An Enchanted Beginning

by Alyssa Dean Copeland

  The boy’s smile fell. He looked down at his dirty, bare feet.

  “Come now, tell me.”

  “My pa fell sick. My ma didn’t have the coin for medicine. I traded my shoes for medicine. I am sorry, m’lord.” A tear fell down the boy’s face, streaking his dirty cheek.

  “How fares your father now?”

  Avery looked up and smiled again. “Better. He says he will try to buy my shoes, but ’twill not happen before the ball.”

  Jonathan reached out his hand. “Come, we will find you shoes, lest my mother go into a frenzy.”

  Avery put his small hand into Jonathan’s, then was lifted into the saddle. “Tell me, with whom did you trade your shoes?”

  “An herbwoman. She said she would sell ‘em back to the cobbler and to get ‘em when I were ready.”

  Jonathan kicked his horse. “Very well, we shall visit the cobbler.”

  * * *

  The streets of Bristol teemed with well-dressed men and women visiting the fine shops and street vendors. Though it was not as grand as London, Seanna and Mistress Lilly fully immersed in its bustle.

  They crossed a cobblestone street. Before Bethany could catch up, a roan horse passed, bearing a smiling young boy in rags in front of a well-dressed man. The man caught her gaze with his radiant blue eyes and tipped his hat as they rode on.

  Seanna called out the door of a shop. “Come Bethany, look at this lace. Is it not exquisite?”

  Bethany looked back at the man on the horse and watched until he stopped in front of a cobbler shop and helped the boy down. She turned the direction of her sister, embarrassed she had stared at the man for so long.

  She entered the store and took the lace from her sister’s hand. “You think this lace is exquisite. You, who prefers tatters over gowns?”

  Seanna bit her lip. “Of course. Would it not trim a dress beautifully?”

  “Seanna, there is no need for you to pretend to be enjoying yourself on my account.”

  A look of relief covered Seanna’s face. “I am trying, Bethany. I do not wish you to be sad.”

  “Look girls,” Lilly Thayer called from across the shop. “This color would bring out Bethany’s eyes.” She held a bolt of coventry blue silk.

  Seanna gasped and walked over to Lilly to examine the fabric. Bethany followed, and then looked down at the lace, caressed it between her fingers. If she hadn’t been abducted, she would have enjoyed the prospect of attending the Butler ball. But enough. She needed to pull herself together. It was not her fault that her father’s caravan was attacked and herself taken prisoner.

  “There.” She heard a woman whisper. “She was the one.”

  Another woman leaned closer to the first woman and whispered in her ear. Bethany straightened her shoulders and looked at the women. Their eyes grew wide. “Come,” one said, and they left the store, never taking their eyes off Bethany.

  Bethany was right: more than Mistress Thayer had heard of her ruin, and now she would be a spectacle. She dearly wished she could convince her sister to return to the cottage, but she knew Seanna would not listen.

  * * *

  Little Avery dashed toward the cobbler’s shop, his bare feet pattering against the cobblestone. He stopped at the doorway and looked back.

  Jonathan laughed. “Go on, see if the cobbler has your shoes.”

  Avery heaved open the door and pressed his back against it for Jonathan to enter. The store smelled of alcohol, grease, and leather.

  The cobbler, wearing a leather apron, set down a hammer and looked up. “What can I do for you this day?”

  Avery glanced up at Jonathan. He received a nod and walked up to the cobbler. “Do you have my shoes?”

  “Ah. You must be Master Avery, the boy who traded his shoes to the herbwoman.”

  Jonathan lifted his brow and crossed his arms, interested in the exchange.

  Avery asked. “How much to get them back?”

  “I believe that two pennies should do it.”

  The boy looked up at Jonathan. He pulled two pennies from his pouch. “This is a loan Avery, not a gift. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir, ’tis a loan.”

  “You will repay me by performing additional duties. I will have you send messages. But you will need to wear your shoes when you deliver them.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And one more thing, Avery—if ever you feel you need to sell your shoes to help your family, come to me. I will see if I can help or offer you more work.”

  Avery nodded in excitement and handed the two pennies to the cobbler, who looked the coins over and them set them on the counter. “Wait here. I will be back momentarily.”

  The cobbler disappeared into the back room and returned holding Avery’s tanned leather shoes. The boy smiled and reached for them.

  The cobbler pulled them away from Avery’s grasp. “I fear I cannot sell you these shoes.”

  Avery’s face fell. The cobbler winked at Jonathan. “They are simply too small for your feet.” He set the shoe next to Avery’s dirty, bare foot. “Look. Your feet have grown.”

  He reached behind the counter and pulled out a brand-new pair of black, leather boots. “These were made last week, but I fear they do not have an owner. Do you think you could care for this exquisite pair of boots?”

  “Aye.” Avery stood up straight. “I am able.”

  The cobbler winked again at Jonathan and watched as the boy put his boots inside his shirt.

  Jonathan knelt down. “They go on your feet.”

  “I do not want to scratch ’em.”

  Jonathan rolled his eyes. “Avery,” he said with a firm tone.

  The boy bent down and put them on.

  From his doublet, Jonathan pulled out the letters and thumbed through them. He pulled one out of the stack and handed the rest to Avery. “Now run along and deliver these. I will be along later.”

  Avery darted out the door. Jonathan turned to the cobbler. “Two pennies?”

  “Aye. The herb woman said the boy offered his shoes up for medicine when his mother could not pay. I am certain the healer would not have charged for her concoction, but wanted to teach him a lesson. A lesson he surely learned. She also said that the boy would appear one day to pick up his shoes and to charge him two pennies so he would feel as if he had done something to assist his father. She feared they would be too small and had me make a pair of boots in their stead.”

  Jonathan reached for his pouch. “How much do I owe you for the boots?”

  The cobbler waved his hand. “The trade was shy two pennies.” He motioned to the doorway. “You gave him a rather large stack of letters to deliver. How will he know who they belong to?”

  “I taught him to read. He does well for someone so young.”

  “A servant who can read and barter—he will surely cause trouble one day.”

  Jonathan smiled. “A dedicated servant with those traits will be most welcome. I have many plans for that one, if he continues his education. My thanks.” Jonathan tipped his hat and took his leave.

  The Bell on Broad Street was a short distance away. With luck, his father would still be waiting for him to arrive, and he could quench his thirst to ease his spirits from the upcoming ball.

  A boy took the reins of his horse. Jonathan dismounted, flipped a coin to the boy, then entered the tavern. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Several patrons sat at a table across the room, glanced up at him, then went back to their debate. A handful of men sat in the back room laughing and gambling with small piles of coins in front of them. His father was seated at a table in the back with a good view of the door, his head bent in quiet conversation with a man Jonathan didn’t recognize.

  With a flick of his hand he summoned a tavern maid, then slid into an empty seat.

  The shock on his father’s face turned into a broad smile. “This is my son, Jonathan. And this is Gilbert Arden of Stratford.”

  A young girl wearing a dress much la
rger than her size set a tankard of ale in front of him. He handed her a coin.

  The man reached out his hand. “My friends call me Gil.”

  He gave Gil’s hand a firm shake. “A pleasure, Master Arden. What brings you to Bristol?”

  “What brings anyone to Bristol?” He gave a curt laugh. “Trade, my friend. For I am a wool merchant.”

  Jonathan smiled and brought the ale to his lips. This was not simply a wool merchant. The man’s clothing, his manners, his speech, were too refined. “A pleasure.”

  “The pleasure is mine. Lord Butler has spoken much about you.”

  He glanced toward his father who still had a broad smile upon his lips and wondered exactly what information he had revealed.

  “Have no worry, my boy. I explained to Gil that I would not commit without speaking with you.”

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Pray tell, Master Arden, what is it that you propose?”

  “Please, call me Gil.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Recently, I have acquired a substantial amount of wool, perfect for export.”

  Jonathan raised a brow. “If it is perfect for export, then what is it you wish of us?”

  “I have a proposition which will benefit all parties involved. As I mentioned to your father, I wish to gather a handful of investors and prepare the wool for transport to the Americas.”

  “You have the wool here, in Bristol?”

  Gil laughed and took a sip of his ale. “No, my friend. I did not want to transport it until an agreement had been reached.”

  “What is your price.”

  “To invest or to purchase?”

  “Both.”

  “I am afraid I have more wool than any one man could afford, and I would like to explore all options. Please take my offer under consideration.” He stood up and tipped his hat. “Good-day, Lord Butler and Lord Butler.”

  Gil was a few feet away when his father turned to him. “You see, Jonathan. It is a good opportunity. Our fortune would be secured.”

  “I disagree. Even under normal circumstances, there is little profit in exporting wool because of the high cost to purchase it.”

  Someone in the gaming room yelled, then a loud bang sounded—presumably, a chair had fallen over. A man stumbled out of the room, ushered by the innkeeper. A voice called out, “Come back after you sleep it off!”

  Jonathan shook his head. The tavern brightened as the innkeeper shoved the drunkard through the entrance.

  His father stood up and patted Jonathan on the shoulder. “We will discuss this more later. Now, if you will excuse me, I believe there is an opening at the tables.”

  Jonathan sighed. It was just like his father to have his attentions diverted. He took a long drink of his ale and readied himself to leave. He checked for the invitation he’d hidden in his doublet. If he were to deliver it himself, he’d best be on his way.

  The young boy handled the reigns of two horses outside the door of the tavern. Two men approached from behind the steeds.

  “Lord Butler.”

  Jonathan glanced up and saw a familiar face—Nicholas Mattingly. He looked at the other man, then froze. It was James Bryant.

  He recovered quickly and nodded. “Master Mattingly, Master Bryant.”

  “We hoped to find you here.”

  Of course, Nic knew of his whereabouts. The Yeoman was renowned for his abilities to uncover information and had an array of men and informants. Jonathan doubted there was anything this man didn’t know or couldn’t do. Jonathan knew Nic had been searching for James Bryant to question him. Jonathan wondered what information James had disclosed.

  Nic leaned closer. “We are in need of your assistance.”

  James watched the boy walk away with the horses, then spoke. “Pray tell, you have heard the rumors?”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I do not take stock in tell-tales.”

  James leaned forward, his voice low. “Word must have reached your ears that I am to wed.”

  Jonathan lifted his brow. James Bryant was to be married? Surely if his mother knew of this, she would have informed him this morn when she brought up the subject of acquiring a wife.

  Before he could extend his congratulations, James continued. “There is a wager with my fiancée’s father, the Earl Maycott. My future wife has taken it upon herself to find her sister a suitor in four weeks’ time. We have engaged the services of Mistress Thayer to chaperone the girls, but require an invitation to your family’s ball. If I am unable to acquire one, I may be in need of protection from my wife’s sword.”

  Jonathan gave a crooked smile and pulled the invitation from his doublet. “I planned to seek you out later this day. Your appearance has saved me a trip. You have been invited and another invitation for the Earl will be delivered to your cottage this day.”

  James took the invitation and creased the parchment. “I am in need of another personal favor. Would you consider keeping a watchful eye on the girls.”

  Jonathan gave a curt laugh. “That should not be difficult.” He paused and his smile fell. “Will you not be attending?”

  Nic shrugged. “He will be in attendance. But it would be beneficial for another to ensure they are not ill-treated.”

  This gave Jonathan pause. The women would be safe in his mother’s home, especially with so many milling about. There was more to this request than Nic was letting on and Jonathan knew Nic would not make such a request unless he had good reason.

  Nic shifted his weight. “I do not take this favor lightly. In return for your assistance, I could acquire an audience with the Society of Merchant Venturers.”

  Jonathan was taken aback. He’d been trying to acquire an audience for months and had been politely deterred at every turn. He’d hoped to begin trade with the Americas… He shook Nic’s hand. “It is agreed. I will keep an eye on the girls, for I know you do not grant favors lightly.” He waited a moment to see if Nic would reveal more information. None was forthcoming.

  A look of relief crossed James’s face as he grasped Jonathon’s hand. “My most sincere thanks. Good-day.”

  Jonathan cocked his head as he watched the men walk into the tavern. Clearly, there was some risk involved. Otherwise, Nic would not have offered up a meeting with one of the most prestigious organizations in Bristol so quickly. Besides, he told himself, it was a simple favor since his mother demanded his presence. With the proposal of the wool merchant and an audience with the Merchant Venturers, he could increase his family’s fortune. And then begin searching for a wife.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Ruth threw back the draperies, letting sunlight fill the room. “Come now, you must wake up. ’Tis not good for you to hide under the covers all day.”

  Bethany threw the coverlet over her head. She wanted more than anything to disappear. If only the world would leave her alone.

  Had her father given any attention to the letters of courtship they’d received before leaving for Bristol, she, too, would be wed. Had their caravan not been attacked, had Bethany not left the safety of the carriage, had she not been abducted and taken south to an abandoned monastery where she was held captive for a week….

  Her honor was still intact, thanks to her captor; the woman was adamant that she not to be touched. But it didn’t matter; in her father’s eyes, she was ruined. Added to this: when they returned, she discovered the woman who had held her was a half-sister to Seanna’s fiancé.

  She heard Seanna’s voice. “Bethany, come now. Ruth and I are here to assist you. We visit Miss Thayer’s cottage this afternoon for nuncheon”

  Bethany groaned and scooted under the covers. Even her own handmaiden had disappeared, fearful of a scandal; now she had to share her sister’s.

  With much reluctance, Bethany slid from the security of the pillows and thin coverlet and placed her feet on the cool floor.

  Ruth pulled out a whey-colored dress and laid it on the bed.

  Bethany cringed. It was the dress she had
worn when she was taken. “Could I not wear another?”

  “’Tis been washed and mended, m’lady.” Ruth’s face fell and she quickly picked up the gown. “There must be another which you would prefer to wear.”

  Bethany let out the breath she’d been holding.

  Ruth laid a willow, taffeta gown on the bed. The light green wasn’t her favorite, but she despised the whey more. Bethany sighed. She’d have to dress for the day, no matter how she felt. It would be best to let Ruth assist her before Seanna began to badger.

  Lilly Thayer’s home was a simple, two-story, six-bedroom, stone cottage with a small garden in the front. The stables could hold half-a-dozen horses, at best, and possibly a carriage or two. It was much smaller than father’s home.

  A young woman greeted them at the door with an enthusiastic curtsy. “Lady Maycott, Lady Maycott, I am Abby Parker. Come, let me introduce you to my sister, the Lady Dohetry.”

  They followed Abby to the parlor. A blonde woman sat on the sofa, large with child. It was a wonder she was attending the nuncheon in her delicate condition. Under normal circumstances, she would be cooped up in a birthing room until the child arrived. Somehow, Bethany knew, this family did not conform to traditional practices.

  Lady Dohetry nodded but did not stand. “Though we have not been formally introduced, Lady Maycott, I believe we met a few weeks ago, at the Bryant Estate.”

  Bethany smiled. She vaguely recalled the woman and her husband at the Bryant Estate when they arrived several weeks ago, though Bethany didn’t recall her expecting.

  Abby took Seanna’s hand. “Sit down. We are expecting a few more guests to arrive shortly.”

  Bethany eased herself onto the sofa, her body rigid. Lilly’s nieces were a little too comfortable and a bit informal.

  Abby clapped her hands. “Did you receive an invitation to the Butler Ball? It is fortunate your arrival in Bristol was so timely. The Lady Butler is known for her lavish affairs and you will have such a grand time.” Abby paused for only a moment. Lady Dohetry interjected. “We, however, will not be attending this year. The babe will be here any day now”