Page 3 of Lady Elinor’s Elf

Not far from where Lady Elinor Molliney was confessing all to her unusual friend, someone else was working, and working very hard.

The lands of Tylwyth Teg Abbey bordered the Molliney estate, but were not in as decent a condition as their owner would have liked.

Thus, this sunny morning, Sir Caleb Howell, Baronet, was peeled down to his shirt and breeches, and doing his best to clear away some of the debris that had accumulated over the past couple of years.

He needed to find a marker, which was, according to his estate manager, a large grey stone.

This particular one would confirm the position of the corner of Howell property, and he’d been told that it was very close to the waterway known as Nant Isaf .

He’d learned that those words denoted a stream in the woods or something, which was not surprising, since he was in the woods and he could actually hear water, so there was indeed a stream.

Ergo, the Nant Isaf was near. In fact, he could just make out the sort of burbling sound one associated with running water, so he toiled on, ripping out ferns, fighting with rhododendrons, and cursing under his breath at other stubborn green things that refused to move or let go of the earth beneath.

One might wonder, of course, what an obviously well-bred, not to mention titled, gentleman was doing spending his morning toiling harder than a farm worker.

Caleb paused, wiped sweat from his brow, and pondered that exact question while leaning on his scythe.

The answer wasn’t in the least bit complicated, of course. It was all his father’s fault.

He snorted out a silent laugh. Easy enough to blame the dead…

they didn’t argue back. Which in some ways was an advantage, since the previous Baronet, Sir Thomas Arthur Howell, would have argued until he was blue in the face, or had worn out his opponent.

Caleb knew only too well, since he’d been on the receiving end of such arguments far too often.

There were moments when he tried his best to believe that his father had, at one time, cared for his family. But sadly, those times became fewer as the years passed, until neither man could be in the same room for more than five minutes without raising his voice.

God knew Caleb had tried. He’d pointed out the dangers of visiting London gaming clubs, when a poor harvest had depleted the Howell coffers. He’d pointed out, at length, the dangers of brandy, whether consumed in Howell Court, or the aforementioned gaming clubs.

His practical advice had fallen on deaf ears.

Three years ago, those ears—and the rest of his father—ceased to function at all. The aftermath revealed the mess that was the Howell estate, and Caleb recalled the difficult conversations he’d had with his late father’s creditors.

Some land had been sold, the London residence, Howell Court, was presently leased for the Season, and at the end of the first year, Caleb knew he had averted the worst of the disaster that could have befallen him.

Of course, he also had a private source of income that he kept to himself. Very few people knew of it, and he fully intended to keep it that way.

But even so, there wasn’t much in the way of spare coin to hire a crew for cleaning hedgerows, which accounted for his presence in the middle of one, in this increasingly hot early summer’s day.

He resumed his labours, doing his best to avoid flying leaves and twigs, knowing he must be near his goal.

A satisfying thunk told him he’d hit something hard, and within moments, he was looking at a nicely shaped stone protruding from the mess he’d created with his scythe.

He leant down and brushed away some grass, smiling as he noticed what was probably once a date carved into the rock’s surface and a very simple declaration etched roughly beneath: Diwedd Yma .

“Well then,” he said, amused. “ Stop Here , I believe that says. I shall indeed do exactly that.”

Rising to his feet, he looked behind him, gauging the distance, and accepting that this was where the Abbey property ended.

There was a small stream meandering toward him, which Caleb knew marked more of the boundary not far away, so with the evidence he’d discovered this morning, he could now easily inscribe on the map just what did, and didn’t, belong to him.

It was, all things considered, a good job done.

Happy to have accomplished his goal, and even happier not to have to slash his way through any more stubborn shrubbery, Caleb wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his scythe. He was hot and sticky, his shirt soaked with sweat, and he wanted nothing more than a cool bath.

His eye fell on the stream, the water glistening as it tumbled over some large stones.

Oh yes , his mind grinned.

It wasn’t more than a couple of minutes before Caleb’s shirt was off, his boots thrown on the bank, and the man himself waded up to his knees and happily splashed the cool water all over his head and chest.

God, that felt good.

Though his old breeches were soaked, his body now tingled with the refreshing impromptu bath.

This was why he lived in the country and loved it.

This freedom to do as he chose, when he chose to do it.

To know he’d worked, physically worked, and now had chance to reap the rewards of a quick refreshing splash in a small country stream.

The water was clear and clean, sparkling like diamonds where the sun shone between the leaves and lit up the surface.

He toyed with the idea of stripping off his breeches as well, but before he could act on that notion, a sound caught his ears over the soft rippling of the water.

Voices. Female voices.

Caleb sighed. Was there nowhere in England he could enjoy a few moments of private peace? He tiptoed out of the stream and moved behind the hedges.

*~~*~~*

“Elinor, you didn’t,” gasped Bronwen as she strolled beside her friend, choking down her astonishment.

“I most certainly did. And I gave it all I had,” she replied firmly. “My palm stung for a good five minutes afterwards.”

“You actually slapped his face?”

“What else could I have done?”

Bronwen blinked for a moment or two. “I don’t know, since I’ve never been in a situation like that.”

“Well, think about it.” Elinor walked towards the stream. “There I am in this huge garden, with people wandering all over the place, and it’s dark, of course. I didn’t want to go out there in the first place, but that absurd man insisted that I would love to see the statues under the moonlight.”

“Hmm.”

“Indeed. If there had been any way I could have turned tail and run out of that damn house, Bronwen, I would have.”

“So he had no difficulty in persuading your sister-in-law to allow you outside with him? Isn’t that rather…umm…unusual?”

“Hah.” Elinor snorted out the word. “I’m a single young woman with good prospects.

Far too many people will not be happy until I’m either engaged or wed, as they’ve made quite clear many times.

Peter may be my older brother, but he listens to Louise, and she firmly believes in marriage.

Especially mine. And I am beginning to believe that at this point they don’t care how I go about it. ”

“I see,” answered Bronwen.

“In spite of his fortune, that man was an utter cad,” said Elinor, stopping at the edge of the stream and sitting on a convenient log. “He tugged me around the bushes into a dark spot, then grabbed me, started kissing me and touching me in places I definitely did not like.”

“That,” said Bronwen firmly, “is indeed unacceptable.”

“I certainly thought so. And so I threw caution to the wind and put everything I had into that slap.” She paused. “And actually, it felt rather satisfying.”

“Good for you.”

“Well, at first, yes. It got his hands off my bottom, but also knocked him sideways, whereupon he tripped and fell into a bush which happened to be full of roses.”

“Ouch.”

“Yes,” Elinor sighed. “I can’t even begin to describe the chaos that descended after that. There were screams, gasps of horror, cries of pain—mostly from the gentleman trying to get out of the rosebush—and the inevitable giggles and whispers.”

“Behind raised fans?”

“Of course.”

“And so the upshot of all this drama is that you’ve been sent home, presumably with your tail between your legs, to ruminate on your misbehaviour.”

“Precisely.” Elinor nodded. “I have a few weeks before Mama and Papa return from the Continent, during which I’m supposed to consider my sins and repent.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“I won’t. I couldn’t. There is absolutely no way that what that man did to me was acceptable under any circumstances. I have to wonder if my sister-in-law thought that he might be forced to offer for me, if I was seen alone with him in the garden. One of those compromising situations.”

“Oh. That is quite horrible. And a bit calculating, too, to be honest about it.”

“It is not uncommon, I’m afraid. But with the fuss going on about the rosebush and extracting him without doing further damage, I was able to slip away.

Going back into the ballroom, though, the whispers had started, and unfortunately my gown was ripped a little.

That left Peter and Louise no choice but to whisk me away immediately.

To be fair, they were both rather upset when I told them exactly what had happened in the dark garden.

” A surprising giggle popped out. “I understand that when he finally returned to the ballroom, he had a distinct mark on his face.”

“Your hand?”

Elinor just smiled.

“Well, that is quite a tale, my dear,” Bronwen linked her arm through Elinor’s. “But it has ended well, since it’s brought you home to Molliney Park, and me. Now I shall have my friend back, and we will be able to spend the summer together like we used to.”

“I hope so, Bronwen.” Elinor breathed in deeply. “I do hope so.”

A slight sound distracted her, and she turned them onto their path.

“We must be going back now, though. I’ve been here with you for a long time, and I shall be missed before long.

At the moment, I’m trying to be on my best behaviour, you understand…

just so that Mama has no grounds to scold me any further when she and Papa return. ”

“Very wise, dear Elinor. Very wise indeed.”

*~~*~~*

On his side of the hedge, and further away from the stream, Caleb remained silent, frozen in place as he’d found his sympathy aroused by the conversation.

Their voices began to fade, and he took a chance…moving silently to a small gap in the thick greenery, and peering through to see if he could catch a glimpse of the two young ladies who had enjoyed such an interesting discussion.

Elinor and Bronwen if he wasn’t mistaken.

There…he saw a blonde head walking along a small path towards the forest.

It must have been her…and…wait…?

He frowned, blinked, and stared again.

She was completely alone .