by Martha Keyes
The small chapel was empty, and though light poured in through the arched window openings, her eyes took a moment to adjust to the relative darkness. The serenity inside was palpable, and she breathed in deeply, savoring the peace and beauty of the space.
Several cooing doves rested on various ledges throughout the chapel, and the midday light shining through the windows spilled in long arches onto the dirt floor. She walked along the walls of the chapel, brushing her fingertips on the stones and humming a hymn her father had loved as she looked up toward the vaulted ceilings.
There was no place like this chapel in London or Brighton or Birmingham, and even as she relished in the present, she felt a twinge of sadness for the time when she would leave Dorset to return to a bustling town.
She looked around the chapel again, noting the old pews stacked against the back wall. How long had it been since services had been held there? Her father had considered a vocation in the church, and she pictured him at the front of the chapel, giving a sermon to pews full of villagers.
A lone pew stood near the large arched window, and she sat down on it, lightly running her finger along the dusty, splintering wood.
She abruptly stopped her humming. Someone was standing in the doorway. With the light shining in from behind, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust.
Lord Ashworth leaned on the wall, one leg crossed artlessly over the other. He was wearing a serene smile and holding grapes which he periodically popped into his mouth. Kate could see the others behind him, rising from the picnic blanket.
“It seems I am destined to always encounter you humming in abandoned buildings, Miss Matcham,” he said, disposing of an overripe grape through the nearest window and then standing straight.
“And it would seem I am destined to always be surprised by you in such places.” Her voice held mixed exasperation and self-deprecating laughter. “When I frequent such places in the future, though, I shall take care not to hum.”
He popped the last grape in his mouth. “That would be a shame, as that is the best part of the scene.”
She looked at him with a considering eye, trying to discern the intent behind his words, but there was nothing in his expression to give her reason to read anything into what he had said.
Quite the contrary, in fact. He seemed to be in a funning humor. She couldn’t decide if this was cause for regret or relief. If he had been flirting with her, she would have felt uncomfortable. But she admitted to slight disappointment when she realized that he was just being his usual kind and facetious self.
But it mattered little either way. She was supposed to have Clara’s interests at heart, not her own.
“My mother would not agree with you, I’m afraid,” she said, laughing away her thoughts. “She has been trying to rid me of the habit since I was a little girl.”
A half-smile appeared on his face, and he walked over to the pew, sitting down far enough away from her that she was conscious of feeling let down.
“Well I, for one, am grateful for her lack of success,” he said.
“Kate!” called Clara, her head peeking around the chapel door. “Whatever are you doing in here?” She peered around at the inside of the chapel. “What a quaint place. It looks positively cramped for a church service. Do come walk with us.”
“Gladly,” Kate said, eager to show Clara her willingness to leave Lord Ashworth’s company. He stood politely as she rose.
She walked to the door where Clara stood waiting and took a backward glance at the chapel before exiting into the bright sunlight.
Henry stood next to Cecilia Cosgrove who was covering her laugh with a hand, and Isabel Cosgrove sat on the grass, reclined with her arms behind as she gazed out onto the sea.
Clara brushed past Kate, hand-in-arm with Lord Ashworth, her offer to walk with Kate apparently forgotten. Kate smiled and sighed.
Lady Anne approached. “Miss Matcham, would you care to join me for a stroll?”
“Please, call me Kate,” she replied with a smile. “And yes, I would like that very much.”
Lady Anne was, of the ladies, nearest to Kate in height. Though softer spoken than the other women in their party, she had a penetrating gaze, and Kate felt it rest on her as they began their stroll.
“I have been hoping for a chance to talk with you and to know you better.” She pointed ahead of them. “Shall we walk down this small hill? I think you will enjoy the views.”
“I have had the very same hope,” Kate replied, “and I am never one to refuse a lovely view, so please lead the way.”
Kate couldn’t help but like Lady Anne. She spoke in soft tones, but they sounded more confident and energetic now that she and Kate were alone.
“Did I understand correctly,” Lady Anne asked as they walked up the hill, “that your family is from Birmingham?”
“That is where my mother and stepfather currently reside. In truth, my family comes from here in Dorset. I grew up at Coombe Park until my father’s death when the estate passed to my uncle.” Kate felt a small knot in her stomach as she considered just how forthcoming to be with the rest of the story.
She stole a glance at Lady Anne who was listening attentively. Kate felt the desire for a friendship with her, and she knew a worthwhile friendship would not be hindered by honesty and frankness. She could glide through recounting her mother’s remarriage without any mention of her stepfather’s vocation, but part of her wished to make it known, if only to assure herself that Lady Anne would still wish for her as a friend. She didn’t give the impression of one who would shun those not her equals.
Kate straightened her shoulders. “Not long after, my mother met and married my stepfather who owns a mill in Birmingham, and I went off to a seminary in Bath.” Kate bit the inside of her bottom lip involuntarily, feeling mildly annoyed that she cared how Lady Anne reacted to the revelation.
“How foolish of me,” Lady Anne said, “not to have connected you with the Matchams at Coombe Park. They do seem to be away from home most of the year. I understand they have a small estate in Somerset.” She had not reacted at all to the information about Kate’s stepfather.
“What I wouldn’t give to trade my uncle places,” Kate said on a sigh. “I miss the life that we had here.” She bit her lip again. She barely knew Lady Anne.
Lady Anne squeezed Kate’s arm sympathetically.
They came to a stop at the bottom of the small hill and looked out over the ocean. The coastline was visible from where they stood, a haze thickening around the water and hills the farther they looked.
There was a wistful note to Kate’s voice as she gazed at the coast. “I think I will always feel most at home here.”
Lady Anne linked her arm into Kate’s, and Kate smiled appreciatively. It felt strangely natural to share such sentiments with Lady Anne, despite their short acquaintance.
“Well,” said Lady Anne, “you must know that you are always welcome at Ashworth Place should you ever want for a reason to return to Dorset.”
“Ah,” said Kate, shaking her head. “You may live to regret that invitation when you find me at your door year after year.”
“Nonsense,” Lady Anne laughed. “I should be grateful for your companionship. William is a kind and thoughtful brother, but he cannot offer so many of the benefits to be found in friendship between women. I imagine you know what I mean.”
She motioned with her head toward her brother who, along with the rest of the party, had walked further down the hill. He was attempting to throw a rock far enough to reach the water beyond. The water was far too distant, but he bowed with great pomp as his rock scared off the nearest group of grazing cows.
Kate laughed. “He seems to have a keen sense of humor.”
Lady Anne smiled fondly at her brother’s antics. “Indeed, he does. There is no doubt about that.”
They stood there for a few moments, each enveloped in her own thoughts, before turning to walk back up the hill to the chapel and picnic area.
10
“Are you hurt, Miss Matcham?” Lord Ashworth said in an urgent, breathless voice as he knelt beside her.
“No, no,” she dissembled. “I shall be well directly.” She made another attempt to raise herself from the ground but failed, wincing.
“It is your ankle, is it not?” observed Lord Ashworth as the others gathered behind him.
“Yes,” Kate said in a gasp. “I’m afraid I twisted it in my clumsiness. But perhaps in a few moments it will be able to sustain weight,” she said with attempted optimism.
Lord Ashworth’s expression was skeptical.
“Kate, are you alright?” Clara’s voice was full of concern as she rushed and peered over Lord Ashworth’s shoulder.
“Yes, yes, a clumsy fall is all. I am told that I am exceptionally prone to mishaps. Please continue enjoying the picnic. I couldn’t forgive myself if I were to ruin the expedition.” She braced herself to stand again, saying, “Clara, would you be able to help me up?”
She faltered, though, and before Clara could move to her, Lord Ashworth had grabbed Kate’s arm and was steadying her to help her to her feet.
“Henry!” Clara sent her brother a look full of meaning. “Don’t just stand there!”
Henry shot her a look of irritation, clearly displeased with being made to look foolish in front of so many people. But he walked over to Kate and supported her other elbow.
Kate thanked both gentlemen before turning back to Clara and the others. “Don’t change your plans on my account, I beg you.” Her ankle continued to throb, and only the tight set of her jaw betrayed her discomfort as she smiled convincingly.
“Hmm,” said Clara doubtfully. “I’m sure that one of the servants may take you home in the wagon. You will be much more comfortable at home, and then we needn’t change our plans for the rest of the day.” Based on her expression, she thought it a capital idea.
Lord Ashworth was looking at Clara with a slight frown.
Anxious to show that she was not hurt by her friend’s lack of concern, Kate quickly said, “Why, yes, I think you are exactly right, Clara. That would be just the thing.”
“On second thought,” Clara’s face brightened, “Henry can accompany you in the wagon. To make sure you’re quite comfortable,” she added, as if some further explanation for his chaperonage was necessary. “I think it would be much more the thing.”
Based on his expression of near horror, Henry did not seem to agree that it would be much more the thing. “Dash it, Clara. If you think I’m going to be bobbed about in a dirty, rickety wagon, you’re daft! This coat is brand new!” He put out an arm to display the neat cloth, and finding a small speck, inspected it before flicking it off.
Clara looked prepared to persist, but Lord Ashworth intervened, offering to accompany Kate back to Wyndcross and then return to the picnic. Kate bit her lip, and Clara looked daggers at Henry.
Kate’s expostulations and reassurances fell on deaf ears, and once Lady Anne threw in her lot with Lord Ashworth, she accepted defeat.
Henry, for one, seemed to think that Ashworth’s accompaniment of Kate was a swell idea. “Seen him wear that coat at least a dozen times!”
Kate apologized once again to the group and thanked the others for a wonderful time before she and Lord Ashworth began walking further down the hill. Kate hopped a few steps with his assistance, but hopping on a hill was a perilous activity. She looked at the long trail ahead with misgiving. How would she ever make it without fainting—a pastime she abhorred—from the jolting pain of each hop? She lowered her foot, attempting to put weight on it, but she drew it back up immediately.
“My thoughts exactly,” Lord Ashworth said, scooping her into his arms and continuing down the hill.
Kate opened her mouth to object but shut it lamely, knowing that the other option was to, in all probability, faint, forcing Lord Ashworth to heave her comatose form to the wagon. While that scenario was more desirable in that she would have been mercifully oblivious to the arm wrapped snugly around her waist or how she could feel his breath grazing her face, she was sensible enough to realize that it would likely have entailed the daunting prospect of her own head sagging limply on his arm, mouth unbecomingly agape. Such a vision was enough to make her grateful for his preemptive action.
But what must Clara be feeling to see such a sight? All of Kate’s plans to encourage Clara and Lord Ashworth had not only failed but had gone miserably awry.
She realized that Lord Ashworth was watching her expression in interest as he carried her. When their eyes met, he said in an impressed voice, “What an expressive face you have! What troubles you? Is it the pain?”
“No,” she said. Then realizing that she could hardly explain the true reason for her troubled expression, she corrected herself. “That is, yes. It is the pain.”
“Very convincing,” he said with a teasing nod of approval. He looked as if he would like to pursue the conversation further but said nothing.
When they reached the servants, Lord Ashworth instructed them to prepare a seat for Kate on the wagon they had used to transport the food.
“Yes, m’lord,” said the servant, “but I’m afraid it won’t be a very nice ride for Miss with her ankle bobbin’ up and down with the wagon’s every move.”
“Yes, I believe you are right,” said Lord Ashworth. “If you will transport my own horse and the horse of Miss Matcham, I shall accompany her in the wagon and endeavor to secure her ankle so as to disturb it the least possible amount.”
“Lord Ashworth,” Kate said in a final plea, “it is very generous of you but completely unnecessary, I assure you.”
“You must learn to accept assistance, Miss Matcham,” he said. “Or are you so very opposed to my company?”
Her cheeks reddened, and her eyes widened. “No, no! Please don’t think that. It is very generous of you, only I—” she stuttered.
His mouth broke into a grin. “I am only teasing. But I’m afraid I will have to overrule you on this. If you have never twisted an ankle before, please know that I have, and I can tell you that a wagon ride home on dry dirt roads such as these will be agony as you have never before experienced.”
She faltered in her refusal momentarily, jarred by the picture he presented. But the persistent thought of Clara again encouraged her to find another way.
“I am sure you are right. But there is no need for me to be transported home before the rest of the party. I shall wait here at the wagon and be quite comfortable.”
Lord Ashworth smiled but sighed at her obstinacy. “Miss Matcham, your ankle needs attention, and not in a few hours’ time. Unless you wish to have your ankle mistaken for that of an elephant,” he said, looking down at her foot. “Good heavens! You are bleeding.” He indicated her dress where a spot of blood had soaked through near her knee.
Kate glanced down. “It is really of no account,” she said, brushing at the spot even as her knee throbbed under her careless touch.
He shook his head. “No no, my girl. A valiant attempt, but fruitless. I will escort you home and make sure your injuries are properly attended to. Then, and only then, will I return to the party.”
Too surprised by being addressed as “my girl” to do any more than open her mouth wordlessly, Kate found herself placed with care into the wagon. With a deft motion, Lord Ashworth hopped in, helping her into the most comfortable position possible.
There were no seats, which meant that Kate was obliged to sit directly on the floorboards, her back supported against the side boards and her legs stretched out in front of her. An extra blanket was placed under her foot to absorb some of the anticipated bumps, a
nd Lord Ashworth sat opposite her at the base of her feet.
As they started on their way, Kate closed her eyes and clenched her teeth to stifle the vocalizations of pain that rose to her lips as the carriage bobbled over stones and into dips on the uneven dirt road. The blanket was thin and absorbed only a fraction of the jolting, causing her foot to rise with the bumps and subsequently fall back down in a painful smack.
They had turned the corner onto the main road in Abbotsbury when Ashworth requested the wagon driver to stop.
“I am very sorry, Miss Matcham. I fear I must inconvenience you a little. Would you mind terribly if I spoke with one of my tenants for a moment?”
Kate followed Lord Ashworth’s gaze to the side of the road where a young woman was standing. Her arms were occupied with a sleeping baby, tears falling down her cheeks.
“By all means,” Kate rushed to say, secretly glad for a respite from the agony of the ride.
Lord Ashworth jumped down from the wagon and walked over to the young woman. When she noticed him approaching, she hurried to dry any accessible tears with her shoulders and made a valiant effort to smile.
A short, stout woman two doors down was beating a rug rhythmically on her doorstep, a cloud of dust forming with each hit. She looked at Lord Ashworth with a dubious expression.
“Mrs. Clarkson,” Lord Ashworth said in a gentle voice, “Is something amiss?”
She sniffed. “You are too kind, my lord. Please don’t bother your head, though.”
Lord Ashworth looked as though he was unsure whether to inquire further. “I assure you it is no bother, Madam. I don’t mean to press you, but I would like to assist in any way I can.”
The rhythmic beating of the rug stopped.
Mrs. Clarkson’s lip quivered, and she let out a small sob.
“Aye, my lord, and that will do, I think.”
Lord Ashworth turned in surprise to see the woman who had been beating her rug walking toward him with an unmistakable glare. “I think you and your family have done quite enough.”
“Oh please, Sally! Don’t!” cried the distraught Mrs. Clarkson.