! He has no money. He's not even handsome."

"He is not nobody," cried Emily. "He is somebody - a very special somebody - and though you don't think him handsome, I love his every feature."

"Love! What do you know of love?"

"What indeed, mother? I never learned anything of love from you or father or the Prescotts. I never knew what love was until came to know Mr. Warrington. He has shown me what it is to give love without expectation of reward, and to receive love openly and happily."

"Your father will never allow this!" cried Mrs. Sidford. "How will you live? In some hovel with chickens and pigs in your yard?"

"You are now concerned about how I will live?" asked Emily. "It did not bother you when you sold me to the Prescotts. It did not bother you when you helped father waste my inheritance -- in fact, you should be glad that I will no longer be a burden to you, for I vow I will marry none other than James."

"Emily!"

Just then there was a discreet cough from the door, and Ruth Chesterton was shown into the room by the butler. Emily ran forward to greet her and Mrs. Sidford had to steel her features and regain her composure.

"How was your visit to London?" asked Ruth. "You must be very busy now preparing for Bath. Alice has brought so many deliveries for our school and for the poor that I had to come and thank you myself."

"It is so good to see you, Ruth," said Emily. "I am happy what little I have sent will be of some use. I was on my way to visit you yesterday, but I did not quite make it." She smiled and blushed slightly.

"I had been brought into service to arrange a meeting, but it appears there is no need," said Ruth in a low voice. "I take it you met him."

Emily glanced at her mother who had picked up a pattern book after her initial greeting to Ruth and was studiously ignoring them. "Yes," she whispered. "He is with father now."

James was still in deep conversation with the general. The man had many reasons why he felt his daughter to be out of Mr. Warrington's reach, but James countered all of them. Finally the general looked at James and said, "If you insist on staying in my study until I give you my consent, then I will have to leave and take up residence in another room in the house. I cannot reconcile myself to this engagement."

"Sir, begging your pardon, but there is one thing that I have omitted to tell you which I feel might cause you to reconsider," said James, not yet near beaten. "If you do not give Miss Sidford and I your consent, we will still get married, even if we have to drive to Gretna Green to do so. However we would prefer to have your blessing and not feel obliged to cause a scandal."

"Is this a threat?" asked the general wearily.

"No. It is simply the plain truth. I have promised your daughter that I will marry her, and if I need to do it on the fly then I shall. I'll not break a promise to her."

"You cannot provide for her, you young fool!"

"I believe I can, sir. I do not gamble or drink and I have no desire for finery. One day I will even be able to buy land and a house of our own. You have my solemn pledge on that."

"Those are good intentions, lad. I had good intentions once. Look what a stand I am at now." He bowed his head, not willing to face the younger man's clear green eyes.

"If you like we will wait until I have a house arranged and money saved. I will do anything it takes to satisfy you that I will take every care for your daughter's happiness." James sat and waited for the general's response. Finally he looked up and shrugged his shoulders.

"You really do care for the girl don't you? Strange. She is such a plain and quiet thing. And, as I have recently discovered, headstrong. If she sincerely wants to marry you and you are willing to settle yourself before you rush headlong into marriage, I suppose I will have to grudgingly accept the match. It is not what her mother or I would have wanted. It is nothing personal against you, you must realise. You appear to be a steadfast young man, and if you had ten thousand a year I might even have been pleased to see you today. My life is in a shambles as it is -- hanging on to the girl when she won't oblige me with her choice will gain me nothing. Now I would like my office to myself again." He drained his brandy and poured another. "Go and tell her, and send my wife to me. I may as well face her while I still have some strength left."

James thanked the general and quietly left the study. He found his way to the drawing room and knocked tentatively before entering. The first thing he saw was Emily's concerned face and he gave her a reassuring smile. Then he turned to her mother.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sidford. Your husband would like you to meet him in his study."

"I . . . are you . . . do you intend to stay?" she asked, much flustered by his confident demeanour.

"General Sidford has given me permission to stay and speak with Miss Sidford. I believe that is customary? Miss Chesterton is present so there can be no impropriety."

Mrs. Sidford eyed him with distaste and hurriedly left the room. James walked across the room to where Emily was sitting and took her hand. He smiled into her eyes. "Your father has given his consent." He turned to Ruth, "You may wish us joy."

"I will! I do! And I think I must leave you now," said Ruth, hugging them both in turn.

"But you were to lend us propriety!" teased James.

"Instead I will give you what you want. This is a time for you to be alone together. I will see you soon, Emily. If you are able, please come and stay with me rather than go to Bath. I was not fortunate enough to arrange your meeting but as you see, I can still be of help!"

"You are wonderful," cried Emily, kissing her friend on the cheek. After Ruth left the room, Emily turned to James. "Was it so very terrible?"

James pulled her to stand beside him. "I would willingly go through worse if you were to be my reward."

Emily caught her breath and looked into his eyes. She felt she would soon lose the ability to speak. "How did you convince him?" she whispered.

"I gave him no other choice," said James putting his arms around Emily and drawing her close. She raised her head to look up at him and lost herself completely. There was nothing else in her world but James, his crooked smile, the warmth of his gaze. He lowered his head and she found herself wondering again how his lips would feel upon hers.

James looked down into her sweet face, and tipped her chin up. His fingers traced the line of her jaw. Her skin was so soft. The gentle scent of rose petals lingered upon her hair. Her eyes held him. He dropped his face to hers and met her lips with his, lightly caressing. Hers answered with a warm eagerness that took him by surprise momentarily, and then he forgot even to think. He released her lips with a sigh and kissed the tip of her nose, her forehead, the soft strands of hair that swept back from her temple, and then he folded his arms even closer about her. He knew that in a few minutes he would have to let her go, but until then he relished the warmth of her body softly moulded to his.

Chapter Fifty-Five

James was loath to leave Emily, but he decided that it was better for the both of them not to be too much in the company of her parents as yet. They needed time to adjust to the idea of their daughter's betrothal to a man they considered beneath them. Besides which, there was important business that James needed to attend to without delay. If marrying Emily was contingent upon providing her with a home, he wanted to deal with the matter immediately. He kissed Emily's hand and they parted reluctantly after promising to meet at the gate later in the afternoon.

Emily sat at the piano once he had gone and began playing. At first her fingers were tentative upon the keys - it had been many weeks since she had played at all - but soon she was able to let her joy spill forth in notes that cascaded about the room. She had played all her life as a duty to her family and to Lady Prescott or as a way to escape from the emptiness that filled her days. This was the first time that, rather than deriving consolation from the music, the happiness of her soul was flowing out with it; rather than taking she was giving, and her pleasure was multiplied in return.

Letty was drawn to the room by the sweetness of the sound, and when she beheld the glow upon Emily's face she sighed and sat quietly in a chair so as not to disturb her. The change in her niece was remarkable. She had noticed a brightness in her expression when she had returned from her walk the day before, but today delight was shining forth, unbridled. Emily looked up, and when she saw her aunt she brought the piece to a quick end.

"Oh Aunt Letty!" she cried. "Have you seen my mother? Did she tell you?"

"No, my dear," said Letty smiling. "I apprehend that you have some good news to share."

Emily rushed to her side. "I have! Mr Warrington has asked to marry me. Father has given his consent. I am so very happy!"

Letty took both Emily's hands in hers and looked deep into her eyes. "How wonderful! I have long admired the young man. When he came to visit yesterday I hoped that he was here to court you. I was worried my brother would put up some opposition - I am pleased he has been so reasonable."

"I do not think either he or mother are at all happy with the match," said Emily. "But I knew you would not forsake me, dearest aunt."

"I have long thought he was just the man for you," confided Letty. "Seeing you happily settled was something I had despaired of -- now that I know it will come to pass, I am finally content. I shall miss you while I am in Bath, dear."

"I do not know how long it will be till we are able to marry," said Emily. "I may be a few years with you yet."

James joined his aunt and uncle for luncheon soon after he returned to Wortham Lodge. When he sat down in his chair his barely suppressed excitement was evident.

"Out with it, my boy," said Sir Edward. "You look fit to burst with happiness."

"I am engaged to be married to Miss Sidford," said James smiling broadly.

"My goodness! Well I never! What a surprise!" cried Sir Edward. "It is no wonder you are pleased. And all along I had suspected it was the Chesterton you were taken with. What a good thing for you Miss Sidford is no longer engaged to Lord Ralph. How fortuitous that! Felicity, what do you make of this? Isn't our James a sly young fellow?"

"I admit that I suspected something when you went away, James," said Lady Warrington. "I am very pleased that it has all worked out so well in the end. Miss Sidford is a lovely . I wish you both every happiness."

"Likewise, likewise!" cried Sir Edward. "But did you not have some trouble with the general? I know he had high hopes of marrying his daughter advantageously, even after she cried off with that young lord. Though her fortune should be plenty for the two of you!"

"Edward! I'm sure James has no interest in her fortune!" said his wife reprovingly. She turned to James with an apologetic smile and continued, "What are your plans now? Do you mean to marry soon? I hope you intend to stay on with us."

"I do intend to stay on, if I may. I would like to marry as soon as possible, but I have promised the general that we will wait until I have procured a home and saved some money to better provide for Emily. You see, there is no fortune - hardly any settlement at all - not that I mind in the least except for the fact that we cannot marry as soon as we would like."

"No fortune!" sputtered Sir Edward. "But everyone knows of her fortune! The Barstow estate is not entailed away, to my knowledge, so it should come to her too."

"They are highly in debt," said James. "They have managed to keep it very secret, but I'm afraid nothing is left. The estate is heavily mortgaged."

"That explains their willingness to lease their home while they are in Bath," said Lady Warrington. "I had wondered about that. However I don't think you have cause to worry about providing for Miss Sidford, you have a home here with us."

"I cannot expect to bring my wife into your home," said James. "You are so good to let me live with you as it is. The steward's house is no longer available so I need to find a decent house for us to live in, one with property attached that I may lease now and eventually be able to purchase."

"You are our family," said Lady Warrington, "and your wife will be welcomed here with you."

"I cannot live on my uncle's coattails, I must provide for myself," said James. "I need a home to call my own where my family can grow and feel they belong."

"Dear boy," said Sir Edward. "I have a surprise for you that I did not mean to tell you about as yet, but I see that I must do so now, if I am to stop this foolishness. You may marry as soon as you see fit! When I bought Wortham, I did so with my own funds, and it is not a part of my estate that is entailed upon young Percival. I can do with it as I choose. I remade my will six months ago leaving it to you in its entirety. If I could, I would leave you Colhaven as well. It grates on me that a young ne'er-do-well like Braithwaite should end up with it. But Wortham will indeed be yours. If I had ever had a son, I should have wanted him to be just like you."

James looked at his uncle in amazement. He was utterly speechless. He had never even considered that Wortham was not part of the entail, though upon reflection it should have been evident. It was, after all, a recent purchase, bought when his uncle needed to relocate to a warmer clime due to poor health not two years before. It had all been there in the letter his father had received from Sir Edward requesting his assistance. But even if he had thought to question whether Wortham was part of the entail, he wouldn't ever have contemplated how Sir Edward intended to dispose of it. Not once had he thought of himself as standing to gain anything from his uncle other than employment, acceptance, and love.

"You are too good . . . this is more than I had ever . . . I am very grateful -- thank you so much," he finished humbly, wiping away the tears that had sprung up suddenly in his eyes.

"There, there, lad," said his uncle gruffly. "You have done more for Felicity and me than we can say. I just wanted you to know that you are well provided for. This house shall be your home, so there is no need for you to wait and scrimp and save and buy some shabby place that is not worthy of you. Wortham is so large that Felicity and I rattle about in it barely using any of the rooms. We should both dearly love to have children scampering through the halls and sliding down the banisters, shouldn't we, my love?"

"Perhaps we need not encourage them to slide down the banisters," said Lady Warrington. "But yes, James, we would love share our home with you and your family, if you should not mind living with us."

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," said James, his heart welling with love for these two people who had become so dear to him.

The bright afternoon light turned the fresh new leaves of oak and ash almost transparent. Wild orchis tinted the meadow purple, and wild roses bloomed thickly in the hedgerows along with the white of the hawthorn and elder. Thrushes and blackbirds whistled and trilled, hidden in the branches. Emily sat upon the fence and gazed out across those purple meadows to the splendour of the Malvern Hills, thinking of that first day she sat there. Then James had come to see her by - today it was by design. She refused to look down the lane in the direction from which he would come. She wanted to pretend to be surprised by his sudden presence as she had been that day in the past.

James steered Sophocles close to the hedge so he could break off a spray of the pink roses. He closed on the gate and was beside Emily before she turned her head. He leaned from his horse and wove the sprig of flowers into her hair behind one ear. "Hello my love and my life," he whispered tenderly, then he slid from Sophocles' back and climbed up on the gate beside her, sitting closer than he had ever been able to in the past. Sophocles wandered on until he found a patch of sweet young grass at the base of the hedge.

"I missed you so," said Emily. "Is that not foolish? We cannot be together every hour, I know that, but I am never so content as when I am with you. I will not like waiting."

"We will not have to wait long after all, my love. You see before you a man of means," James placed his arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You look lovely with flowers in your hair."

Emily leaned her head against his shoulder and sighed. "I would be happy to live in a cottage with you, right now. Whatever means you have are enough for me."

"I am trying to tell you that I have enough for your father as well!"

Emily tilted her head up to look at James' face. "You do? How can that be?"

"I have just discovered that I am heir to Wortham Lodge, not a fortune, but a good estate of some two thousand a year. My aunt and uncle want us to come and live with them, unless you would prefer a little cottage, of course. They want our children to slide down their banisters."

"Do you think that wise?"

"It is a large home and there will be a lot of room for us without turning their lives upside down too much, and they both seemed very much disposed to having us live with them."

"No, I was referring to allowing the children to slide down the banisters," said Emily with a laugh.

"Could they not slide down the very lowest flight?"

"I will have to make an inspection of the stairs," teased Emily.

"I'm forgetting that you have never seen Wortham. It is a lovely house, not at all grand and stately, but warm and welcoming. And Sir Edward and Lady Warrington are the same."

"I like them very much already," said Emily. "Will we be able to get married very soon now?"

"Would a month be too long?"

"Yes it would, but you are right. I think we ought to wait a month for propriety's sake."

James looked at her, a soft smile on his lips, and bent his head down to give her a short but fervent kiss. "You are right; even a day is too long, but a month it will be. After all, you will have to be swathed with fabric and stuck with pins."

Emily wrinkled up her nose. "I suppose I must. Aunt Letty will enjoy making my wedding gown, though. Do you think your sister Mary will be able to come?"

"I don't think she would miss it for the world. Did I ever give you her message? She wants to get to know you as a sister!"

"I have always wanted a sister," said Emily smugly. "That is why I am marrying you."

"I knew as much," retorted James. "That is why I asked you."

"It is a pity that your parents will not be able to come," said Emily pensively. "Do you mind having so few of your family here? Would your brother and his wife come? We can invite Olivia . . . and even her brother if you like."

"I shall take you to meet my parents as soon as we are wed. I know they will love you almost as much as I do. As for Randolph and Lucy, if they want to come they will be welcome. And Olivia, of course, but I have a feeling you do not really want Percy to come."

"It is just that it would be very . . . awkward." Emily blushed.

"Percy did not force his attentions on you, did he?" asked James with concern.

"He proposed to me," Emily whispered. "But I truly think he was only after my fortune."

"I think he may choose not to come, then," said James. "Don't let it worry you. Why did you refuse him? He is to inherit a much larger estate than I."

"I was in love with someone else," said Emily softly.

"That man is the luckiest man in the world." James raised his hand and caressed her cheek. She looked up into his eyes, her own full of trust and devotion

"And I am the luckiest ."

They sat close together on the gate and talked until the sky began to pale and the sun disappeared behind the Malvern Hills in a glorious show of colour. The general agreed that they could be married on their chosen date, and in a few more days the Sidfords left for Bath to return later for the wedding. Aunt Letty took all the dress fittings in those few days and spent her mornings in Bath sewing seams and attaching seed pearls to the gown that was to be her present to her niece. Emily stayed with Ruth, and though the Chestertons gave the young couple much opportunity to be alone in their parlour, they preferred to meet in the garden by the weigela bush, or go for rides in the gig together to sit on the old park gate.

Emily visited Wortham and Lady Warrington took her on a tour of the house, letting her choose her own suite of rooms and decide on the decorations. Fitting the apartment up was to be Sir Edward and Lady Warrington's wedding present to them. They had a convivial dinner, and in the evening she played for the family party in the parlour -- the most appreciative audience she had ever had.

After the music Emily and James walked out together in the moonlight. Evening phlox was blooming, sending its sweet smell drifting in the mellow air. They stood together, looking up at the sprinkling of dusky stars that stretched above them. Emily's arm slid about James' waist and his came around her shoulder, bringing her closer still. They gazed at the sky remembering all the times they had watched the stars alone, wondering if they were the only ones to see them. Now it was something they could share together, always. From high in the trees the silver notes of a nightingale's song flowed down to them on the scented breeze.

Epilogue

The apples hung, golden streaked with orange-red amid the dark, curling leaves. Mary walked beneath the trees, her bonnet trailing from her hand by its ribbons. She longed to take out the pins that were itching her head and set her hair loose too, but she had to remember that she was no longer a child, able to run free with abandon. Eighteen-year-old young ladies could not follow the wild calling of their hearts to race across meadows and climb trees -- or could they? If anyone had been watching a few moments earlier they would have seen a slim yellow form hurtling headlong down the hill. That was the run that outdid her bonnet. She stopped under a large, spreading tree and tied the bonnet to a branch. The next things to go were her kid boots. She was soon scrambling up through the boughs, careless of her silk stockings and the many branches reaching to snag in the fine muslin of her skirts. She found her favourite spot on a sturdy limb of the overgrown tree, picked a fat apple, and leaned against the trunk in contentment.

She had revised her idea of living with James. Some childhood fancies had to go by the wayside, and that was one of them. He had been right all along; her place was here in Huntsfield with her parents. Now more than ever she realised how much they needed her close by, and she herself had missed her home and the surrounding countryside during her six-month stay at Wortham Lodge. Anyway James did not need her, she thought, and smiled at the remembrance of the love and contentment that filled his home.

Emily was all she could have ever wished for in a sister. They had formed a deep, almost instant bond, sharing their hearts and their laughter with natural facility. And they had become even closer during Emily's confinement and the birth of little Edward Arthur Warrington. Mary had held her hand and wiped her brow throughout the ordeal, and had witnessed the look of joy that had overcome all her weariness when she had first beheld her little son.

Now Eddie was a plump-cheeked four month old with a gurgling laugh and a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. There were always willing arms to hold him, and Mary found nothing more fulfilling than to have his little head nestled against her shoulder in blissful slumber. James loved to take him for walks through the garden to where they could look out on the fields together and talk to him of the crops and the wildlife to be found on the land that stretched before them. Emily would whisper questions in his ear that he should ask his father when he was able concerning seed drills, aftermath and crop rotation. Sir Edward would always beam when he saw his little namesake, and he had earned the honorary title of grandfather. In turn he called him grandson with such a look of pride on his face as he bounced the happy fellow upon his knee.

Mary smiled. She missed Eddie already, but she had consolation that she would see him in two months when James and Emily brought him on his inaugural visit to Huntingdon to finally meet his real grandparents. They would first pass through Bath for a brief visit with Emily's parents who had not yet seen the child and then make a protracted stay in Huntsfield to the delight of Sir Arthur and Lady Amelia Warrington. The only people not well pleased with this plan were Sir Edward and Lady Felicity Warrington who didn't begrudge the real grandparents a visit with their grandson, but were going to miss the young family something fierce. Even the promise of a visit from Percy and Olivia would do little to alleviate the dullness of the long winter months. Sir Edward said they were taking the light and the heart of their home with them, at it would not return until they arrived like the advent of spring once the winter snows had disappeared. Somehow this had helped her understand just how important it was to settle close to her parents, but she was already two days home and a feeling of loneliness was breaking in upon her contentment as she recalled the convivial afternoons at Wortham lodge. As yet, none of her friends had called on her.

The sound of someone walking through the long orchard grass caught Mary's attention. She looked between the spreading branches expecting to see the gardener, and hoping that he would not notice her up among the boughs, when Samuel Hastings walked into view. He wasn't wearing a hat and his dark hair was a mass of unruly curls. He appeared to be looking for something or someone. Mary held back an urge to call out to him and instead pulled her skirts snugly about her legs and sat very still, keeping her eyes on him. He was tall and had to stoop under low branches, which he did with a graceful and yet casual air. He came to stand under her tree, but instead of looking up, he looked down.

"Someone appears to have misplaced her boots," he said, picking up the soft leather articles and swinging them nonchalantly by their laces. "I'll just take these up to the Hall. And there is a bonnet hanging from the tree -- is that what the gardener uses to collect the fruit?" He inspected it closely. "Very pretty but not extremely capacious."

Mary let out a spurt of laughter and then immediately covered her mouth. Samuel looked up, one eyebrow lifted and a sly grin on his face. She felt her heart lurch and she had an amazing revelation. In all the length of her familiarity with him, she had never considered him any more than just a very dear friend. He had made her laugh, made her angry, discussed her problems and comforted her, but his presence had never elicited such a response before. Her brother James had one day told her that she would be sitting in an apple tree when a stranger would come along and see her, and instantly know that she was the one for him. She had joked that the stranger must be handsome and ride a fine horse. Well Samuel Hastings was no stranger, but he was decidedly handsome, and though his horse was not with him, Mary knew it to be bang up to the nines.

How had James foreseen this very moment? He had never told her how she would feel when the handsome stranger came towards her. And if he had she would have laughed at him all the more. She who had been so adamantly against suitors and love and marriage. But lately Mary had seen much of love and marital bliss, and her opinions on the subject had altered quite drastically. She suddenly had a deeper understanding of why she had changed her mind about living with James -- why she had felt it so important that she settle herself at Huntsfield Hall. It was not only the need to be close to her parents and not leave them alone. There was a deeper stronger need that had only just now translated itself.

"Are you just going to sit there and stare at me all morning?" asked Samuel, his grin deepening. "If you have no plans to come down here to me, then I will have to join you on your branch."

"Will it hold the both of us?" asked Mary as Samuel took hold of the branch and hoisted himself up.

"I am not so very heavy," laughed Samuel. "But if it does break, you will in all likelihood land upon me thus saving yourself from injury. Then you will be obliged to nurse me back to health."

Mary laughed and did not take her eyes from Samuel's face. He was so much closer to her now that the feeling she had was almost overwhelming. His leg was nearly touching her knee; his arm was reaching behind her for support from a branch above.

"Six months is a great deal of time," he said softly as his face sobered. "I missed you more than I can say."

"But I arrived two days ago and you have only just come today," said Mary quietly, all at once shy.

"I wanted to give you time to be with your parents." Samuel looked at her intently. "And I wanted to give you some extra time to discover for yourself whether you missed me." His eyes twinkled.

"I did."

"You have a hole in your stocking and your toe is peeking out most becomingly," said Samuel inconsequentially.

"It is?" asked Mary looking down at her foot and quickly covering it with her other one.

"But that is not what I climbed up in this tree to discuss," said Samuel. "Two years ago I set a goal and now I am willing to take my chances and discover if I have succeeded."

"Just what was your goal?" asked Mary, trembling slightly.

"My goal was to gain your friendship and then to win your love. I used every plot that I could think of to throw us together without scaring you off. I know that I have had your friendship for the longest time now, and I value it so immensely that if it is all that I am to get, I will not forsake you. You need not fear that I will demand more from you than that, but it is my fondest hope that in these two years I have come to mean more to you than just a friend."

"Do I mean more to you than just a friend?" asked Mary.

"Mary, I do not make young ladies fall in love with me for sport."

"I recall one Louisa Farnham," smirked Mary.

"Insufferable wretch! I did that for you and this is the thanks that I get? As you very well know it wasn't my aim for her to fall in love with me, but even at that time it was my intention for you to. Why else would I have put up with her insipid conversation and Smorsely's poetry? Is that not proof enough of my love for you?"

"No. You must give me more."

"If I give you more, the branch may break," said Samuel wickedly. "Now, will you answer my question?" His voice became soft and he looked into her eyes with such warmth of feeling that Mary could not tease him any longer.

"Yes."

"Yes you love me, or yes you will answer my question?" asked Samuel with a tender smile.

"Both," said Mary.

"I know you vowed never to marry, but do you think you could make one small exception and marry me?" asked Samuel

"It was a silly, childish vow," said Mary. "I gave it up a full fifteen minutes ago, when I saw you walking towards me under the tree."

"Can we climb down now? I want to take you into my arms but I am afraid of us falling out of the tree."

"But you said that if we fell, I would land on you of you. Surely then I will be in your arms."

"Mary, the first time I hold you I want to do so without broken ribs." Samuel slipped down from the branch and then turned to Mary with his arms held out. "Jump!"

Unhesitatingly, Mary threw herself into his waiting arms. He caught her in a firm grasp and held her closely to him with her feet still off the ground. Her arms slid easily around him and she gazed laughingly at his face which was at eye level. "Are you not going to put me down?"

"You are not wearing any shoes -- I must think of your stockings."

"That won't fadge -- you know what state of disrepair they are in already."

"Do you really want me to put you down already?" asked Samuel as he strengthened his hold upon her and brought her even closer to him so that their noses were almost touching.

"Not yet," said Mary breathlessly.

"I have a confession to make," said Samuel as he brushed his lips over her cheek. "Do you remember when I told you that if you only wanted to be my friend I would demand no more from you than that? Well I lied. I never would have rested until I had found a way to trick you into loving me."

"Loving you does not take trickery," whispered Mary. "It is more effortless than breathing."

After a few minutes Samuel put Mary down and they strolled aimlessly through the orchard and out into the meadow, Mary's kid boots and bonnet forgotten behind. She did not mind her bare feet at all, for though Samuel was no longer holding her up, her feet had not yet touched the ground. Nor did they for many weeks to come.

Second Epilogue

As may be imagined, Lord Ralph, though he was already betrothed to the beguiling Carmen, was completely taken aback by the engagement of his former fiancée to the steward of Wortham Lodge. Lord Ralph was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he was able to perform the task of elementary addition. He could put two and two together, and the resultant answer was not to his liking. Emily had left him for Warrington -- of that there could be no doubt. He had never forgotten the assembly, her waltz with the man, and his own argument with him afterwards. At that time Warrington was penniless, not even yet heir of Wortham - which was still nothing compared to the glories of Wilverton and the prestige of the title in Lord Ralph's possession. And yet she had preferred him! Given up everything for a man with neither looks nor distinction! It rankled at the time, and it never ceased to rankle as Lord Ralph watched the couple through the years - their obviously happy marriage, their estate that continued to prosper, their fine brood of children, and above all their total lack of concern for Lord Ralph's position as a man of influence in the environs of Barstow.

In sharp contrast to their happy state was his own marriage, which had never afforded him the satisfactions that he had anticipated. Carmen, so seemingly robust and healthy, had turned out to be of such a very delicate constitution that he was denied connubial felicity. The doctors had warned that the threat to her health posed by childbirth was too great to take any chance whatsoever. Every day the sight of her tantalised him but, after the night that consummated their union, he was never permitted into her marriage bed. He knew this was as great a misfortune for her as for him, but it was much more difficult for him to contend with. His numerous trips to London to find pleasure in the arms of the barques of frailty he had ensconced there were always tainted with feelings of guilt and remorse. He had no child of his own that he could respectably produce as his heir, and he had been compelled to adopt Carmen's ward, Ferdinand, to raise up in that position. The young boy was apparently the son of a cousin of hers, orphaned at birth, and looked upon her as a mother. There were times when he felt that his lovely wife cared more for the boy than for himself.

The other impediment to his happiness was the relationship between his mother, his wife, and his mother-in-law. Somehow, though they were all such pleasant people, they could not seem to get along. After the first year of his marriage Lady Penelope Prescott had insisted he buy her an imposing mansion in Bath, and she had taken herself off to live there on her own. She condescended to allow Maude Sidford to call on her again, and they soon fell into their old ways and commiserated much with each other upon the ingratitude of their children. Lord Ralph visited his mother often, but Carmen and the contessa were never allowed to accompany him. His feelings of guilt were deepened by his wife's unselfishness in encouraging him to visit his mother often even though it meant she would have to endure the loneliness of not having him by her side.

Also travelling to Bath was Mr. Bradford, a well to do country squire from the village of Chipping Sodbury, not far from Bristol. He had made this trip fifteen years ago, at the age of forty, and had returned with an eighteen-year-old bride. Though she had provided him with two daughters she had not otherwise lived up to his expectations as a wife. He had wanted companionable conversation by his fireside, instead he received an ornament for his drawing room who needed constant cosseting and catering to, and a steady stream of visitors to entertain her. It was now two years since a sudden illness had taken her, and his unruly daughters needed more than their ever-changing governesses were capable of providing.

Bradford returned to Chipping Sodbury with a wife that surprised not only his household but also himself. Instead of the young maiden he had set out to bring home, he returned with a lady not many years younger than himself. He had walked into the pump room and been introduced to her party by the master of ceremonies. She was all that his first wife was not -- kind, compassionate, and an informed and amusing conversationalist. He had fallen for her in an instant, and she too had lost her heart to his caring and amiable nature. She, of course, was Emily's Aunt Letty, Miss Letitia Sidford.

His young daughters had awaited their new mother with apprehension, but when she smiled upon them and showed the reams of fabric she had brought and asked them what style of gowns they would like her to sew for them, she won them over. I cannot say that they were never disobedient or unruly again, but by the time they were old enough to leave the schoolroom, they had become young ladies that were a credit to the step-mother that they had come to cherish.

Lord Ralph was not the only person adversely affected by the marriage of Emily and James. Percy was almost as shocked by it as he had been. He too was unfortunate enough to realise that his suit had been rejected because Emily preferred another. That it was his insignificant cousin, and that his cousin was now to inherit an estate that he had always looked upon as his own made matters even worse. Colhaven was a prosperous estate, but Percy had no desires to live in the north-country. He still felt that Emily, despite her lack of looks and fortune, would have made him an ideal wife, and he kept his visits to Wortham short, as the felicity of their marriage was difficult to behold.

When James and Emily made their trip to Huntsfield to show their young son to his grandparents, Percy made a fateful visit to Sir Edward. He was feeling wild and reckless and rather bored with Olivia whose new-found goodness was beginning to pall. After nearly two years one would think she would have come to her senses, but no, she spent the entire journey regaling him with stories of her homes for street urchins that she was establishing in London.

Percy was more delighted than usual at the prospects of an assembly, and that evening he imbibed quite freely at the punch bowl. The choice of partners was limited, but he found Sophie Farquar just as tempting as in the past, and he was soon leading her out for a third dance. She was flirting outrageously, and they naturally progressed to the balcony where he was able to taste the sweet lips that had been denied to him before by his sister's interference. They were again discovered, but this time it was by Elspeth Craddock, who suffered a severe shock, and raised the alarm with her shrieks of dismay. Mr. Farquar insisted that his daughter's honour be restored, and a marriage was speedily performed before the week was out.

The newlyweds enjoyed a blissful honeymoon, before Percy took his bride to live in Colhaven. He, however, did not intend to kick his heels in the country, and departed for London after a few short months. By this time both Percy and Sophie were heartily weary of one another. Left to languish on the slopes of the Cumbrian Mountains, Sophie had to find occupation to relieve the utter boredom, and the local vicar was only too happy to oblige. The welfare of his most prestigious parishioners was very close to his heart, and the temptations of the lonely bride were more than he could forswear. If Percy's visits to his northern home were few and far between over the years, and his children bore little resemblance to himself it was not a matter to be discussed in the local drawing rooms, that is, not when Mrs. Braithwaite was anywhere within hearing.

Olivia, I am pleased to report, fared much better than her brother. Her good works with the little waifs of London's streets was truly rewarding. When not involved with her charities she was forever flitting here and there visiting her many friends, and subtly gaining their financial support for her endeavours. Her favourite place to visit was Wortham where she revelled in the warmth and happiness of that home. One such visit chanced to coincide with that of James' brother George who was recuperating from a leg wound suffered in action in Burma.

I would like to be able to tell everyone that it was love at first sight, but George first took Olivia for a bluestocking and she thought him a conceited care-for-nobody. As luck would have it, Worcestershire experienced another unusually heavy snowfall that winter and the two were thrown into each other's company every day. They spent hours entertaining the little Warringtons, Edward, Letitia, Emilia, and Rupert, who had to be constantly removed from the banisters, but frequently found themselves inexplicably alone in the library together. Neither was great readers, so rather than read they talked, and soon they discovered they had been suffering under the false assumptions of first impressions. Before the snow completely melted, love had flourished. Within a year they were married and settled in Tynestead where Olivia found even greater scope for her charities. A project was started to bring the foundlings from the city to the country, and establish them in the homes of kindly tenant farmers, with the help of Robbie Turnbull.

Robbie had taken Tynestead from a worn, tired estate and turned it into a well run and successful enterprise. He still managed frequent visits home, and on one of these became engaged to Ruth's younger sister, Susan Chesterton. She left the school in the hands of her other sister, Laura, and Alice, Emily's former maid, who now worked full time as a teacher for all the youngest students. Ruth no longer taught at the school either. She married Mr. Grantham when he was finally bestowed with the living that once was to have gone to James. She started a new school at Ellendshall under the sponsorship of Sir Arthur Warrington, and also began a family of her own.

Robbie's elder brother, William, finished his studies and returned to his home. James convinced Sir Edward to allow William Turnbull to buy the property farmed by his family for generations, and he fulfilled his father's dream by becoming a gentleman farmer. He married Miss Cordelia Lampton, who, though not as pretty as her sister was much more amiable, and saw all the advantages of marrying a handsome up and coming farmer even though she was a gentleman's daughter. Her sister Anastasia was quite put out, not only by the lowly connection, but also by the fact that her sister had married before her. She vowed that she would accept Bertie Farquar if he offered for her, or even Mr. Billingsworth, but no such offer was forthcoming, both gentlemen having found brides in another part of the country. She was to end her days an embittered spinster, always ready to forward the latest gossip, and not ever accepting her sister's invitations to her cosy farmhouse.

James never regretted his decision to sell a portion of his inheritance to the Turnbull family who he held in such respect. He made up for it by buying a section of General Sidford's mortgaged estate, and building it into a property that could be passed down to little Rupert. There was a certain gate on that piece of land that meant more to him than any other gate he owned. Though it was old and worn he never had it replaced.

There is not much more left to tell. Randolph and Lucy Warrington never had any offspring, and the estate eventually reverted to George and Olivia's eldest son, James, who took after his namesake in his love of the land. Anne, who had made such a fine marriage, had two hopeful sons and she had little time for Lord Branwick's daughter who she was only too happy to send off to visits to stay with either Mary and Samuel or James and Emily.

Aurelia Branwick was a pale girl with strawberry blonde hair and her father's slightly protuberant gooseberry eyes. There was an intense sadness about her that only seemed to disappear after a few months' stay at Wortham, where she took great pleasure in walking out with one or two of her young cousins in tow. On her meandering walks she often met a dark young man who would climb down from his horse and continue on with her, giving whichever young Warrington child she had with her a ride on his handsome steed. They were often seen wandering the lanes, their heads together in conversation, and whether these meetings were the reason for Aurelia's improved temperament, and the happy glow that reached her eyes, I leave to you to determine.

The End

© 2002, 2003 Copyright held by the author.

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