by Amara Royce
“It is of no consequence. The village shop wouldn’t sell to me,” she admitted. “Vanessa managed to convince the clerk to let us purchase a few things for Gran’s benefit. She can tell you more; I left the store to avoid further escalation.” Clearly about to burst, Vanessa glanced at her gratefully before launching into the story, full of indignation, her voice growing louder and more strident. Mr. Lanfield responded with sympathy, echoing the girl’s sentiments. His nostrils flared when Vanessa mentioned the insults the woman had called them. He would take on the role of avenging angel, if they let him. If she let him. Such a stark change in less than a week’s time. When he’d walked away from her at the Crystal Palace, he’d worn the look of a man who’d just avoided getting sucked into a fetid cesspool. He’d turned his back without another glance. Now he looked at her in an entirely different way—as if he cared, as if her well-being mattered to him.
“Naught has changed,” he said. “After your aunt left the village, she became Eve herself with all of Marksby being cast from Paradise, or at least the hope of Paradise. The myth was embraced and passed down. Lasses are taught not to be vain or selfish, else they follow the same path as that Thorton girl.”
“You said people held a grudge,” Helena said, chagrined. “I didn’t expect it to persevere so vividly. Please tell me, has my family been treated with such animosity all these years?”
“No, your parents, your gran, the Thorton farm, they all suffered as terribly as the rest of the village. Poor and clemmed. They were treated with sympathy instead of hostility.”
“That’s some comfort, at least!” For so long, Marskby’s condemnation had been a distant unpleasantness, just an idea in her mind.
“What about my mother, Mr. Lanfield?” Vanessa asked. “She doesn’t talk much about her life before London. Neither of them does.” Vanessa looked at her with an open plea.
Mr. Lanfield answered, “I cannot claim to know what your mother experienced. She didn’t spend much time in public after your aunt’s departure. Whether that was an effect of public condemnation or some other cause, I couldn’t tell you.” Vanessa seemed unsatisfied with that response, but he continued, “I did warn you.”
He gazed out over the flock for a few minutes, but she could tell that he wasn’t watching the sheep, that his mind was busy elsewhere. Then he said suddenly, “Did anyone follow you out of the village?”
“No, no one.” She was certain. She’d felt eyes on them as they left the shop, and she’d checked behind them every so often as they walked home. “Why?”
He shook his head. “Nothing really. Would you like me to escort you ladies home? In case you might have drawn some persistent attention?”
“There is no need, Mr. Lanfield,” she replied. “If anyone was going to follow us with trouble, surely they would have surfaced before now. Your nephew may need your help with the flock. You should go after him.”
“Hal’s been working the fields since he was out of short pants. He knows the way. But you might have a point. The skies over there look ominous. I don’t want him alone if the storm turns ugly. Are you sure?”
“Quite sure. You are too kind. We should all be getting home.”
As he turned his horse to follow his nephew, she remembered something. “Mr. Lanfield! A quick question!” At his backward glance, she called out, “Do you know who lives in that new house on this side of the river? I didn’t realize my father had built anything there for tenants.”
“He didn’t,” Mr. Lanfield replied. “He sold it. That’s part of Lanfield property now. And as for who lives there, the house is mine.” With that, the infuriating man pointed Talos away and took off at a gallop.
Chapter 13
Vanessa blinked back hot, angry tears as she picked her way through yet another field, this one full of tall grasses. She’d barely managed not to cry in front of Mr. Lanfield and his nephew. That Henry looked to be only a few years older than Billy. She had resolved not make even more of a spectacle of herself by dissolving into girlish tears. Thank goodness he’d led the sheep away and rode down the hill. He looked at ease on a horse, but then he must be, working like this every day. She hated that the two men had seen her so upset and disordered, so bloody weak!
But really this was too much indignity to bear in one day. Stupid sheep. Stupid shopkeeper. Did she have a target painted on her forehead today to be treated thusly? That shop woman’s vicious tongue and heartless demeanor were surely just a rare case of narrow-minded provincialism, or so she tried to rationalize. Not everyone in Marksby would be like that. Mr. Lanfield wasn’t. Not really. He and Auntie might snip at each other, but he was much kinder in general. And he’d come to their aid time and again. Mrs. Weathers and her husband weren’t. Not really. Maybe at first. But they’d changed almost overnight once she and her aunt had shown they weren’t afraid of hard work and could be trusted to do their part in the house.
But . . . was this how people treated a woman who sought to direct her own future? Women who chose their own destiny, defying family and convention to do so?
“Vanessa, watch your step, dear!” Aunt Helena called out, just in time. She’d almost walked straight into an area dotted with sheep droppings. Between the rocky terrain and what the sheep left behind, she couldn’t allow her thoughts to wander. But still . . . what would people think of her if she ran off with Billy? She felt the urge to ask her aunt, but it wasn’t a question she could ask without tipping her hand. And Auntie would absolutely tell her mother, even if she only speculated about eloping. It wasn’t fair, was it? She would only be following in Aunt Helena’s footsteps. And see how happily that decision had bloomed into a fairy-tale love story!
Her mind slipped to Aunt Helena’s tale of how she’d met Uncle Isaiah. He’d rescued her, for heaven’s sake! It was practically love at first sight! Her mother said over and over that such things only happened in fairy tales, but Auntie was living proof, wasn’t she? And, oh, how she wanted that kind of love for herself. She thought back to Billy’s first overture. Sally had introduced them. He’d said she’d caught his eye. She could picture the way he’d wiggled his eyebrows and said, “Give us a kiss, love,” before they parted. It wasn’t a fairy-tale beginning, really, but they could still have a fairy-tale ending. Arriving at the Thorton home did little to quiet her mind, nor did the too-vivid image of Henry Lanfield astride his horse. At least by the time they arrived home, she no longer felt like crying.
Chapter 14
“I’ll be right behind with the strays. I need Max to round them up, though,” Daniel shouted to his nephew, raising his voice more than usual to carry over the storm. His nephew’s silhouette nodded. The massive storm had descended before they’d managed to get the sheep to the sheltered fields. It would be best for them to at least have some cover available, in case the storm persisted. He watched Hal walking his horse along behind the group, subtly steering them down to the bridge crossing. Reassured that his nephew had everything well in hand, he turned back up the hill and whistled to the trusty Max to find the others. It didn’t take long, with the collie nipping at their heels, for the wayward sheep to return. His thoughts turned to Helena Martin, a wayward sheep if ever there was one. As much as he felt she deserved to be ostracized, he couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. Perhaps it was the fact that he’d seen her at her most vulnerable more than once and knew how delicate she could be, or perhaps it was the fact that he’d met her fine sons, innocent and bereft of their father. Whatever it was, the sight of her and her niece struggling with the rambunctious Meno had drawn out his protective instincts. When Miss Vanessa had mentioned today’s incident at the shop, he’d had to quell his immediate desire to hunt down Mrs. Wyatt and threaten to withdraw Lanfield as their customer and supplier. While there were many farms in the area, he was well aware that he and Gordon made a significant impact on the shop’s income in multiple ways. Looking back, he couldn’t comprehend his own drastic reactions. The villagers’ behavior was exactly what
he’d warned her would happen, justifiably so.
Hal’s sharp whistle drew his attention. Damn, he knew better than to allow his mind to wander at a time like this! His nephew was focused on the flock, which was reluctant to cross the bridge. They massed along the stream as if disoriented by the storm and didn’t seem to register his whistled commands. Rain-swollen, the beck nearly reached the peak of the arch underneath the bridge, and debris swirled and slapped against the stones. They’d have to remember to check the bridges on their lands for erosion over the next few days.
He urged Max ahead to steer the sheep across the bridge and didn’t miss the relief on Hal’s face when they began pouring over the stone archway, as if a gate had been opened. Gordon’s son carried the same trait that afflicted all Lanfield men, himself included: stubborn self-sufficiency. They’d all drive themselves into the ground before asking for help. If Daniel hadn’t returned from London, Gordon would have managed as best he could alone, out of necessity. All the Lanfields were raised to treat every situation as if alone, as if they should never expect assistance and therefore never seek it.
Daniel caught a glimpse of something white bobbing downstream, and then another white blob, and then another, getting washed away. Light puffs in the murky, churning waters. Damn and double damn. He mounted his horse and sped down to intercept the sheep that had fallen in. If luck was on their side, the sheep would get caught in eddies and be easily rescued. If not . . .
Racing along the shore, he found one sheep as hoped, pulled into a shallow eddy by the water’s edge, shallow enough that it was already finding its footing and making its way up the bank on its own. The other two weren’t so fortunate. They hadn’t made it far either, but both had caught on an old tree that had fallen into the beck. Tangled in its branches, the sheep couldn’t right themselves, and he could hear their panicked cries. Despite the rushing debris, he nudged Talos down into the frigid water. Blast, no way to get close enough to the sheep this way. Sliding into the icy water, he leaned against his horse for stability in the strong current. When he reached the first animal, he made short work of freeing it from the branches and then made his way to shore to deposit the waterlogged beast. In its gratitude, the headstrong thing immediately bolted up the bank and out of sight. At least its liveliness was a good sign. By the time he managed to reach the other trapped sheep, its condition wasn’t as promising as the others’. It had been tangled, he now saw, much more intricately and, unfortunately, with its head just barely above water. It had ceased to cry out and made only the faintest attempts to kick and wiggle when he touched it. He had to cut away some of its coat, so entwined was it with the tree’s appendages.
When he carried this one back to the bank, he tried to hold it with its head lower to the ground than its tail. Water poured out of its mouth. But it was still listless when he laid it on solid ground. Alarmed by its lethargy, he rubbed its body briskly to clear more water from its lungs and then secured it across his saddle for the remainder of the trip home. Along the walk to rendezvous with his nephew and the flock, he watched carefully for any sights of revival. The sheep bleated a few times and shook itself awkwardly, almost like a human’s shiver. But it still wasn’t back to normal.
As he expected, Hal had gotten the rest of the sheep across without incident, and, of their own accord, the flock headed straight for a cluster of trees.
“Good work, as allus, Hal!” he said as he slapped him on the back. Water jumped off the young man at all angles from the impact.
“Thank you, Uncle. Sorry you had to take a dip. I should’ve jumped in the gill myself but didn’t see the fallen ones until you’d already followed them in.”
“No need for apologies. You were doing what you needed to do.”
“Is that one lost to us then?” Henry gestured at the prone sheep, his expression heavy with guilt.
“I think she’ll be fine. I’ll take her back to my barn, where she’ll be warm and dry. She should be back to normal by tomorrow. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, Hal. You did everything right. Now go home and get some rest. We’ll have to check fences and bridges tomorrow after all this.”
“Aye, sir. Should I check the west or meet you here to run the whole perimeter together?”
“Check to the west. Then we can meet at the north ridge to check that flock and compare notes. Remember to tell your father that we moved the newer flock to the Pleiades grove. Now go before you worry your mother!”
“Aye, and a good night to you, Uncle!” As soon as the young man turned for home, Daniel carefully mounted behind the still too-docile sheep and made haste.
Surely, Mrs. Martin and her niece would have made it home before the storm descended. He’d have to pay a visit to the shop soon and speak with the owners about civility. Lost in thought, he almost dropped the reins when Talos was startled by a thunderclap. Focus, man!
As soon as he got back to his barn, he wrapped the sheep—Lampy the Younger, now that he could see her better—in a horse blanket and began vigorously rubbing her from head to tail. It wasn’t long before that blanket was waterlogged, and he had to root around for more. By the time he returned to the stall, little Lampedo, like the Amazon warrior for which she was named, stood and bleated loudly. He tossed a dry blanket over her, relief coursing through him. After he got the newly recovered sheep settled in a clean stall with water and hay, he still had to take care of Talos. He leaned against a post to catch a moment’s rest. Talos had been his usual dependable self, even wading into the violent beck undeterred. He couldn’t allow his mount to suffer just because he was tired and cold and still sopping. Talos must be all that and more, having carried a double load part of the way.
Just as he was about to straighten up and get to his task, there was a light knock at the barn door. He almost didn’t hear it over the rain hitting the roof. Before he could respond, the door opened to reveal a woman in a heavy cloak, her face obscured by the low hood.
“Ruth, what are you doing here? Surely, Gordon and the boys wouldn’t let you go out in this mess! Is my brother with you, fool that he is?”
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but I’m not Ruth.” Her delicate voice alerted him before she pulled her hood away and showed her face. Helena.
“Mrs. Martin!” He didn’t know what else to say, her presence here so disoriented him. In a thousand years, he wouldn’t have guessed he would ever see her here, in his barn, on his land. He certainly wouldn’t have expected it on a night like this. His heart pounded, surprise mingling with a strange sensation he didn’t recognize. If it were any other human being on earth, he might have identified the odd feeling as pleasure. But that couldn’t be the case now.
“After we left you, I saw you and your nephew struggling to rescue some of the waterlogged sheep during your crossing,” she explained, haltingly. Her eyes kept darting around the room. He’d come to recognize it as a sign of her discomfort, a sign she wished to be anywhere else, perhaps. “I waited at Gran’s until there was a break in the storm. Mrs. Weathers made some stew and bread.” She raised the basket she was carrying, like a grown version of Little Red Riding Hood. “I thought, with all that trouble, you two would need a warm meal.”
She looked so ill at ease, and yet she’d thought to come here, thought to look after him and his nephew. Warmth spread through him; it had been years since a woman—well, a woman other than his brother’s wife—had tried to attend to him. Ruth acted like a mother to him, which was laughable since he was almost five years her elder. And maybe that was Mrs. Martin’s intent too, a mother’s instinct so deeply ingrained. She’d expected Henry to be here too. He shouldn’t read anything more into this visit than neighborly concern. He shouldn’t. And yet his heart still beat harder, his pulse sounding in his ears.
“Aye, I owe you thanks, ma’am. Uh, the house is open, if you’d be so kind.” Even to his own ears, he sounded like a dolt. “I still need to tend to Talos. If you must return home, don’t let me keep you. Ah, but you’re welcome t
o sit a bit for warmth before you go.” He’d never felt so horribly tongue-tied before. He must be more worn than he thought. This was Helena Thorton. And he’d just invited her into his home. As soon as the door closed behind her, he set to work, muttering all the while about the fickle hand of fate.
Chapter 15
Helena was relieved to see that the storm remained at bay as she walked carefully toward Daniel’s house. Tidy hedges made a pretty border around it. They surprised her. After all, they were ornamental, and she hadn’t thought he cared much for fancy trappings. In the darkening, storm-cloud-laden evening, she found it difficult to see details, but the structure looked solid and permanent. Built in a simple style, it had a large window in the front room, a large, impractical window that must let in quite a chill on a winter’s night but also must provide a beautiful view of the hills. Someone had taken great care in its construction and built it to last, to be passed down to future generations.
The interior of the house was even more Spartan and utilitarian than Helena had expected. It was a modest home, just large enough for a family starting out. The main room wasn’t much larger than some shepherd huts, built in the fields for occasional shelter. It held a kitchen, a table, and an assortment of chairs and benches. A spinning wheel sat in the corner, complemented by a basket of raw wool. She could only guess that the doors on both sides of the central room led to bedrooms. It wasn’t much, but then a man like him didn’t need much.
After she stoked the fire, put on coffee, and set the stew pot on the hearth, she felt at a loss as to what to do next. Glancing around Daniel’s home, she felt like an interloper. How long had he been a widower for the house to have no evidence of feminine influence at all? This house wanted warmth. For a man so reserved, she felt as if she was violating his private life just by being in his home alone.