The Road through Rushbury (Seasons of Change Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  Samuel reached down and put a hand on Mr. Reed’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, John.”

  “Don’t worry?” he said, rearing back. “I can barely feed my family as things stand, let alone the new mouth we shall have come September.”

  “Mary is with child?” Samuel asked, and Mr. Reed nodded, showing no emotion as he rubbed his chin harshly.

  “That is wonderful news indeed, Mr. Reed,” Miss Paige said with a smile.

  He shook his head, staring back at his house up the lane. “Not if the child will starve.”

  Samuel shared a quick glance with Miss Paige, and he watched her eyebrows draw together.

  “We shall come about, John,” Samuel said. “You have the village behind you, you know.” He grimaced and looked toward the road that led to Amblethorne. “We won’t let Rushbury be taken over by the Gilmours. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

  Miss Paige nodded. “And I assure you that I will do whatever I can to persuade them against making any drastic changes until they have had a chance to come to know the place.”

  She looked at Samuel, and he smiled grimly, nodding his understanding. Within her words was an implicit promise that she, too, would come to know Rushbury before exercising her influence as surveyor.

  Mr. Reed left them looking little comforted by their words, and his gravity seemed to hang in the air with them as they continued forward, winding out of the village and up a hill.

  “You must think us fools,” Samuel said, gazing at the small buds that were beginning to dot the branches of the trees overhead. He lowered his gaze to her puzzled brow. “For clinging so doggedly to our quaint way of life.”

  She shook her head. “No. Having spent as many years as I have in London and other such places, I can easily see the value in a place like Rushbury, where time slows down and one can leave the hectic pace of Town life behind. There is something to be said, too, for knowing every single one of one’s neighbors. In London, I can avoid people I dislike among the crowds.”

  “And that is…bad?” Samuel said, incredulous.

  She laughed. “It is very convenient at times, to be sure, but overall I think it has an unfortunate effect upon both individuals and society.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  She tilted her head to the side in thought. “It does one good to be obliged to confront those one dislikes or with whom one disagrees. I have often been incorrect in my own judgments, but if I never have occasion to discover it by further interaction with a person, then I remain blind—and likely to become insufferable in the estimation of my abilities as a judge of other people.”

  Samuel stared at her curiously. What an interesting woman she was. “I quite see what you mean.”

  A dimple trembled in her cheek. “Then you also see that I have done you quite a favor in forcing you to accompany me today, though I can’t promise that your opinion of me shall change in the end. Sometimes one’s first impression is altogether too correct.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You think I dislike you?”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “I would be surprised if you didn’t, for I was a veritable harpy when we first met, wasn’t I?”

  He tried not to smile. “You were laboring under a strong sense of ill-usage.”

  “And used you ill in the process.” She looked at him, her brown eyes calm but sincere. “Forgive me?”

  His heart stuttered as she looked at him, and he forced a chuckle. “I assure you that there is nothing to forgive.” He had the uncanny feeling that he would have forgiven Miss Paige for much more than an afternoon’s tirade if she looked at him that way again.

  Her horse tripped, and he instinctively reached to steady her. Once she and the horse had both recovered, she looked at him impishly. “It will be a miracle if I survive a month here, for your roads seem determined to do me in.”

  He set a hand behind his saddle and turned to look at the cause of the horse’s stumbling—a large rock sticking up in the packed dirt. “They could certainly use some work.”

  The long incline they had been on began to level out before a bend in the road hid their path from view.

  “Oh!” Miss Paige said. “Flowers.” She pointed at a little patch of yellow and white at the side of the road.

  Samuel’s mouth twitched slightly. “Yes. Those particular varieties are lesser celandine—the yellow ones—and then wood anemone which, if you look closely, have pink in the inner part of their petals. However dim and dreary Rushbury may seem, the flowers like it well enough to come back every year.”

  “How reassuring,” she said, a teasing glint to her eyes. “I was beginning to doubt that flowers existed in the North, and that would be very sad indeed, for I do love flowers.”

  He raised his brows. “Then you are in for quite a treat and a surprise. In fact…” He glanced at the woods that lined one side of the road, urging his horse toward them as his eyes searched. “There.” A narrow path—barely visible unless one knew to look for it and rarely used—wound from the road and into the thick trees.

  “What?” Miss Paige said, trying to follow his line of sight.

  “Come,” he said, hoping with a touch of nerves that his idea wouldn’t be for naught. If the flowers beside the road were any indication, though, he had a feeling that Miss Paige would appreciate his idea. “You’ll have to dismount, I’m afraid. The branches hang too low in some places to permit riding.”

  He hopped down from his own horse and looped the reins over the horse’s head to hold them in one hand.

  Miss Paige eyed him suspiciously but moved her skirts and took the hand he offered, slipping down from the horse where his hands were ready to steady her about the waist. They were close enough that he could smell some sweet but unidentifiable scent floating around her, and he pulled his hands away from her hurriedly to combat his impulse to identify the scent by leaning in.

  He slipped the reins around the tangled branches of one of the few bushes that lined the outer rim of the woods, and the horses immediately set to grazing on the short grass.

  “Follow me,” he said, leading her to the faint trail.

  “Please tell me that this at least is not one of the supposed roads that fall to my responsibility.”

  He chuckled. “No. Just a small path I discovered many years ago.” He had found it shortly after the death of his father, and it had become a haven for him during that first year.

  They ducked their heads, Miss Paige keeping a hand to her bonnet to prevent its being licked at by the small, mossy branches overhead. The serene quiet of the road they had been on transformed into a heavier silence, broken only by a few, short bird calls and the snapping of twigs that had fallen with the weight of the winter snow.

  They walked in silence, for whenever Samuel looked over his shoulder at Miss Paige, she was gazing around, an awed and appreciative light in her wandering eyes. He didn’t want to interrupt her enjoyment of a place he loved so well. The last time he looked toward her, her eyes landed on him, and she shut her open jaw, giving an abashed smile. “There is nothing like this in London.” She reached a hand toward one of the trees. “Everything here is covered in moss—like a blanket to keep out the worst of the winter.”

  He helped her over a fallen log, smiling at the picture her words painted.

  The trees began to thin out slightly, and Samuel strained his eyes, a little rush of pleasure coursing through him at the sight before him, still masked by the trees. “Close your eyes,” he said, stopping and turning toward her.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you leave me in these woods as some sort of joke, I shall never forgive you, you know.”

  He grinned. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Come, close your eyes.”

  She stared at him another moment before obliging. He hesitated as he realized that his plan required him to guide her by the hand. It bothered him how much the prospect appealed to him, but he could hardly tell her “Never mind” without making a fool of himself.


  Her eyes were obediently closed, and her face was tipped upward with the slightest of smiles on her lips, as though she were listening closely to the sounds of the forest. He took her hand gently and led her forward, walking backwards himself so that he could secure her safety, while sending quick glances over his shoulder to ensure he didn’t trip and cause her to fall as a result.

  His smile grew as they came up to the clearing. “We are here,” he said, allowing her hand to drop with a mixture of relief and regret. “You may open your eyes.”

  She obeyed, blinking a few times as she did so, as the light in the clearing was far brighter than it had been among the trees. Her mouth parted and her eyes grew wide as they scanned the scene before them: a small meadow, teeming with color. More celandine and anemone grew in small patches throughout it, punctuated by the pastel purple of violets and a few moss-covered logs.

  “Oh my,” she said softly.

  Samuel smiled, feeling uncommonly pleased at her reaction. “We do have flowers in the North.”

  Her eyes lingered on the scene before moving to his. “You certainly do.”

  He sighed contentedly as he gazed out at the vibrant meadow. It had been a long time since he had been there. “I had nearly forgotten this place existed.”

  She looked at him with an ill-suppressed smile. “Ah, yes,” she said in a voice of feigned disinterest. “I quite see how you could forget such an insipid place as this. No doubt they are a dime a dozen here.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps not quite so abundant, but I think you might be surprised. If this place appeals to you, I can assure you that you will be in raptures when August arrives.”

  She tipped her head to the side curiously.

  “Heather,” he said simply. “The moors are covered in it.”

  She took in a large breath and smiled, returning her gaze to the meadow. “I suppose I must at least stay until then.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “Were you thinking of leaving? I was under the impression that you had come to Rushbury to stay.”

  She took a step forward and bent down to touch a fingertip to the closest patch of anemones. The suspense he felt as he waited for her answer would have been comical if it had not been so aggravating. Why did he care whether she stayed or left? He had been fine before she had come—surely he would be so again if she left.

  “You are correct,” she finally said, inspecting one of the anemones that was particularly pink. “I was mostly joking about leaving, though my sister Daphne was convinced that I should dislike it here above all things and return as quickly as I came.” She smiled down at the flowers. “I do miss Daphne and my family, but it would take a disagreeable place indeed for me to consider returning to London.”

  Relief washed over him, and his half-smile appeared. Daphne. Was she very much like Miss Paige? He was curious to know more about her family, and yet the prospect frightened him. Miss Paige was easy to be with—too easy, in fact—but she was undoubtedly genteel, and such families did not look upon Samuel with favor. He knew that too well.

  “An entire family of Yorkshire skeptics, then,” he said, pushing aside his melodramatic thoughts.

  “I admit there is a tendency in London and Brighton—and perhaps the South in general—to look down upon those who inhabit the North.” She stood and surveyed the scene yet again. “But perhaps that is for the best.” She looked at him, and the hair on his neck prickled under her gaze. “I like it better as a well-kept secret.”

  “Me too,” he said simply.

  “I feel honored to be let in on it.” She glanced again at the field. “How did you discover this place? It’s not as if it is on a well-traveled road.”

  He laughed lightly. “No, no it isn’t.” He pursed his lips, deciding how much he wished to tell her. “I happened upon it walking, actually.”

  She looked at him incredulously. “Do you make it a habit to go walking in the dense forest, then? You must have a better sense of direction than I.” She looked around. “If you weren’t here and there weren’t some semblance of a path, I would have no idea in which direction the road lay.”

  He smiled, looking out at the spot in the meadow where he had sat for hours one day, his thoughts and prayers meshing together until the sun began to set. “After my father died, I went on many walks and rides, exploring every bit of Rushbury I could. He loved it here, and it felt like a way to honor his memory, I suppose.” He glanced at her, wondering how she would receive his explanation.

  “It is a sacred space, then,” she said, her tone subdued as she looked at him with understanding.

  She looked out over the meadow again, as if with new eyes, and silence filled the air again.

  “And what of the rest of your family?” she finally asked.

  He shook his head, offering something between a smile and a grimace. “It’s just me.”

  “You and the village,” she said with a discerning smile, as if correcting him.

  He blinked, nodding slowly. “Me and the village.”

  Their gazes held one another in place, the silence winding around them like forest vines and giving Samuel the impression that they were moving toward one another, even though their feet moved not at all.

  He might have convinced himself that it was only his mind tricking him, but he noted the way her chest rose and fell in tightly controlled motions and the way her eyes pierced his.

  She swallowed and then smiled, averting her eyes. “I suppose we should be getting back to the road. Plenty of work ahead of us.”

  He nodded quickly, feeling the way the tension broke. Had the birds been singing a moment before? It felt as though the forest had stopped with them, but that couldn’t be.

  He invited her to walk before him, and she glanced one more time at the field before stepping in front of him. “Even if there were a parish road running here, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Samuel made a disapproving sound with his tongue, furrowing his brow dramatically. “A dereliction of duty, Miss Surveyor.”

  She laughed, and Samuel’s stomach clenched at the way it affected him.

  They walked the path back to the main road, Samuel asking questions about Georgiana’s family in hopes that it would make him feel less connected to her if it wasn’t him sharing bits about himself. But, even though they had lived lives widely diverging in distance and kind, everything she said reinforced to him that in Georgiana Paige he had found a kindred spirit.

  He helped her back onto her horse, and they continued around the bend in the road, Samuel pointing out various problem areas where the harsh winter had taken its toll. They stopped every so often for Miss Paige to scribble a quick note in her book, and Samuel couldn’t help but smile at the situation. When he had suggested she take on the role of surveyor, it had truly not occurred to him that she would accept. And yet, it pleased him greatly to see her taking her duties so seriously.

  He pulled his horse to a stop, pointing at a break in the drystone wall where a wooden fence opened to a dirt path. “The easiest way to address the pockets in the road is to make use of the stone in the old quarry down this path.”

  She squinted into the distance then turned to him with a hesitant gaze. “Would it trouble you terribly if I took a closer look? You are free to stay here with the horses, of course. Is it very far down the path?”

  He chuckled and threw a leg over the horse to dismount. “It is not very far, but I certainly won’t stay behind. The quarry can be dangerous if you don’t know what to look out for—particularly at this time of year when things are thawing.”

  Before he could make it to her horse’s side, she had shifted her leg and slid down deftly. She clearly had no need of his assistance, and he was conscious of a feeling of disappointment.

  He looped the reins around the gate post and opened it for her to pass through.

  “Are you very worried for Mr. Reed?” she asked, stepping through and then turning to allow him to pass in front of her.

  He bit t
he inside of his lip. “I am worried for all of us in Rushbury, to be quite frank. But John Reed’s family stands to lose the most from the endeavor you described. It has already been difficult enough for stockingers in recent years. I imagine you have heard tell of the riots we have experienced here up north.”

  “The Luddites?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Desperate people who can’t feed their families and whose labor is undervalued.” He shook his head. “I hope we can protect John against such troubles, but what can be done if the Gilmours are set upon bringing a mill to Rushbury?”

  Miss Paige was silent for a moment, and he let out a small puff of air through his nose.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I imagine our problems are of little interest to you.”

  She stopped and turned toward him, her eyes narrowed as she searched his. “Do you really think so little of me?”

  “No,” he said, blinking at the knowledge that he had given offense. She smiled back at him, but it was a quizzical smile. “I only assumed that—”

  “What?” she said, a lopsided smile forming on her lips and eliciting in him the sudden and strange desire to kiss them. He blinked away the ridiculous impulse.

  “That I can only be troubled with frivolous things like the latest fashion or how to refurbish a room? I assure you that I care very much for the fate of your villagers.” She paused. “And to know what sort of things occupy your thoughts.” The humor was gone from her voice, replaced with sincerity. She turned back to the lane, and they rounded the corner leading to the quarry.

  “I truly meant no offense,” he said. “It is just that, in the past, I have found that those who come to live in Rushbury—who aren’t native to it or accustomed to the type of life we lead—they are often bored when confronted with village matters.”

  They stopped at the edge of the quarry, where the land dropped off steeply into a deep hole.

  “I am not offended, Mr. Derrick,” she said, smiling up at him. “I’m afraid it takes much more than that to pierce my shell—recall that I have been obliged to listen to comments like Lady Gilmour’s for the past eight—or ten, according to her—years. But I can tell you that it is refreshing rather than boring for me to see the way life is lived in Rushbury and to speak of meaningful matters rather than the insipid gossip and polite small talk that I have been accustomed to. I mean what I said at the vestry meeting: I should like to be of help to the village.”