A kind smile of reassurance dawned on Mister Brassy’s face. “Now who’s the ne’er do well who’s angered you so, Miss Merton? You seem positively furious.” He asked, as they both started walking down the street at a slow but even pace.
Phoebe sighed and looked away. “I’m the ne’er do well.” She whispered dejectedly. “And I’ve done more than gotten myself angry this time.”
“Oh?” James exclaimed, and Phoebe could feel the heartwarming compassion in his every gesture. The horse shook his head and James walked a few steps settling it. Phoebe followed.
“I ruined a dress.” Phoebe kicked a stone off the road, sending it rolling off into the dust. “I cut it too short at the hem with my clumsy hands.”
James sighed, looking off into the distance. “Then it’s my fault. If it weren’t for me loosing ol’ Demon down the street, you wouldn’t have hurt your hand on the rope.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean to say… ” Phoebe began, raising her head startled. “It was all my fault, I’m too careless with my work. I had my mind wandering off to someplace else instead of concentrating on the blasted dress. And now it is altogether too short to ever be worn in public.”
James smiled, at her sharp language.
“Are you laughing at me?” she demanded.
His face grew serious as if remembering something. Phoebe looked at him with puzzled interest. “Do you find my misery amusing, Mister Brassy?” she repeated in a slightly irritated tone.
“Not at all!” James excused himself. “It is just that… well, by the looks of the dress you wore earlier today, it seems as if you are trying to set a new style in town. You might even try to convince that lady of yours of it. You might tell her that she gets to be the first one to wear this new ankle showing fashion in her high circles. She would probably believe you.”
“You are teasing me!” Phoebe blushed realizing that he had noticed her bare ankles earlier. She had hoped he was too worried about the horse to see her at all. Though Phoebe was determined to chastise James for such a joke at her expense, she could not help but find the idea to be as amusing as it was embarrassing.
Still, a smile threatened as she imagined Lady Charity Abernathy walking out of the sewing shop fully satisfied that she had acquired an article of clothing ahead of its time and would be the one emulated by all the other genteel ladies in Bath. Phoebe chuckled lightly, and James looked at her fondly, causing her heart to jump all the more.
“That’s better,” he said as if her troubles were averted by a simple smile.
Phoebe quickly regained her composure and she paused, stopping in the middle of the road and nervously fiddling with the bound package she was carrying. “Oh, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to hurry on to Kilmerstan Castle. I’m to deliver The Dowager’s gown post haste, and I’ve got to get back and help my sister afterwards.”
“Well, I’m heading the same way.” James replied, gesturing, and Phoebe could hear a twinge of joy in his tone. Was it possible that he enjoyed her company? Mary constantly told her that she was too gruff and unladylike to be pleasant company. Perhaps her sister was wrong.
“I’ve got these small decorations done for her horses’ bridles, and I’d thought I’d ride there today, seeing how nice the afternoon is,” the blacksmith said.
“But you are not riding,” Phoebe said.
“I could not ride myself and leave a lady to walk,” he replied.
“A lady,” she whispered to herself. She had to her knowledge never been called a lady. She wasn’t a Lady, of course, but somehow, the word warmed her.
Phoebe seemed to hesitate a little, unsure what she should reply to this. He continued. “It’s getting rather late, and I’d rather not have you make the trip alone.”
“Me? Why?” Phoebe blurted. “It’s not even dark,” she said calling him on his foolishness.
“Well, because…” He frowned unable to continue.
“It is not so late.” Phoebe pointed out simply. She could see James turn a slight tint of red. “But of course, I’ll walk with you, nonetheless.” His smile made her heart sing.
They walked for several steps, the horse clip clopping along beside them, and Phoebe became aware of how very warm and large Mister Brassy was beside her. Of course he would be warm, from the forge, she chastised herself. He was a blacksmith. James. His given name was James. It gave Phoebe a tickling feeling in her belly to feel his closeness, and she glanced up to find him looking at her with a soft smile. The glint in his eye, made her heart leap and her palms sweat. She suddenly felt self-conscious walking beside him for the entire world to see.
“Would you let me ride on your horse?” She blurted.
“What?”
“I am very fond of horses,” she said.
Phoebe had always loved horses, though she rarely got any chance to ride or simply spend time with any of the animals. Her own family had never had the means to keep a horse. Despite having never had the necessity, she had learned to ride very early, on a dare, when she was young and the ladies of the surrounding houses were not so separate from the commons, and the gentlemen were only boys and even less likely to be denied anything.
Phoebe remembered, she was so small she was like to be able to run right under a horse’s belly if she had so chosen. Whenever the children of the grooms would be asked to fetch the horses grazing on the far field and bring them back into town, she would often join them to keep them company. They would then ride bareback all the way back home. Of course, by the time they reached her street, she would immediately jump off, fearing what her mother and sister might say where they to catch her at in such a state.
They would be scared senseless to see her put herself in such danger, but Phoebe knew no harm had come of their fun. She had been a capable rider. She had only fallen off once when the groom’s boy had poked the horse in the withers with a stick and the mare had bucked. Phoebe had only hurt her pride, and really it was her own fault for teasing the groom’s boy. She smiled remembering.
James looked at her perplexed but was afforded no time to protest that she could not ride. Phoebe stood at the horses’ side, waiting for him to help her up into the saddle. He certainly looked strong enough to lift her. She felt a blush coloring her cheeks as she thought of his hands on her.
“Come on, then. I told you I’m in a hurry.” She said briskly to cover her nervousness. “Give me a boost.”
“I’ve not a proper saddle for you.” James murmured, but went to her nonetheless.
“No matter. We’re not exactly going fox hunting, are we?” She thrust her package into his hands. “I trust you will guide then animal well enough and see that she doesn’t throw me off or leap away into a brisk gallop. Although after this afternoon, perhaps I should be worried.” She cocked her head to look at him, a glint in her eye.
“No. of course not,” he said, holding the package and the reins uncertainly.
“Well, then. I should be fine, if you manage her properly.”
With James’s help, Phoebe was quickly on top of the chestnut mare. The normal saddle was quite uncomfortable to sit on from the side, but it could not be helped. She arranged her skirts about her and tried to find the best possible position, resting one of her heel into the stirrup. She straightened her back and reached out to James. “Well, then, hand me the package will you?”
“Yes, of course,” he said.
She tucked the package under her arm and balanced herself with a hand on the canticle, but with the brush burn, grasping the saddle hurt. She realized she didn’t really need to hold on as long as the horse was going at a walk. She trusted the man leading the horse, although she thought, she had no reason to do so. He had lost a horse earlier today. He could easily lose this one too and then she would be splat on the cobbles.
“Right. Shall we?” she said presently, without turning towards James who was still holding the reins. “I’ll trust you to keep sharply to the road. I cannot quite turn to face it without slowly sliding off.�
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“Nonetheless, for safety’s sake I should give you the reins,” he said. “I have a bit of rope I can loop though the bridle as a precaution. “I’ve led my sister’s children about so.”
“I am child now?” she said.
“Certainly not,” he said, his face blushing a ruddy color in the warm sun. “I only meant, you…that… you are not well seated. Do you truly ride?”
“Not truly,” she admitted, “But I should like to learn.”
“I should like to teach you,” he said softly, and the moment stretched like the shimmering heat of summer. Phoebe felt it shiver through her like a sudden ray sunshine on a cool morning and she could barely breathe.
“Well, lead on,” she said at last. “I told you I was in a hurry.”
“So you did.”
James laughed lightly at Miss Merton’s eccentricity and slowly resumed his walking, tightening his hand on the rope looped through the bridle so that he was standing at her side with the horse close, bidding his horse along as he did so. At first, he would often glance up at Miss Merton, as if making sure she was still safely there.
She was grinning with a wide smile. “This is wonderful,” she exclaimed. “I can see all the way to Fotherington house.”
“You seem to have your way with horses, oddly enough.” He said at length, just as they were walking past the last houses of the small town. Phoebe could see the rolling hills in the distance, the long grass sweeping in the cooling breeze, like the waves of a green sea.
“There’s nothing odd about it. I am fond of horses. Their presence soothes me, and the riding rocks like a cradle.”
“I have oft felt the same,” he said. “And the animals find you just as soothing, I see.” James replied. “The stallion you managed to wrangle would give the stoutest man a run for his money.”
“I cannot imagine that it makes any difference if a man is handling the horse or a woman,” she said. “After all the beasts weigh, what perhaps what, eighty to ninety stone?”
“Close to that,” the blacksmith agreed. “In fact, I would guess that stallion was closer to one hundred. He is a big brute.”
“Oh, he is no brute,” she protested her voice softening. “He was only frightened. Anyway, I doubt a man could hold that weight no matter how strong and fit he may be.” She blushed thinking of the blacksmith’s strong arms, but she continued. “I’m sure it was not your fault that you lost the horse this morning. I am sure at times the beasts do not want to be shod, but I cannot see why you did not shut the door to keep him contained.”
He did not answer at once and when he did, he only said, “That’s a feisty beast, the crankiest one I’ve ever had the misfortune to shoe. I can’t imagine how you could keep him in check when you are only a little bit of a girl.”
“I am no girl,” she said. “I am nearly a woman grown.”
He cleared his throat. “So you are,” he agreed his voice a low rumbling that did strange things to Phoebe. He took a breath. “Still, when I saw you holding on to the lead, I swear my blood ran cold.”
“You worried for me?” she asked.
“I did.”
“Perhaps we have a deeper understanding between us, that stallion and me. Sometimes I too would fancy breaking off the lead and running down the street, knocking down any who may stand before me. At times I feel so stifled indoors.”
He looked up at her and what was meant as a bright word fell into a pensive silence as she lost herself in the sheer beauty of him. She breathed deeply and turned to look at the landscape. “I love this,” she said.
“I, too, love the out of doors. I take it you don’t like sewing much.” James said after a long pause.
Phoebe had fallen back onto her unpleasant thoughts.
“I think it would be far more enjoyable if I were as good as my sister is at it.” She replied, smiling bitterly. “But I can’t say I have much of a choice in the matter anyway.”
“Well, I… ” James began, but was not sure what he would say. He trailed off into silence and struggled to think of something else to say.
The soft rhythm of the horse rocked and soothed her. “It’s quite alright, Mister Brassy,” Phoebe continued, as if picking up on his inability to find a proper response. “I should not complain about my station in life. I suppose I have it much better than those folk up there in the estates.”
James raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh? Do you not wish for pretty dresses and balls? I thought all women wanted such things.”
“Not me. Goodness! If I never see another party dress it would be too soon.” She shifted in the saddle more comfortable now with her precarious perch.
He laughed. “I can bet you any other girl in town would give anything to make their way into genteel society.”
“I’m sure of it.” Phoebe replied. “But little do they know how utterly disdainful the life of a proper lady is. All day stuck in those cold stone manors, finding little distractions to pass the hours until they are to be married off to some elderly duke who snorts when he is eating and can barely move on his own gouty feet. I think that is what breeds them to be so cranky and indeed, often utterly insufferable to the rest of us. They are all miserable. If only they had the chance to run and sink their toes into the rich brown earth, they would be of a very different temperament, I am sure.”
James laughed at Phoebe’s colorful remark. It painted a hilarious picture of the Ton, with their stiff manners and little regard for anything outside their narrow circles. He gazed in the distance at the sun dipping past the thick brow of woods bordering the deer park. Before he knew it, they were at the gates of Kilmerstan Castle.
“Well, I’ll be off then.” Phoebe said, wiggling in her seat and catching a handful of mane, she slid off of the back of the horse, her dress sticking to her bottom for a moment so that her ankles were once again visible. She took a moment to straighten her skirts. “Thank you for the ride, Mister Brassy. It was pleasant.” She gave him a slight nod, and he took her hand momentarily. She wondered if he was going to kiss it as if she were a lady and he a gentleman, but instead he turned it over, looking at the red brush burn on her palm. His hand was exceedingly gentle as he rubbed a finger against the brush burn and said. “I would not have seen you hurt. I am deeply sorry.”
She stood transfixed staring into his blue eyes and thinking about his hands so gentle on the horse; so gentle on her. The touch on her hand seemed to run through her like a bolt of lightning to her belly and a strange feeling of elation filled her. She didn’t want to leave his presence. Her hand hardly hurt at all. He seemed to calm something within her, and like the stallion had settled in her hand, she wanted …something not quite tangible to her quick thoughts. “Thank you,” she murmured. “You are very kind, Mister Brassy.”
“James,” he said, his voice a soft murmur against her ears. A thrill ran through her and she shifted closer, all unawares.
“I would like you to call me James, if you would.”
“James,” she repeated, the word felt good on her lips. “James,” she said again, fully understanding the significance of him giving her his Christian name. She would have told him her name, but suddenly she found her breath short.
“Well, in any case, I hope the ride has done some good in lifting your spirits.” He said and saw the look of worry come back on her face. He immediately regretted having reminded her of her worries. “Shall I wait for you?” he asked, trying to change the subject.
“No, I think I shall return on my own. I need a quiet moment with my thoughts.” She replied, gazing once more at his strong jaw and then she looked at her feet and made them move.
~.~
7
James watched Miss Merton walk up the drive and around the old castle that was the family seat of the Duke of Kilmerstan. He remained there for a moment, holding his horse and thinking how foolish he had been. Why had he even asked Miss Merton if he should wait on her return? For a moment, he considered doing it anyway. No, that
would not do, he thought, she would be upset with him for having ignored her wishes.
She was a very forthright young woman. He sighed deeply and smiled bitterly. How odd it was that he now found himself concerned with the seamstress’ little sister and her opinion of him. Though he had known her all her life, he had never before realized how bright and curious she was, nor how brave and plucky. So preoccupied was he with his own thoughts, that he had nearly forgot his initial purpose for having come such a long way up to Kilmerstan Castle. He was shortly reminded when he saw the stable master approaching him.
“Ah, James.” The man said, walking towards him in a brisk manner. “Delivering old Delilah,” the stable master patted the horse gently. “I take it she didn’t give you any trouble with the shoeing?”
“No Sir.”
“Unlike that horse this morning,” he said.
“Heard about that did you?” James said as he passed over the mare.
“I did.”
James gave a harrumph. He figured by now the whole village knew of his incompetence.
“And I heard how that wild little Merton girl caught him for you.”
“I’ll not hear any aspersions against her name,” the blacksmith said darkly.
“Oh,” the stable master said, surprised. “Is that how it is?”
“It is,” the blacksmith said, realizing suddenly that was exactly how it was. He wanted to give her the protection of his name…and his body. The thought raced through him like the heat of his forge and he cleared his throat.
“Do you also have the wares that Her Grace commissioned?” the stable master asked
“Right.” James replied, shaking off his pensive gaze and turning to rummage through his saddlebags for the package.
He handed the package off to the stable master, who was inquisitively looking in the direction of the castle proper.
Stitched in Love: The Nettlefold Chronicles Page 4