Page 16 of Beatrice (Symbols of Love #5)

Chapter 16

I n the years since his wife had died, Gregory had taken on the mourning of her as a sort of sacred duty. He wore the proverbial mantle of a grieving widower with consistency and determination. As far as he was concerned, this was the truth of his existence, now and forever. His life was forever divided into two distinct parts: Before, filled with laughter and golden light, stolen kisses in an apple orchard and dances in gilded ballrooms; and After, a perpetual fog of misery and loss, where duty was the only thing he had to cling to.

Given his impeccable service record, it would have surprised no one to learn that he took what he perceived as his duty to his late wife so seriously. As the local landed gentleman, he had a reputation for taking all of his duties seriously. Consequently, some of these duties included patronising the local shops of the nearby village of Heatherton.

The village did not have aspirations of being a large city like York, being quite comfortable in its status as an agricultural way-stop for farm labourers and sheep-shearers. Heatherton boasted two pubs engaged in a wary-eyed, centuries-old rivalry, a blacksmith, cobbler, and a general dry goods store. There were other merchants scattered about the main street, which was dominated by a stone fountain around which always milled a collection of geese and at least one cow.

Colonel Hillmot made it his habit to stop in at least one business each week, though this week he found it necessary to stop and pick up a postal order for Mrs Turvy as well. It seemed that a new laundry copper was needed immediately, and as it could not be delivered to the house for a fortnight, the colonel was obliged to fetch it himself in his four-wheeled hunting trap.

He was fond of these excursions, particularly as his driving cob was a sensible old gelding, Jolly, who had pulled cannons for him in a previous life. This allowed the colonel a generally relaxing drive, in which he barely had to touch the reins on most occasions (barring, of course, an appearance of Jolly's arch-nemesis, Farmer White's dog).

The day was what was considered quite pleasant for the time of year and locale, being tolerably sunny with grey clouds out at the horizon and only occasionally strong gusts of wind. The colonel and Jolly had managed to pass by Farmer White's patch without an appearance of the dreaded beast, and Jolly was content to jog placidly along all the way to Heatherton. The fields were ploughed and sown, and wildflowers were popping up in all of the pastures and along the ditches. It was, all in all, a thoroughly pleasant day. Gregory did not exactly smile, but a sort of tension vanished from his face.

The laundry copper was collected without incident and lashed into the back of the hunting trap, with the postmaster supervising his aproned assistant. Said postmaster was a grizzled man of at least fifty, who preferred to stand in the doorway of the post office with his thumbs hooked into his waistcoat. He was, as a rule, disinclined to speak, which Gregory was wholly in favour of.

Today was no exception, the postmaster grunting as usual in lieu of greeting. He and Gregory stood next to each other under the awning of the post office, the colonel with his gloves in hand as the copper was loaded.

"Early spring this year," Gregory commented off-handedly, looking absently at the fountain.

"Mm," was all the response that observation warranted.

"Good for the lambs," Gregory continued. He peered up at the sky, squinting a little. "Hope it isn't a false spring; those clouds look like trouble."

"Mm," came the grunted answer again. Silence, and then: "Speaking of trouble," the postmaster muttered.

A little surprised, Gregory turned to the postmaster and followed his gaze. To his surprise, across the street, was none other than Miss Heart, baskets on her arms. She wore a dark walking dress and a plain bonnet, but had forgone a spencer or pelisse in favour of a long hooded woollen cloak in a dark red. It was not a particularly bright or garish garment, but against the drab backdrop of a rural village, it stood out like a poppy growing amongst weeds.

Miss Heart did not immediately spot Gregory, pausing to adjust her gloves. As she did so, one of the geese milling about the fountain took notice. Even from where he was stood across the little plaza, Gregory could see the fowl focus in on Beatrice's baskets with the precision of a sharpshooter. The goose, having discovered such easy pickings, honked to its compatriots; a dozen long necks all swivelled in unison.

"Whelp," the postmaster said, rocking back on his heels a bit, "she's done for."

With military precision, the geese swarmed Miss Heart in a trice, bills greedily shoved into her baskets. Miss Heart let out a cry of alarm, immediately snatching her baskets up. The sudden motion, combined with her cloak flaring out, momentarily deterred the horde, but they quickly renewed their attack. Miss Heart issued another sound that was disturbingly shrill, equal parts anger and fright, and began trying to scurry away from the persistent little beasts.

"Oh, good Lord," Gregory muttered. There was nothing for it—the geese would happily chase her all the way home if they suspected she had even a crumb of something to eat. Sighing a little, Gregory stepped forward, clapping his hands and yelling, "Be gone, you impertinent little monsters!"

Startled, the geese broke off from their chase, leaving Miss Heart looking more than a little bewildered. "Thank you for your timely rescue, Colonel," she said, a little winded. Warily, she looked about herself as if there might be more unwanted surprises lurking in the shadows.

"They're a menace, but doubly so if you are not familiar with how to handle the creatures," Gregory replied, a little bemused in spite of himself.

"And how is that, pray tell?" Miss Heart asked, turning to regard Gregory with those vivid green eyes.

"You must simply establish the right tone from the start," Gregory answered. "Do not hesitate to show that you, too, are a creature to be reckoned with, and they will treat you with...well, not respect, but at least they won't try to take a nip out of you." He paused. "Well, at least, not so frequently."

Miss Heart said nothing, but merely arched an eyebrow that seemed to speak volumes. Her retort was patently obvious in her expression, and Gregory cleared his throat and fiddled with his gloves for a moment.

"Have you completed your tasks about Heatherton, then?" he asked, feeling a little awkward. He did not know how to converse with Miss Heart, particularly not when her eyes were still shining with mischief and her cheeks were flushed from walking.

"I believe I have, yes," she replied easily, as if such a thing as awkwardness were beneath her.

Gregory, noting that the trap was now loaded and the copper kettle secured with straps, nodded to the postmaster. His eyes then fell on the flock of geese, watching Miss Heart's movements with beady, interested eyes.

"You had best come with me in the trap," he said, the words out of his mouth before he knew fully what he was saying.

Miss Heart, also watching the geese with a lip curled in annoyance, turned to him with a surprised expression. "Are you quite sure?" She flicked a glance towards the postmaster, who was watching with intentional disinterest.

Gregory refused to follow her gaze and acknowledge that this would likely cause quite a flurry of talk about Heatherton. Instead, he squared his shoulders and nodded. "We cannot have you getting eaten by geese, Miss Heart," he said, offering her a hand up into the trap. "I have had to replace far too many governesses as it is."

Miss Heart threw her head back and laughed, openly and without reservation. Gregory stared, for the women he knew in polite society would never dare to be so gregarious, particularly not in public. She handed him one of her baskets, which he took on one arm, while letting her balance on his hand as she clambered up to the trap's seat.

The moment that her gloved hand left his, Gregory felt it keenly. He covered the sudden feeling by bustling about handing Miss Heart her baskets and ensuring that she was securely installed on the trap. He went to Jolly's head and took him by the bridle, turning him about tightly in a half-circle.

He continued to lead the horse and trap all the way out of Heatherton, and was fairly intent on leading him all the way home, when Miss Heart spoke up.

"I hate to question your expertise or fitness, but I find it unlikely that walking will get us home in a timely manner," she called. "Besides, I do not like the look of those clouds."

Gregory stopped, looking skyward as well. All traces of sun had vanished behind a blanket of light grey clouds; the wind blew in earnest now, bringing a darker bank of clouds from the north with it. Jolly, too, seemed eager to be homeward, and nudged Gregory forward with his nose, impatient.

Casting a glance behind them to see how far out of Heatherton they were, Gregory released Jolly, and pulled himself up into the seat next to Miss Heart. Though the trap was designed for two people to sit comfortably next to each other, there was nothing comforting about his sudden proximity to Miss Heart. With the sound of his heart in his ears, he took up the reins and urged Jolly homeward.

They passed some moments in silence, with only the sound of hooves on the flat dirt road. Miss Heart did not seem inclined to chatter, which Gregory was thankful for; she seemed perfectly at ease with silence.

When she spoke, it was to inquire, "Have I just given the town very much fodder for gossip?"

Gregory could not exactly turn to look at her, but he did glance at her askance. He was grateful in this particular instance for her attempt at conversation, as this would distract him from the fact that they were pressed together quite closely.

"I expect some tongues will wag; Heatherton is not exactly a hub of excitement at the best of times," he said with a half-smile.

"I imagine not," Miss Heart agreed. "Though I doubt that I am the first woman to get chased across the town square by geese."

Gregory blinked once in surprise; that had not been at all what he had been considering as being subject to gossip. Miss Heart did not seem to notice, however, and continued, "Though I think that I am already an object of curiosity. Did you know that Mr Understone's wife at the dry goods store won't wait on me? I asked why, and apparently it was because of my hair . Can you imagine such a thing? As if shorn hair were contagious," Miss Heart scoffed, though without any scorn in her voice.

"I had not thought about the geese," he responded carefully.

"Didn't you?" Miss Heart asked, surprised. She fell silent again for a moment, then whipped her head back around to him. "Wait a moment—were you worried that people would gossip because we are driving home together?" When Gregory did not answer, Miss Heart laughed again; they were sitting so close together that he could feel the movement.

"It's not a laughing matter," he snapped, then instantly regretted his sharp tongue. "It is different living in the country," he explained. "There won't be anything more interesting to discuss every five minutes as there is in London."

"I suppose that is true," Miss Heart said, her tone growing introspective.

"And I should warn you that the postmaster gossips like a dowager in the height of the Season," Gregory added.

"Why, Colonel Hillmot, did you just make a joke?" Miss Heart asked, placing her hand dramatically upon her chest. Gregory glanced over, and though her face was largely obscured by the wings of her bonnet, he could see the edges of her cheeks lifted in a smile.

"I must have a good sense of humour," he muttered darkly. "I've taken on a governess who is far too pert for her own good." Miss Heart, far from being offended, laughed softly again, and he could feel her shrug a little in acknowledgement of the truth of that. "I have been meaning to ask you something," he continued.

"Yes?"

"What on Earth possessed you to become a governess? You certainly haven't the temperament for it."

Miss Heart was silent for a moment, and Gregory really was afraid that he had offended her now. He was on the verge of apologising, when she answered him at last.

"I had very little choice in the matter," she said finally, her voice tight.

Gregory turned to look at her again, this time appraising her from head to toe. He had learned to size up an opponent at an early age, and to note even the most minute details as they frequently told him more about a person than any letter of introduction. Though her bonnet was plain felted grey wool, the lining was a pleated silk in dark blue, with matching velvet ribbon tied snugly beneath her chin. Her cloak, too, was simple, but finely made, cut to sit precisely atop her shoulders without pulling at the neck. No ordinary governess would have been able to afford such a well-made wardrobe. Her hands, too, had always appeared far too soft and smooth to have been engaged in a life of service.

"You are full of contradictions," Gregory said. "I do not beli—"

Whatever he had been about to say was cut short. From out of the hedges to the right, a brown and white shape darted with shocking speed. It cleared the ditch with a game leap, barking and snapping the whole while. It was Farmer White's dog, and it had taken exception to their passing so near its home, as it had nearly every other traveller for the past six years running.

Jolly, unphased by musket fire or shells landing in proximity, had absolutely no tolerance for this little foe. Ears flat against his skull, the solidly built cob rolled his eyes and tried to prance sideways. This action immediately upset the light hunting trap, and it pitched to one side like a drunken ship.

For Gregory, so used to the chaos and sudden violence of the battlefield, the world seemed to slow down unnaturally. With quick action, he gathered up the reins in his hands, bracing his feet against the footboard.

Miss Heart, however, was not similarly prepared: She let out a little shriek of surprise and instinctively clutched onto Gregory's arm. When the trap began to yaw in her direction, she dug her fingers in harder to his bicep. He had no time to really dwell on this, only wincing a little from her iron grip. He was focused on sawing the reins back and forth, working the bit in Jolly's mouth.

The old warhorse, clearly growing fed up with the entire enterprise, cocked one back leg and, with precision that would have been the envy of any sharpshooter, lashed out at precisely the right moment. From the sudden yelp issued by the dog, Gregory suspected that Jolly's hoof had landed squarely on its nose. Confused and sore, it slunk a few steps away, watching warily; an opportunity to make good on their escape.

"Get on!" Gregory yelled, snapping the reins against Jolly's rump. This was all the encouragement the horse needed, and he surged against the harness enthusiastically. They set off suddenly, catching Miss Heart unawares and throwing her backwards.

Instinctively, Gregory shifted the reins quickly to one hand and looped his arm about Miss Heart's waist, clutching her tightly to him until she had righted herself. It was not until they had gone nearly a half-mile down the road that Gregory was able to coax the horse back down to a reasonable, but still agitated, trot.

"Are you alright?" the colonel asked, glancing at Miss Heart.

"I'm fine," she responded, her entire person still as stiff as a board. "I've always been a good sailor."

Gregory huffed a surprised laugh, which made Miss Heart grin wanly at him. Her eyes flicked down, indicating his arm. Red-faced, he quickly withdrew it, clearing his throat as he did so. In silent awkwardness, they rode together stiffly.

"Are you alright?" Miss Heart asked.

"Yes." Gregory paused, fighting to keep the corners of his mouth level. "I am not sure that I shall ever recover the use of my arm again, but I suppose it was lost in the line of duty."

Miss Heart threw her head back and laughed again, nearly causing her bonnet to topple from her head. Gregory watched her from the corner of his eye, and while he did not join in her mirth, a smile played about his lips, which was as good as laughing for him.