A Dorset Girl

by Janet Woods

  She gazed into his eyes, almost hypnotic in their intensity, and reminded him, ‘We’re both promised to others. Myself to Daniel and you to Isabelle.’

  ‘Are we? What if I have decided not to marry Isabelle after all?’

  Stunned by the events of the morning, Siana heard herself say as if she was seriously considering such a preposterous idea, ‘You will lose Isabelle’s fortune.’

  ‘I can do without it. After what’s happened here today, I have come to the conclusion that the penalty of having Isabelle for a wife will be too high.’ He slanted his head to one side and his eyes glittered. ‘Rosie told me what happened.’

  Siana shook her head slowly from side to side in denial. ‘I told her not to.’

  ‘It’s I who employ the girl. She had no choice but to tell me when I asked her.’ There was no softness in him now, just the fierce gaze of a man determined to have his own way.

  Siana placed her hand on his arm. ‘Please don’t look at me like that, Edward. Your intensity is scaring me.’

  His voice was as tender as the caress of his fingers against her cheek. ‘Don’t be frightened, my sweeting. I’d never hurt you.’

  ‘What about Elizabeth?’

  ‘Don’t worry about Elizabeth. We have come to an arrangement.’

  ‘But I’m not good enough for you,’ she protested. ‘There’s already talk about us and my name is being dragged through the mud. However unjust the accusation, it will stick.’

  ‘I’ve heard the talk.’ He dismissed it with a shrug. ‘What I’m offering you will lift you above such talk. Think of Daisy and Josh, too. They will be given a better start in life.’‘

  He certainly knew how to manipulate her emotions. ‘Your own class won’t accept me. You’ll be an outcast.’

  ‘Damn them, they can all go to hell then,’ he muttered, and rose to his feet. ‘When will you give me your answer?’

  ‘I must think about it.’

  ‘I will not be kept dangled on a string like some trophy. I’m doing you an honour, girl. I could have you without marriage.’

  ‘I’d rather starve,’ she said, knowing that she wouldn’t.

  ‘I doubt it. I’ll expect an answer by your birthday. Wed me or, to hell with it, I won’t marry at all.’

  ‘Why me?’ she managed to murmur, and he gazed down at her, his expression vulnerable, his eyes strangely sad.

  ‘Hasn’t it occurred to you yet? I’m in love with you.’ He swept from the room almost angrily, leaving an empty space still full of his presence.

  Siana cried a little. For Edward, and for Elizabeth who had loved him all her life. And for Daniel, a man whose ring she wore on her finger, yet whom she could hardly remember after a few short months apart. It was odd how their parting had eroded her feelings towards Daniel. Her own fickleness made her feel shallow.

  A little while later she heard Edward ride away.

  Collecting her thoughts together she rose from the bed and sighed. She loved Edward in her own way, but was it enough? Her glance fell on the letter he’d been reading. It had slipped to the floor when he’d stood up.

  Picking it up, she saw it was from Daniel. Dear God! How could she forget him? How could she consider betraying him, especially with his own father? What if she married Edward and fell in love with Daniel all over again when he came home?

  Yet Daniel had removed himself from her life without a word, and had made no effort to maintain their relationship with correspondence.

  The letter aroused her curiosity to an extent that she could think of nothing else. Finally, she gave into temptation. With trembling hands she opened the missive. Daniel’s handwriting was a neat script of even strokes.

  Dear Sir,

  Our party is leaving for Naples in the morning, where we will spend some time as guests of Mr and Mrs Anderson and their delightful daughters, Esmé and Julia. They have hired for the summer a villa which looks out over the bay.

  You will be interested to know Mr Anderson owns a shipping company in Liverpool, and has distant connections to Lord Rotherhull through a second cousin.

  Esmé is a delightful, graceful creature of twenty-four years, with hair the colour of gold and cornflower-blue eyes. She is wonderfully accomplished and has a sweet and lovable nature. Esmé is everything a woman should strive to be, and every man who comes in contact with her is instantly smitten. Julia, at fifteen, is tomboyish in her ways, and strong willed.

  Dearest Father, I shall not forget the delightful time spent in your company before I left for Italy, and your generosity towards me.

  Fondest regards,

  Your son,

  Daniel Ayres

  Isabelle was halfway home when Edward waved her hired carriage to a halt.

  She held her handkerchief to her nose. His horse was well lathered and the sweating, overheated flesh stank to high heaven.

  Of course, she knew why he was here. She had passed him earlier, heading towards the house she’d just left. His anger was written all over his face now, and she experienced a moment of trepidation. She would not allow it to sway her, of course. He must get rid of those women if he wanted her.

  She made it clear to him right away, holding up her hand imperiously for silence and not giving him a chance to put his case first. ‘I will hear no argument, Edward. Elizabeth Skinner and that other coarse creature must be got rid of, else I won’t marry you.’

  She was taken aback when he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Good riddance to you then. Let the engagement be brought to an end, for I will not bow to your dictates. I’m on my way to see your father now. As for that coarse creature you refer to, you are not fit to clean the mud from her boots.’

  Her mouth fell open a little and she stared at him, fish-eyed, when he leaned forward. ‘You are an insult. How dare you, a woman who is little more than a peasant by birth herself, don your airs and graces and presume to tell me and my guests what they should and shouldn’t do.’

  ‘Edward,’ she soothed, trying to placate him, for she suddenly saw the position of lady of the manor slipping through her fingers. ‘I apologize if I angered you. Can you forgive me?’

  Flatly, he informed her, ‘Absolutely not. Your actions are unforgivable. I’m sorry I ever set eyes on you.’

  He did not mean it. ‘If you love me, you will forgive me.’ She offered her cheek to him. ‘See, I will allow you to kiss me before our wedding day.’

  He recoiled slightly. ‘Love you! What a preposterous notion! As for kissing you! A man would have to be blind to even be tempted.’ He gazed down at her and said abruptly, ‘One day you will bend your knee to Miss Siana Lewis.’

  A flick of the whip and he was gone in a cloud of dust, leaving her staring after him, her jaw slack with shock and tears springing to her eyes. She should have listened to her aunt Caroline. She’d never get another chance.

  The dressing down had caused her great embarrassment. She needed a pee, and she needed to collect her thoughts. Face burning, she descended from the carriage and said to the smirking carriage driver, ‘I’m going into the woods for a short stroll. You can wait here until I return.’

  No please or thank you, and his passenger still acting like she was Queen of the May, the driver thought. And she’d haggled him down in price, the mean cow. Ah well, at least he’d insisted she pay him half the fare in advance. He watched her waddle off. The squire hadn’t half let her have it. Wait until he told his missus!

  ‘Don’t be long,’ he called after her, ‘I wants to get home in time for my dinner.’

  Isabelle followed a small path until she came to a clearing. There she did what she had to, then sat on a fallen log, placed her head in her hands and bawled her eyes out.

  After a while she became aware of someone watching her. She looked up, her face blotched, her eyes reddened and puffy, to see a man standing nearby. He was shabbily dressed, yet strong-bodied and handsome to look at.

  ‘Miss Isabelle,’ he said, ‘who be upsetting you, then?’
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  She’d have known him anywhere. ‘Ben Collins?’ she exclaimed. ‘You used to work for my father, Farmer Prosser. Remember?’

  Ben stared at her ample breasts, covered in yellow satin. The palms of his hands itched. They were a right pretty pair. ‘I remembers thee, miss. That I do. What makes thee so sad?’

  She beckoned to him, bidding him sit on the log beside her. At the back of her mind was the need to get back at Edward for spurning her. Tears still spilling from her eyes, she laid her head on his shoulder. ‘Put your arm around me, Ben. I’m so sad.’

  ‘I be dirty, Miss Isabelle. Too dirty to touch a pretty little missy like you.’

  She gazed up at him. ‘You think I’m pretty?’

  ‘The prettiest little girl in the county of Dorset. Allus was. Now, don’t you be sad no more. Ben Collins will look after thee.’

  He had strong muscular thighs under his corduroy trousers. ‘Do you remember when my father caught us together in the barn? You said you loved me.’

  Ben vaguely remembered touching her tits and getting a beating for it. He gazed around him at the still forest, then smiled boldly at her, noting the flush on her cheek. She was as ripe as a sow in season. ‘I allus loved thee, Miss Isabelle.’

  She shivered, remembering his caressing hands. His arms were strong, his palms callused. ‘I don’t mind your dirt,’ she said slowly, and, taking his hands in hers, she placed his palms against her breasts and closed her eyes.

  Ben couldn’t believe his luck. Hannah wouldn’t have none of him lately, and here was his old sweetheart just begging for it.

  Soon, he had her mewing like a cat. He loved the feel of women’s flesh, their smell and the noises they made. This one was a real nice handful, and she looked so pretty in that big yellow bonnet of hers. Like a daffodil in spring.

  Lord, he was in a right ferment, his need rearing up to press hard against his belly. She was panting like a bitch in the sun! He loosened his trousers, tipped her on her back and straddled her, guiding his bulging stem through her resistance before she realized what they was about. He grinned widely. Lord, it were a fat little pudding of a comforter. It swallowed him up to the hilt. And he was getting her fine feathers all mucky.

  A memory came into his head of her belonging to the squire. The man must be fair lacking in his manly ways for his lady to bother with the likes of himself.

  When he tried to untie the bows under her chin, she shouted authoritatively. ‘Leave it, you stupid fool.’

  ‘Yes, your ladyship,’ Ben said humbly, for he knew he was stupid.

  Her eyes flew open for a moment, then she smiled and wriggled her belly beneath him so he slid more comfortably inside her. Set to explode, he grabbed a handful of each of her buttocks whilst he rode her hot and strong.

  ‘That’s my big bull,’ she gasped out. ‘Do you still love me?’

  ‘You be my own true love,’ he grunted in her ear. Isabelle forgot all about Edward as she took her delicious revenge for being spurned.

  The carriage driver was becoming restless. It was getting late, and his wife was expecting him home before dark.

  What if the woman had fallen and hurt herself? He couldn’t just drive off and leave her here. After dark there would be men abroad bent on mischief, and she might be harassed. The peasants were in a surly mood, the squire and his ilk, always unpopular, were more so after the trial of the Tolpuddle men and their sentence of seven years’ transportation to the colony of New South Wales.

  He sighed, deciding to have a quick look for her. If he couldn’t find her, he’d drive on and report her disappearance to the authorities.

  He didn’t have to go far. Drawn by the soft squeals coming from the clearing, he grinned when he saw what was going on and returned to his vehicle.

  She emerged a little later, her bonnet askew, her hair escaping from under it in long untidy strands of pale ginger. He saw the back of her gown was stained with earth and dead leaves as he helped her into the carriage.

  ‘I hope you’re feeling better after your walk, miss,’ he said solicitously.

  Her smile was one of satisfaction as she seated herself. ‘Thank you, driver. I’d be obliged if you kept the exchange you observed between myself and the squire private. A little misunderstanding, that’s all.’

  He touched the brim of his hat with his whip. ‘Rest assured. Old John can be the soul of discretion when called upon, your ladyship.’

  She gave him a searching glance, then reddened. Later, she tipped him very generously indeed.

  That evening, he and the missus had a good old laugh about the goings-on.

  14

  Sir Edward Forbes Bt requests the company of the Reverend Richard White at a social gathering to celebrate the 18th birthday of Miss Siana Lewis.

  In view of the gossip about her, Richard was reluctant to attend. But he knew that the invitation, coming from Edward as it did, was more of a summons than a request. Richard was suffering from guilt over the affair. If he hadn’t closed his door on Siana, she wouldn’t have been in the predicament she now found herself in.

  If he attended her birthday celebration, he could perhaps counsel the girl, point out that a life lived in sin would not win her a place in heaven. After all, what sort of example was she setting for Josh and Daisy?

  He decided to go to the church and pray for her soul. She had fallen from the path of righteousness and he wanted to bring her back to the Lord. If need be, he could arrange for her sister and brother to be farmed out. The convent would take her in, and there she could live a life of penitence to save her soul.

  The day was characteristic of early April. A gentle wind brought drifts of soft rain to fall across the land. Chased by sunshine, every blade of grass and trembling leaf sparkled with rainbow colours.

  Richard drew in a deep breath and lengthened his stride, nodding to Abbie Ponsonby as he passed by. A God-fearing woman, Abbie. Her brood of children were well cared for. He noticed her swelling stomach and gave a slight frown. He must talk to her husband about the need for abstinence after this one. After all, the woman was no longer young.

  Abbie jerked her thumb towards the church. ‘A stranger is waiting to see you, Reverend. I tells him where you lives but he sez he needs to pray.’

  ‘A stranger, you say. Did he give a name?’

  ‘No, sir, but his eyes looks all tortured and holy, as if Christ hisself had come down from his crucifix.’ She shivered and her eyes grew round and large. ‘I was fair mazed to look at him.’

  ‘Thank you, Abbie,’ Richard said, smiling at her flight of fancy. He was fairly positive Christ wouldn’t go out of his way to visit him at his church. He was much too unimportant a man.

  He hesitated when the square bell tower of the church came into view. The sun had caught a shower and created a rainbow arching over the top. But the image was dispelled almost immediately, and he hurried forward, unfurling his umbrella when drops of rain spattered against him.

  The stranger was on his knees when the reverend entered, his arms raised towards the stained-glass window dedicated to the birth of the baby Jesus, which held pride of place over the altar.

  The window had been donated by an ancestor of Edward Forbes. The Forbes family had provided almost everything for the church, including the font with its carved base and the silver chalice and crucifix. The altar cloth had been embroidered by Edward’s first wife, Patricia, the tapestries by his mother and grandmother.

  Edward himself had renewed the prayer and hymn books recently, and every one of them contained a dedication to that effect. In fact, the Forbes name appeared on nearly everything. The mortal remains of the Forbes family were buried in, under, and outside the church. Although he tried not to be uncharitable, sometimes Richard resented the fact that one family could have so much power.

  The man’s voice was deep. His words were spoken in a tongue Richard was unfamiliar with. Totally absorbed, the stranger didn’t notice Richard’s presence as his voice rose and fell in a r
esonant and lyrical cadence.

  Long-bearded and gaunt, he finally brought his hands down to cover his face. His shoulders began to shake and Richard realized he was crying. For a moment he was embarrassed to witness such naked misery. Then he thought, the man is tortured, I must do what I can to help ease his troubled mind.

  The man jerked around when he touched him on the shoulder. Richard forgot about the problem of Siana Lewis under the stranger’s intense gaze. The eyes flared light blue and agonized in the haggard face, yet they burned with some sort of inner light.

  ‘I am Richard White, rector of this parish. Can you tell me your name, sir?’

  ‘Gruffydd Evans, servant of the Lord and despicable sinner. I have travelled the length and breadth of the land these last ten years seeking the truth.’ He buried his head in his hands and rocked back and forth, whispering, ‘I cannot go on without knowing.’

  ‘Knowing what?’ Richard asked him, relieved the fellow spoke English, though his accent branded him as a native of Wales.

  ‘The truth, man. The truth.’

  ‘How can I be of help, sir?’

  The man stood up. His tall frame was thin and stooped, his coat threadbare and the sole of one of his boots yawned open. ‘Come outside. My offence is such that I cannot utter my sin in the house of the Lord.’

  ‘If it is money you need I can give you a little from the poor box.’

  ‘Money?’ He sounded bewildered. ‘Take me not into temptation, for I am weak and sorely troubled and have taken a vow of poverty until my sin is atoned for.’

  ‘Share a meal with me, then,’ Richard said quietly. ‘Even the poor and sorely troubled need bodily sustenance.’

  Gruffydd Evans passed a shaking hand over his unkempt beard. ‘Kind of you to offer, sir. A meal, is it? I can’t remember the last time I ate a good meal. I can’t remember it at all.’