by Sahara Kelly
Lydia sighed. “I suppose we should have mentioned something to someone, but truly this was a spur-of-the-moment walk.” She turned to the sea. “And you have to admit it is spectacular.”
“It is.” He stood beside her, breathing in the salt air, just as she had done earlier.
“Mowbray,” she said. “If I may pick your brains for a moment…” She pointed along the line of the ocean and the cliffs. “Do you think the storms damage these cliffs? Are there landslides and so on?”
“Undoubtedly,” he nodded, squinted a little and then put an arm around her, turning her shoulder slightly. “If you look over there, just beyond that large white rock…” He pointed with his free arm. “You’ll see a scar from a landslide. The earth, the side of the cliff, is bare. Most of the cliff face around it has been weathered, or is betraying one or two green plants. But there, in that spot, it’s fresh rock. Exposed by the movement of everything nearby.”
“Oh, you’re right.” She stayed where she was, comfortable, sheltered by Mowbray’s body and wondering if she really was feeling his warmth against her bare arm, or if it was just her imagination. “I wonder what it’s like to be here in a storm. To see the work of the sea as it rips away the cliffs.”
He glanced down at her and she turned to meet his gaze. His eyes lowered to her lips and for a moment Lydia’s heart stopped. Then it started up again, a staccato drumming inside her chest. Dear God, what was that?
Then he smiled at her. “I’m sure it’s incredible, but also dangerous. If we have a big storm, the best place to be would be in Colly’s mansion next to the telescope.”
His mention of that instrument was enough to bring a sudden—and very inappropriate—image to Lydia’s mind and she moved away from him, hopefully hiding her blushes. “Most wise,” she murmured, turning to follow Ivy and Colly, who were walking back toward Maiden Shore.
“Anyway,” said Mowbray, oblivious to her confused mental state, “we came out to find you because everyone’s getting together to go into Minton Barrow. Today is the day of their Summer Fair, according to the staff.”
“Oh, that’s right,” nodded Lydia. “I remember someone mentioning that yesterday.” She glanced at him. “We’re all going?”
“Apparently.” His voice was quite calm.
“And you’re not terribly excited about it,” she grinned at him. A tuft of grass caught her foot and she stumbled, only to be immediately righted by a firm hand on her arm.
He tucked it through his and held her close. “Careful. This ground is not kind to slippers.” He chuckled. “For once, it’s not me falling over…”
“You’re right. I should’ve worn sturdier shoes. But I’m on holiday, Mowbray. The usual rules no longer apply to either of us.” She shot him a grin. “So. About this Fair…”
He rolled his eyes. “I have to go, of course. But I’ll probably be the one tripping over my own feet or doing something else silly.”
“No you won’t.”
“How can you be so sure? You know me…”
Lydia smiled. “Yes I do. And if you’ll do me the honour of walking through the Fair with me, I will return your favour and catch you before you fall…”
He tilted his head and surveyed her face. “All right. And it would be my honour. But…” his lips twisted into a wry smile. “You’d better wear sturdy boots just in case I tread on you.”
*~~*~~*
The cheerful party divided itself between two open carriages for the short drive to Minton Barrow.
Rose and Miles, along with Lydia and Mowbray, made up one of the vehicles, while Ivy, Colly, Prudence and Ronan occupied the other.
Parasols were on display as the ladies attempted to protect their complexions, and the wind did its best to thwart those plans.
Rose and Lydia laughed and yelled at the breeze as it tried to rip the pretty things from their hands, and finally Miles urged them both to give it up.
“Hang on to your bonnets, ladies,” he shook his head. “At least those are tied on.”
Mowbray efficiently folded down the useless parasols and tucked them under his feet. “We’re nearly there now, anyway.”
Lydia adjusted the brim of her bonnet. “Good thing too,” she tightened the ribbon. “It wouldn’t do for the Maiden Shore party to arrive in Minton Barrow looking like hoydens.”
Rose tucked a strand of hair back up into place. “Well, I expect everyone else is a bit wind-blown, not just us. So perhaps we could establish a new style. Almost-but-not-quite-hoydens.”
“I like that,” laughed Lydia as their carriage drew to a halt, and she caught sight of the other one. Ivy was tightening the ribbons on her bonnet, and Prudence was shoving her parasol beneath the seat with a look of frustration. Ronan was grinning and Colly just shaking his head.
“Did you have wind troubles as well?” Rose called.
“Don’t ask,” Ronan called back, helping the ladies alight. “Thank God men don’t wear bonnets. All we have to do is hold our hats in place.”
Since all the gentlemen had managed to keep their hats where they were supposed to be, Ronan’s comment was met with scornful looks.
“Come along then. Let’s not dawdle.” Miles tugged Rose onto the street and led the way toward the noise of music, voices and what must have been a goodly number of sheep and goats.
Lydia, true to her word, walked up to Mowbray and tucked her arm through his. “Right. No tripping for either of us today.” She sniffed. “I think I smell pies.”
Mowbray’s face creased into a grin and he nodded. “I agree. And I’ll wager they’re freshly made. My mouth’s watering already.”
The noise increased as they neared the centre of the village, an open area surrounded by lanes and a few shops. A couple of tents had been erected, sheltering the pies that Lydia had detected, and other tasty looking goodies. Across a small gap between the tents, a large man was busily tapping one of many kegs, and his table was besieged by thirsty gentlemen.
Off to one side, a band of local musicians were enjoying themselves by playing an assortment of foot-tapping country tunes, and in front of them, more than a few local children were dancing with glee.
Lydia saw parasols, bonnets, caps, tall hats and bare heads. The crowd offered a blend of elegance and country practicality. There were even a few games to be explored; tossing a horseshoe at a post, or rings over oddly shaped rocks.
“This is delightful,” she murmured, as she and Mowbray wandered amongst the throng. “It’s lovely to see so many people having an afternoon of simple fun.”
“I agree,” he nodded. Then stopped for a moment. “Hmm. Now that looks interesting.” He tugged her off to one side, heading for a small table he’d spied.
She blinked, staring at what looked like a display of rocks. Which, upon closer inspection, it was. But these weren’t casual collections; each different rock or stone displayed a fossil, incised into its surface.
“Goodness,” said Lydia, unable to look away from the entrancing show of nature’s sculptures. “Oh…there’s one like the one I found. An ammonite, yes?”
She was asking Mowbray, but the elderly man sitting behind the table agreed. “Ye’re right there, Missy. Well done. Yer find it hereabouts then, did yer?”
She nodded. “I did, sir. On the beach in front of Maiden Shore.”
“A good place to look, that is.” His heavy grey beard jiggled as he nodded. “Now if yer thinking yer might like to find a few more, I’d say yer need to head about a mile or so west from there. To where the cliffs really start to soar.”
“We have talked of doing that,” said Mowbray. “That kind of limestone rock formation should yield some interesting finds, I believe?”
Before the question could receive an answer, a tiny gasp shot across the table as Lydia reached for a stone toward the back.
Both men looked at her as she carefully retrieved a pale grey rock, quite flat and round, bearing the distinct imprint of something that could have been a dragon
fly in the distant past.
“Look at this, Mowbray, just look…” she touched it with reverence.
“Oh that is a very fine piece,” he stared at it, then glanced at the seller. “Did you find that around here, sir?”
“I did not, sad to say. That comes from further down the coast, over Charmouth way. The cliffs of Black Ven, ‘tis said, have many such fossils buried within.” He peered at Mowbray. “Seems yer lady likes that one, sir. It’d make a good paperweight, now, think yer not? And a perfect remembrance of a nice day at Minton Barrow…”
He winked slyly at Mowbray.
Who sighed. “I suppose the cost of finding such delights has to be defrayed, doesn’t it? All right. Yes. I’ll buy it for Miss Davenport.” He reached into his pocket.
“Oh, no, Mowbray. I didn’t mean to be suggesting any such thing.” Distressed, Lydia put her hand on his arm.
He smiled at her. “Hush. ‘Tis my pleasure. And since we might find more near the cliffs, perhaps this one and yours could be the start of a collection…”
She bit her lip, torn between doing the proper thing and her desire for the fossil. Desire won.
“Very well then, but we shall share it, Mowbray. I will have it for six months, and you shall have it for the other six.”
“Very Solomonic,” observed Mowbray with a chuckle. “Will a florin purchase this lovely paperweight for the lady?”
“Indeed it will, good sir.” The man accepted the coin and carefully wrapped the rock in a small piece of cotton. “And may yer both enjoy it for years to come.”
“Thank you,” said Lydia earnestly. “I’m sure we will. Along with the others I know we’ll find while we’re here.”
The old man’s laughter followed them as they turned to leave. “Got an enthusiastic lady there, sir. She’ll be finding plenty more fossils for yer both, I’m thinking.”
Lydia looked up at Mowbray. “I do hope he’s right. Can we go to the cliffs tomorrow, perhaps?”
He returned her gaze, and once again she felt that odd little jolt deep inside as his eyes smiled with warmth and humour.
“If the weather holds, yes, all right. As long as it’s not raining, you and I shall go fossil hunting.”
She wanted to shout her approval, but managed to restrain herself to a little skip. “I am so pleased. I’ll look forward to it, Mowbray. Thank you.”
Chapter Seven
It had been a very pleasant afternoon thus far, thought Mowbray.
Lydia seemed content to stroll with him through the crowd, and there was no need for any kind of conversation. He felt as comfortable with their silences as he did when they spoke of nothing in particular.
He was a great deal more careful than usual to make sure he didn’t trip over anything, lose his footing on the uneven ground or worst of all—trip up Lydia and bring her down to the grass alongside him. That would be completely unforgivable. He refused to acknowledge the tightening low in his gut that quickened at the thought of Lydia, prone, anywhere near him.
She was a friend, no more than that. Something he now found himself having to remember at least a dozen times a day.
As the afternoon drew toward an end, the Maiden Shore party drifted back to the carriages at a leisurely pace. Lydia went to speak to Prudence, and Mowbray found himself on his own, rather melancholy that he’d lost his walking partner.
“Ho, I’ll be damned. Isn’t that Clumsyboots?”
A jovial male voice shouted over a few heads, causing them turn and look to see who was making the noise.
Mowbray did the same, then swore silently as he recognised the Right Honourable Charles Stonewood. His nemesis from Oxford.
“Chuffy. What brings you here?” Mowbray fought for some semblance of calm. This man, or his younger self, had made Mowbray’s life miserable for several terms. Even more so when Mowbray had moved quickly upward in the university ranks. Clumsy more often than not, he had also been consistently brilliant, and that had angered some of those less intellectually gifted. Like Chuffy.
It was he who had coined the nickname that followed Mowbray his entire time at Oxford, and far from leaving it behind, it seemed to have cropped up again here, on the South Coast, at the unlikely spot of Minton Barrow.
“Oh, just a bit of summer fun, old chap.” Stonewood answered the question with a chuckle. “Will Furness mentioned there was a group getting together, so the fellows and I decided to join them.”
Two other men Mowbray vaguely recognised walked up to Stonewood’s side. He nodded, an act he considered sufficient acknowledgement. They were sycophants, he remembered, sticking by Chuffy and applauding everything he did. By the looks of them, they had been well rewarded, since their clothing was sharp and in fashion.
“So, tell us, how many times have you tripped up today?” Chuffy punched Mowbray in the shoulder, knocking him back a pace.
“I am meeting friends. You’ll have to excuse me.” Mowbray gritted his teeth and turned away, intending to head toward the carriages and his party.
“Oh not so fast, Clumsyboots.” The three men surrounded him. “Come on, let’s see you trip up. Just for old times’ sake…”
Chuffy pushed him hard, forcing him to stumble.
Mowbray sighed and once again turned away, trying to keep the distaste from his voice. “As I said I’m meeting friends. Clearly not you.”
“I don’t like your tone,” snapped Chuffy.
“I don’t care,” answered Mowbray.
And the next thing he knew was that someone had punched him in the chest, making him wheeze. After that, things got a little confusing, since he automatically swung back and clipped the nearest chin with a quick right hook.
In seconds a whirlwind of silk was at his side, swinging away herself, and delivering hard kicks to whatever shins she could find near her. “How dare you,” she spat, as one of the men howled when her foot connected nicely just below his knee.
“Lydia,” grunted Mowbray, ducking a wildly swung fist. “Get the hell out of this.”
“Don’t be silly.” Her reticule whacked Stonewood’s ear. “Three against one is poor odds indeed.”
However, that was as far as it went, since the little melee had not gone unnoticed by the rest of the party.
“Mowbray, are these louts a problem?” Miles appeared beside him, his arms crossed.
The combatants withdrew, panting a little, Stonewood whimpering as he held his hand to his head.
“Perhaps a wee bit of gentle persuasion might be just the thing to solve it,” Sir Ronan, walking up to Miles and Mowbray, straightened and cracked his knuckles with a smile that revealed far too many teeth.
“I would be disgusted to think these were gentlemen,” said another voice. The Duke of Maidenbrooke moved to Mowbray’s other side, managing to look quite intimidating and at the same time gently pushing Lydia behind him.
“They like to assume they are, your Grace. We were fellow collegians for a while at Oxford. But if memory serves me, Stonewood here didn’t quite complete all his years.” Mowbray poured scorn into his words.
“Ignorant lackwits,” muttered Lydia around Colly’s shoulder.
Staring at the Duke with something close to utter horror, Chuffy backed up. “Er, beg pardon, your Grace. Didn’t realise that Clums—um, Mr Linfield was with your party.” He glanced at Miles, obviously recognising him. “My Lord.”
“If I heard correctly, Mr Stonewood, you mentioned Mr Furness?”
“Yes sir, we’re here to visit him.” nodded Chuffy, answering Miles’ casual question as politely as possible, given that his two friends were now cowering behind him.
“Then I trust you already have rooms. Lady Susan and Sir Francis are accustomed to welcoming gentlemen of good nature to their residence. I regret I shall have to inform them that you and your party do not qualify.” With a pitying glance, Miles turned away. “We must leave. The ladies and the horses are growing impatient.”
For the final time, Mowbray turned his ba
ck on the group of men now huddled together. One was bent over, rubbing his knee, another touched his chin delicately, and Chuffy Stonewood shot Mowbray a look of absolute fury.
“I don’t like them, Mowbray. How did you stand them at University?”
He met Lydia’s angry gaze and sighed. “They’re bullies. That’s all. It’s an annoyance, but I have to admit I was a prime target. Still am. You know my ability to trip, fall, drop things and break things…”
“That’s no excuse for their behaviour, and you know it.” She dug him in the ribs with a hard finger.
He grabbed her hand, and surprising not only Lydia but also himself, he raised it to his lips and dropped a kiss on it. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.”
“I—um—oh…” Flustered, she blinked at him. “They were…quite villainous.”
He bit back a laugh. “Well put.” He tapped her reticule. “And I have a feeling the fossil you have in there proved to be a really hard surprise for whichever one it was you hit with it.”
Rose, Judith and Prudence were all looking worried as the group walked up, and Ragnor—who had stayed with them—was frowning magnificently. Questions flew like lightning, most inquiring whether everyone was all right, especially Mowbray.
He felt his cheeks beginning to burn and held up his hand. “I am fine, thank you for your concern. An annoying encounter with bullies from Oxford. But thankfully, with the help of Lydia and the Maidenbrooke army, we triumphed.”
Colly laughed. “Not a very big army, Mowbray. Let’s not overstate the matter.”
“We weren’t invading Belgium, Colly,” answered Lydia as she clambered into the carriage. “Just defending one of our own.”
“You kicked that man’s shins,” said Prudence, eyes wide. “And hit another with your reticule.”
“Yes I did. It felt rather good.” Lydia frowned. “Although I must admit my toes are a wee bit sore now. But probably not as sore as the man I walloped…with this.” She opened her reticule and produced the fossil.
“Remind me to show you ladies a few things you might like to keep in mind for your next fight,” grinned Sir Ronan. “Not that you’ll need them, of course, but since we’re an army now, best we train for any eventuality. Right, gentlemen?”