by Cari Hislop
Her eyes shimmered with tears as he bent over her. “My new dress…”
“Don’t cry Cariadon or I’ll order you five hundred dresses. He gently wiped up the unsightly splotches of dark green dotting her chest. “This yellow suits you…” The compliment seemed to startle her. She stared into his eyes as he whispered, “…though nothing suits you even better.” His wink ensured the desired rose tinted blush, but her bashful smile tempted him beyond endurance. He was falling headfirst into autumn leaves, enveloped in comfort and peace. Crisp October air filled his nostrils; the scent of a sleepy earth preparing for winter’s rest. He was scooping armfuls of golden yellows, reds, and fading greens. Autumn colors were showering orange hair sharing innocent laughter. Exhaling in relief, the past collided with the present as he landed softly on a welcoming smile.
Parted lips covered his limbs with icy gooseflesh and sent waves of warmth through his stomach. The lightest touch on his cheek deafened him to Grace and William’s groans of disgust and horror until she removed her hand to catch her falling cap. Resurfacing he ended the kiss and winked at his blushing wife. Humming to himself he started back for his seat feeling like he was wading through warm water until the cloud in his brain cleared enough to hear Grace say, “Aunt Lily…what did you do to your hair? It looks awful!”
Penryth slid into his seat and picked up his knife and fork as he glanced at his blushing nephew who was studying his plate as if hoping it might lift up and reveal an escape hatch. “Your Aunt Lily was attacked by your ex fiancé who was under the influence of more than alcohol. A certain woman persuaded him that cutting off my wife’s hair would somehow regain him your affections.”
“What woman?”
William shot his uncle an unhappy look before glancing at the young woman opposite and saying firmly. “I don’t remember and even if I could it’s none of your business.”
“Well how do they know there was a woman involved?”
“I don’t know.”
Grace turned to her Aunt Lily, “How do you know there was a woman involved?”
Lily looked down the table with an expression of dismay. “I don’t think…”
Penryth felt a sickening wave of guilt. He was responsible for the whole situation. If he’d never met Melisande; if he’d ignored her initial invitation to share her company his wife would still have her glorious orange hair and William would be moping, heartbroken with all his memories of Grace’s rejection intact. “William was heard swearing by Lady Gillingham that he’d cut all of my wife’s hair off. Taking the lady’s previous actions into account I think we can assume she was involved. Now let’s leave the subject in the gutter. I think we’ve all been punished enough…”
Grace ignored Penryth and gawped at William. “Lady Gillingham? You bed that condescending jade and then cut off Aunt Lily’s hair? Are you mad?”
“I was drunk! What is your excuse for running off with a man who leaves a trail of despoiled virgins behind him like discarded wine bottles? Your mother was an idiot to think you might become the next Countess of Morley. The man is a fiend.”
“Don’t you dare insult my Mamma; she’s too dead to defend herself.”
“Whose fault is that? If you hadn’t run away she’d still be alive and I could be eating my dinner without wanting to vomit at the mental image of you in Morley’s bed.”
Grace jumped to her feet and leaned forward as she screamed, “Nothing happened! And it’s not my fault…”
William followed suit by leaping up and leaning towards her. “This whole stupid mess is your fault. You broke my heart. You killed your mother…”
“I was nearly ran over by a mail coach you heartless idiot.”
Penryth loudly cleared his throat. “William! Have you forgotten how much you hate porridge?”
The younger man ignored him. “Uncle hasn’t yet explained why he had to rescue you from being run over by the mail coach. What were you doing; standing in the middle of the yard? Staring at the stars? Was your mother trying to save you? This whole incident is your fault. If it wasn’t for you I’d never have bed my uncle’s mistress. It’s your fault I attacked Aunt Lily with a penknife and nearly frightened her to death and it’s your fault that I now have indigestion.”
Grace’s red face paled as she picked up her full glass of wine and flung the thing at William’s head. The glass flew past the intended target and fell with an ear splitting crash several feet from the door. “I hate you! You attacked Aunt Lily and cut off all her hair with a penknife? That’s a thousand times worse than running off with Morley. You’re a heartless lunatic! I’m glad I jilted you. You’d have killed me in my sleep.”
William calmly wiped his face on his sleeve. “I’d rather be chained to a wall in Bedlam than chained to you.” He picked up his glass and flung the dark red contents at the bodice of her dress.
“You fiend, you’ve ruined my only dress! How would you feel if you had one pair of boots and I used one as a chamber pot?”
“I’d expect nothing less from a heartless she-devil.”
Grace burst into tears. “You horrid beastly man…I’ve been disowned today. No one loves me and I only have one dress and you’ve ruined it.”
“At least I managed to hit the target I was aiming for; you throw like a blind man.”
“When you speak you sound like cow…mooooooooo. And every time I look at you all I see is your big hairy nose.”
“I must have been mad to fall in love with you. Thankfully Aunt Lily pushed me over and knocked all memory of it out of my head, you’re heartless.”
“I have a heart!”
“Made of stone.” Grace picked up her plate and hurled it across the table and missed her sneering target by a safe ten inches.”
“Missed me! Perhaps if you came a little closer you’d hit the target?”
A blood curdling scream of rage made Penryth wince in pain as Grace crawled over the table to claw out William’s eyes dragging the table cloth, silver candle sticks and various nearby dishes along with her. “Goodman, catch the candlesticks so we don’t all burn to death. Jones, put these two ingrates in the garden and beware the young lady’s fingernails and teeth. If they’re still trying to kill each other after an hour leave them out there until they’re cold enough to be civil. They’ll both be eating porridge for a week.” Penryth watched the screaming she-devil dragged out of the dining room tucked under Jones’ left arm, William followed closely behind sneering insults, egging on her rage. Penryth sighed with relief as the irritating noise abruptly ended as the back door to the garden was slammed shut and bolted. He glanced down the table that now looked like the scene of a drunken revel to his wife. She stared back at him as if he’d just ordered his nephew’s execution. “He’ll survive. If the rude toad ends up with a few scratches and teeth marks it won’t be more than he deserves. After Miss Grace receives a slap from Mrs Jones and a lash or two from Mr Jones she’ll think twice about losing her temper. Don’t look at me like I’m a fiend. Shall I let her carry on raging until she kills someone? She pushed her mother down the stairs and tried to strangle me. If she kills in a rage she’ll be hung and then William will die of a broken heart. I’ve buried too many family members to lose one more, even if he is an idiot.”
“But Grace said you told her William never loved her.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
“Because as William would tell you, I’m an interfering old fart; as we say in Wales, ‘Wrth gicio a brathu, mae cariad yn magu.’ Whilst kicking and biting, love develops. With luck William will carry the she-devil away on his twenty-first birthday.”
“Love doesn’t always develop out of kicking and biting.”
Penryth flushed red as his secret threatened to burst his heart and roll down the table. “True Cariadon, sometimes love grows out of autumn leaves.”
Her face scrunched in confusion. “Autumn leaves?”
“I’ll explain this evening after I give my confession in English.�
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“Why can’t you tell me now?”
“Because…my confession won’t take long and I might need something else to talk about…to keep you in my room.” He winked at her over the rim of his glass and gulped down a laugh. “I enjoyed your kiss Mrs Bowen; I swear you gave me gooseflesh. It brings to mind the Psalm, ‘Thy tongue deviseth mischief…’ He laughed as her pale face turned a dark pink.”
“You’re being very wicked Mr Bowen.”
“Mrs Bowen I’ve never been this good in my entire life. I’m having dinner with my own wife and counting the endless minutes until I can politely persuade her to join me in my room for a piece of cake. How can that possibly be wicked?”
“You’re teasing me.”
“True; you look dashed pretty when you blush.” He winked as she glanced up from her plate with obliging pink cheeks. A pleasant hush fell over the house as she returned his stare causing his blood to waltz through his veins. Contentment threatened to overflow and drown him in happiness. Humming an old love song, he settled into a growing pile of falling leaves.
Chapter 26
Outside in the garden, the late afternoon was sharp with an easterly wind that turned the wet grass into green icy knives. William stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest oblivious to the blood trickling from the scratches on his cheek as he watched his beloved sobbing face down on the ground. He could feel his left eye swelling where she’d hit him before his self-defensive slap had knocked her off her feet. “Are you finished acting like a she-devil?”
“I hate you!”
“Is that your idea of irony?”
“No—one loves me!”
“I wonder why. Do you love anyone?” There was an eternal pause and then sobbing resumed. “I didn’t think so.” He sighed in secret disappointment and took his handkerchief out of pocket and wiped the unpleasant wetness off his face. “You’re going to catch a chill lying in the wet.”
“Good! I’ll die and then I won’t ever have to see you again.”
“Ei! You’ll die and no one will miss you or your tantrums.” He took out his watch. “Forty minutes before we’re allowed back inside. Uncle is always cursed exact in his promised punishments. We’ll both be eating porridge for a week; I hate porridge.” He walked away towards the house and stopped a foot from the door and crossed his arms. Ten minutes later he heard movement behind him. He sighed in relief she was off the cold ground, but continued to ignore her. The grass crunched with her quiet steps in-between loud sniffs until she stopped at his side.
“I’m cold.”
“If you were hot I’d think you ill.”
“May I have your coat?”
“No, I need it.”
“You call yourself a gentleman?”
“You call yourself a lady?” He stared at the door as she inched up next to him and furtively tucked her hands under his waistcoat for warmth as if he wouldn’t notice two slender hands pressed against his stomach.
“Do you hate me?”
Her worried tone dragged his eyes to her face. She had a red hand mark on her left cheek. Tears shimmered on her lashes like melted diamonds and snot dripped from her nose as she stared up at him like a lost puppy. He took out his handkerchief and wiped the tears from her eyes and then held the bloody rag over her nose. “Blow!” He threw the handkerchief onto the ground and wiped his hand on his trousers. “No, I don’t hate you.”
She heaved a loud despairing sigh. “I wish you loved me.”
He ignored his aching heart. “Why?”
“If you loved me, someone would miss me if I died. No one will ever put flowers on my grave. No one will miss me; I’ll lie there all dead and lonely in this ugly dress with wine stains on the bodice.”
William coughed back a laugh. “Yes, that would be uncomfortable, being dead in a dirty dress.” A pleasant silence settled over the two as they unconsciously huddled. After twenty minutes William glanced at the young woman and found her staring up at him with an expression of despair that melted any residual anger. “Why don’t we forgive each other and start over? Shall we forget the past and be friends? If we were friends I’d be sure to miss you if you died.”
She inched around until she was standing in front of him, her hands still tucked under his waistcoat. “Really? You’d miss me? You’d put flowers on my grave and think of me?”
“Of course and I wouldn’t let them bury you in a dirty dress. I’d borrow the money and order a dress in blue silk. That’s what friends do, but hopefully you’ll live to be one of those fat old ladies with white hair. If we both live to old age we can meet up occasionally in the park and make loud farting noises as courting couples walk by.”
Big blue eyes stared up at him, tangling his heartstrings into an eternal knot. “No one sane will want to marry me; will you let me live with you when I’m old and Aunt Lily’s children tire of feeding me?”
“I’ll always have room for a friend.”
“Even if your wife hates me?”
“Don’t go finding me a wife; friends don’t marry each other off.” He pulled his watch out of his pocket. “Eight more minutes…” William deeply exhaled as he tried to pretend he wasn’t affected by her touch. She’d probably marry the first titled fool who waved a jasmine scented handkerchief at her. He’d be the one to die old and lonely.
“I’m sorry I scratched your face, and hit you in the eye, and kicked you and tried to bite you.”
“It’s the past. We’re friends now. Friends forget stupid mistakes.”
“William, would you hold me…as a friend?”
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. “I’m sorry I said those hateful things at the table. I didn’t mean most of them.” William scowled as the sound of a bolt being drawn ended the most heavenly five minutes of his life. The door swung open and Jones stood there with an unhappy expression. “What’s the matter man? You look like someone tried to push Mrs Jones into the kitchen fire.”
“Miss Philips will have to come with me. Mr Bowen wishes her to be punished immediately for losing her temper.”
Big blue eyes filled with tears of fear as they swiveled back to William’s face as if he could save her. “Jones, she’s a young lady! You can’t really mean to lash her backside.” Grace sobbed as she clung to William for safety. “Look at her, she’s perfectly calm and we’ve made up. I’m the one with the black eye and I don’t think she should be punished. We’ve been an hour in the cold man. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
“Mr Bowen ordered Miss Philips to be given two slaps and two lashes before being sent to her room.”
“But that’s cruel! Tell Uncle I wish to speak with him, immediately.”
“Master Bowen is having a private tête-à-tête with Mrs Bowen in the sitting room. I wouldn’t disturb them unless the house was on fire.”
“Ugh, he’s kissing her again isn’t he…how many times does he have to kiss her?”
“I told you he’s in love with her; you owe me a guinea.”
“That’s where you’re wrong Jones. You owe me!”
“I don’t think so. If you’ll come along Miss…”
“For pity sake Jones, look at her; she already has a hand mark on her face where I slapped her. Can’t we take her to the kitchen and just pretend to lash her; hit a sack of flour or something? Uncle won’t know the difference if she stays in her room for a week.”