APPLE BLOSSOM BRIDE
BY
MARINA OLIVER
Eve longs to escape from her rigidly disciplinarian father, and experience life away from her small Herefordshire village. Her brother James longs to join the army fighting Napoleon in the peninsula.
Eve is fascinated by cider-making, and despite her father's disapproval, makes it with the help of a local farmer. When Justin, the Earl of Newark, discovers her in boys' clothes high up an apple tree picking her apples, he is intrigued.
APPLE BLOSSOM BRIDE
by MARINA OLIVER
Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver
Smashwords Edition
The moral right of the author has been asserted
Cover Design by Debbie Oliver
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Author Note
It was a visit to the Cider Museum in Hereford that gave me the initial idea for this novel. I had also been reading about the Frost Fairs on the Thames, so it seemed natural to combine the two.
CHAPTER 1
Eve looked up at the big, juicy apples just out of reach. She considered. It would be a crime to leave them. Her basket, almost full, was safely anchored between the gnarled old branches. If she stepped from the ladder onto that big branch there, just a short step away, she'd be able to reach them. Her feet were bare, well able to grip the rough bark. She nodded, and grasping a branch above her head to steady herself, took one step. As she reached up for the first of the apples her name was called, and the foot left on the ladder slipped. There was an ominous crack as a branch snapped, and the ladder slid slowly towards the ground.
'Papa says to come home at once, Earl Justin will soon be here,' a shrill voice told her.
'Well, put the ladder up for me!'
The only reply was a chuckle.
'John, you imbecile, don't leave me stuck here!'
'Papa says you should not be such a hoyden.' His tone was sanctimonious, and then he departed, whistling loudly.
Eve cursed, saying aloud some of the words she had heard the stable lads using when they didn't know she was there, words she often used under her breath when her father became more irritating than usual. Then she twisted her head sharply as she heard a deep chuckle.
'You're in a pickle, lad! Shall I help you down?'
A dark-haired man, seated on a magnificent grey stallion, was on the narrow path which bisected the orchard. The horse was restless, clearly resenting being forced to stand, but his rider held him easily
'Er, yes, if you please. Can you place the ladder, then I can come down. And perhaps you can take the basket for me? But – ' she stopped. To do that he must dismount.
'I'll rescue the basket later.'
He urged the horse closer, right under the branches of the tree, and before Eve knew what he intended, he had reached up and put an arm round her waist, dragging her from her perch and onto the saddle in front of him.
She squeaked, and as the cap she wore to confine her long hair fell off, she lost her vision as the hair fell all over her face. The rider chuckled, and Eve squirmed in embarrassment.
'Put me down!' She tried to shake her hair out of her face. 'Now how shall I get the basket?'
'I'll go for it, if you promise not to run away.'
'Why should I, when I've spent all morning picking them!'
He lifted her to the ground, dismounted himself, and twitched the horse's reins over its head.
'Can you hold him?' he asked, thrusting the reins into her hands.
The stallion reared, but Eve pulled him down, and began to walk him in small circles. She glanced back at her rescuer, and to her astonishment saw him scaling, not the restored ladder, but the tree itself, finding footholds where she had thought there were none. He soon reached the basket, took it in one hand, and jumped down to land softly beside her.
'You – you'll have ruined your boots,' was all she could find to say.
He laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. 'No, young miss, they are only my third best. Good enough for visiting my little brother. I wasn't aware I might meet a damsel in distress. A very pretty damsel, too, not at all what I expected to find in rural Herefordshire. But tell me, are we far from the Rectory? I was told this orchard was part of the demesne, and a shorter route than by the lane.'
'Your – your brother?' Eve stammered, blushing at the compliment. She had known Stephen's older brother was coming to visit him. Stephen was being coached by her father, along with her own brother James, for Oxford. And the wretched man had discovered her, in bare feet and wearing James's old breeches and shirt, instead of waiting decorously in the drawing room.
'Stephen. Yes. My little brother. I trust he is applying himself. I'm Justin Sherwood. And you are?'
Eve gulped. 'I'm Eve Ripon.'
'Eve? How very appropriate, though I hope in one way only. Are you going to offer me an apple?'
Without waiting, he reached into the basket he still held and picked out a rosy apple. Eve tried to suppress a grin as he bit into it.
'What the devil!' he grunted as he spat out the apple, and looked at what remained in his hand with great suspicion.
She chuckled. 'They are cider apples, my lord. They are not good for eating.'
'So I discover. So what about all those apples on the ground? Do you not use them?
'I'd like to, it seems so wasteful just to leave them, but the one tree makes enough for us, and what could I do with more?'
'Sell it?'
'My father would object. He only permits me to make a little because it is the custom.'
'Your father? The Rector?'
'Yes.'
He glanced at her, but made no comment.
'Have you come far?' she asked.
'I'm staying with Sir Bernard Montgomery. Just a matter of four miles. You know them, of course.'
'His sister is my best friend.'
'She mentioned you. Well, how much further do we have to go?'
'Just to the edge of the orchard.'
'Then you can lead Mustapha, and I'll carry your cider apples, while you tell me how you intend to make them palatable.'
*
Eve didn't reply. She stopped as they reached the edge of the orchard and the beginning of the garden.
'Please give me the basket, my lord. I need to take it to the coach house, then go into the house by the back door.'
'So that your father doesn't see your unconventional garb? I take it he would not approve.'
'Yes! He would be furious.' Many things, she reflected, made her father furious, and she tried to avoid too many angry confrontations. 'If you continue along that path you will come to the stables, and someone there will show you the way to the front door.'
He nodded, handed her the basket and took the stallion's reins. 'Then farewell for now, Mistress Eve.'
She knew she ought to hurry, but she stood and watched him as he mounted the horse and rode off. He wasn't a bit like his brother, who was fair and short. The Earl was slend
er but muscular, taller than most men, dark both of hair and complexion, and when he smiled had an engaging twinkle in his blue eyes. So he was staying with Sir Bernard Montgomery, a neighbour four miles away, his wife Caroline, and his sister Amelia, her best friend. That was interesting. Amelia had confided, when they had last met, that Bernard was hoping to arrange a marriage for her with the Earl. Lucky Amelia!
Eve suddenly recalled the need for haste, and went as quickly as she could to the apple store. Tomorrow she could take the last of these apples to the farm, where they made the cider for her, but for now she needed to get to her room, change into one of the demure gowns her father thought suitable, bind up her hair which he refused to permit her to cut, and hasten to the drawing room to meet his angry looks if she arrived after their guest.
They were all there. Her father, the Reverend Sir Frederick Ripon, was in his accustomed stance in front of the fireplace, legs apart, fists stuffed into the pockets of his breeches. The two boys he was coaching sat together on a small sofa, looking apprehensive. The Earl sat on a chair facing them, totally at ease. John, trying to look innocent, was on a chair near the window, beside their Aunt Susannah, their father's widowed sister who was supposed to keep house for him, though in reality it was Eve who rescued her from disasters and to whom the servants paid heed, and who was regarded as her duenna. She was clutching her everlasting embroidery, but had clearly ceased to set any stitches. And in a corner, trying to look unobtrusive, was the curate, Nicholas North.
'Ah, my dear Eve, so you have decided to join us, daughter. At last. We are honoured.'
Eve forced back her instinctive response. It never worked with her father. He invariably employed this gentle, mocking tone when he wanted to chastise her in public. Sometimes she wished he would shout and roar at her, but he prided himself on never raising his voice when they had company. It was different in private, when he could rave and shout. She glanced at the Earl, but he was regarding his boots, somewhat scuffed, with intense interest.
'I was picking the last of the cider apples, Papa. The ones that we didn't shake down yesterday. I must take them to Farmer Blunt tomorrow.'
He sighed. 'I suppose you must. My daughter,' he said to the Earl, 'insists on making use of the apples in the old orchard in order to supply our servants with strong drink.'
Eve suppressed a sigh. Though he didn't actually forbid her, he was scornful of her determination to provide their farm labourers and house servants with the traditional cider everyone in Herefordshire thought of as a sacred right.
'My friend Sir Bernard has told me of this tradition. An admirable one, I believe,' the Earl said.
Eve threw him a grateful glance. 'Cider is better than ale. It cures all sorts of diseases.'
'Please, Eve, we have no wish to listen to one of your dissertations on the benefits of what I can only think of as an unnecessary drink.'
Eve clamped her lips together. Would he never admit that there were more benefits to this drink than to any other? She'd read so many books on the subject, but his mind was closed, as it was on other things.
'How is Lady Montgomery?' Aunt Susannah suddenly asked. 'Are you not staying with the Montgomeries, my lord?'
'Yes, I am fortunate to have known Sir Bernard for many years. We were at Eton together. Lady Montgomery is well.'
'Why are you both not fighting this monster in France?'
The Earl shook his head. 'Bernard was wounded last year, and is not yet recovered. I am now attached to the War Office. Though I confess I would prefer to be still in the Peninsula.'
'Doesn't Sir Bernard have a young sister? It's some time since I saw her.'
'Amelia came to visit us last week,' Eve said. 'You saw her then.'
'Oh yes. I recall now. A pretty gal. I expect she'll be getting wed soon. Before you, Eve, although she's a year younger. You make no effort to attract any of the young men your father invites here. I suppose you'll end up by marrying young Nicholas here.'
John let out a snigger which he tried to suppress. The Rector glared at him while the two older boys nudged one another.
'Aunt!' Eva cast an anguished glance at the curate, who was blushing while pretending not to have heard.
'Be quiet, Susannah,' her brother said. 'Nothing has yet been decided.'
And would not be, Eve vowed silently. Nicholas was pleasant enough, but he was totally under the sway of her father. The very thought of marrying him and remaining here at the Rectory, undertaking the business of housekeeping as she had unofficially done since her sister Rachel had escaped a year earlier, was repugnant. She glanced at the Earl and found him trying to suppress a grin. For some reason that made her even more annoyed. He had no right to laugh at her.
The Rector was fidgeting. 'Is it not time they brought in some refreshments for our guest? Eve, why are they so late?'
'You sent them all to help with decorating the church for Harvest Festival,' she said. 'I'll go and find some wine and cakes.'
'Please, not for me,' the Earl said, rising to his feet. 'I must set off before it becomes dark.'
There was a flurry of leave-taking, apologies from the Rector for his lack of hospitality, and invitations to come again when he hoped the household would be better prepared. Eve escaped before her father could vent his annoyance on her. She would go across to the church and see how the servants and the villagers were getting on.
*
James finally escaped from the drawing room, and he and Stephen went to their favourite hiding place in the loft of a disused stable.
'That wasn't too bad,' Stephen said. 'Your father did not say how dreadfully lazy I am, nor how impossible it is to teach me anything.'
James grinned at him. Stephen was far too sensitive to manage his father. The Rector had a habit, in public, of gentle sarcasm that hid his implacable will and made people who had not come into conflict with him think he was a pleasant fellow rather than the tyrant he really was. If only they could see the rages he produces in private, he thought. Then they'd know him for his real character.
'You are no lazier than I,' he told his friend, 'and you will do better than I, if I ever take those wretched examinations.'
'But you will have to.'
'Only if I haven't managed to join the army before then. Stephen, won't you come with me? Don't you wish to join the army too? After all, your brother is an officer, and you could afford to purchase a commission. I could too, with the money my mother left me, but Father has control of it until I am one and twenty, and he would never let me have it now for such a purpose. If he ever does hand it over to me. Somehow I think he will find a dozen reasons why not to.'
'James, I keep saying, I don't want to be a soldier. Perhaps Justin would buy you a commission instead.'
'No, I couldn't accept, even if he offered. And if I ever saw a chance of paying him back. I'll have to volunteer, join as an ordinary soldier. But doesn't your brother want you to join?'
'He knows I would not like it, and would prefer to help him manage one of his estates. And going to Oxford is something I want to do first, unlike you.'
'Well, I wouldn't mind going, but this war is almost over, and unless I join soon I won't see any action at all.'
'Then you'll have to run away. You know your father would never agree.'
James was still brooding on his father's temper. 'And I have to do everything he says, or he is furious and sulks for days.'
Stephen nodded. 'And we have nine more months of it.'
'By which time the war will be over, and Napoleon either executed or in prison.'
*
The main harvest festival display was beside the altar, and the women were busy putting small arrangements of flowers and vegetables beneath each window. They had attached tiny sprays of corn and fruit to the ends of each pew. Eve went to apologise to the squire's wife that she was too late to help.
'Never mind, my dear,' Lady Blake said. 'Oh, who is this?' she added as the main west door opened with the usual sq
ueak.
'Forgive my intrusion, ladies,' the Earl said. 'I'm Justin Sherwood, staying with Sir Bernard Montgomery. He told me I must look at the stained glass here if I had a chance, but I see these decorations are equally admirable.'
A new voice cut in. 'We pride ourselves on our harvest festival display, my lord.'
Eve sighed. Trust Nicholas to be where he wasn't wanted. She knew her father's plans, and that Nicholas, seeing through her the road to preferment, was only too willing to marry her, but she did not want that. She'd had enough of living in a Rectory, under the control of a rigid disciplinarian like her father. Marriage to Nicholas would not alter that, for he would soon get his first parish, and Nicholas was showing distinct signs of becoming like her father, always finding something to complain about, and when she objected saying in a plaintive voice that he was only trying to help her become more suitable to be a clergyman's wife. When she retorted that the last thing she wanted was to married to a clergyman he merely laughed, and said she was still too immature to know her own mind, and he and her father knew better than she did what was good for her.
But the Earl was engaging Nicholas's attention, asking what were the main crops grown in the parish, and comparing them with what his own farms grew in Buckinghamshire. Eve slid away to go and talk to one of the village girls, Jenny, who was helping her mother finish the last of the window displays.
'Now he's worth lookin' at!' Jenny said, and giggled. 'Better than the little parson.'
Eve stifled a laugh. Nicholas was of only middle height, but alongside her father's height and bulk he did appear small. She loved Jenny's irreverent attitude.
'He's Stephen's brother,' she explained. 'Come to see how he's getting on.'
'Did you tell him about the day he and James fell into the river? When they were tryin' to build that raft? When you and me dried their clothes for 'em?'
Eve grinned. The two girls, having been picking blackberries near the river, had seen the boat, so-called, sink the moment the boys pushed off from the bank. They had built a fire and forced the reluctant lads to strip and hold their breeches up to the heat, and at the same time protect their modesty, as Jenny had said. Fortunately they hadn't been wearing more than shirts, and these soon dried hung on the branches of a small rowan tree.
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