Page 5
Chapter Five
C olin’s next few weeks turned into a grind of work and football.
There was much to learn as a foreman during his shifts in the factory. Colin had thought that he was well versed in the workings of the mill, but it was only the machinery that he had been aware of – not the greater workings of the mill itself.
The amount of labor involved was nearly as complicated as the machinery itself, and he saw immediate areas for improvement in working conditions and efficiency.
He was aware, however, that he needed to prove his worth before making any suggestions on changes, but that would come in time.
He also tried to forget everything he could about Lord Harcourt’s daughter.
He could have sworn that he saw her once or twice walking about the mill, but why she would be there, he had no idea.
He was sure she had many other things to do with her time, like paint or dance or gossip or whatever noblewomen did.
He had no reason to harbor any ill will towards them.
But he did not find it in himself to be particularly agreeable to any of them unless they decided to put all of the extra time on their hands to good use, supporting charities and the like.
That was why there should be no reason for him to seek out a sight of her or any young lady on the day their first match arrived.
Colin’s breath misted in the crisp chill of the afternoon autumn air as he stood next to the grass field at the Pomona Gardens in his sturdy boots and heavy woolen shirt, striped maroon and cream to match the rest of his teammates.
He took a deep breath in, soaking in the magic that came before a match began on a day like today.
The crowd's noise around him was muted, although he could see the working men, mill laborers, and gentlemen surrounding the field right up to the touchline, dressed in wool coats and bowler hats.
Women dotted the crowd while children stood as close as they could get, jumping and cheering for their favorite team.
Colin was glad to see that most appeared to be on their side. It was the first match of the season against the Manchester Athletics, which he knew was sponsored by Lord Montgomery, a rival mill owner.
Not that it mattered to him. He was just here to win a match.
Both of the teams were patron-sponsored clubs, with a mix of players who were working class like himself, to professionals such as merchants, teachers, and clerks.
He had a feeling that it pained Lord Harcourt that a man who worked for him might be one of the most skilled, but it also allowed him to be paid for his contributions.
He fell in line with the rest of the team behind Rhys – a banking manager, as it happened – to exchange firm handshakes with the players from the Athletics before they all stepped straight onto the rough, uneven pitch, taking a few minutes to kick the ball around as they waited for the starting whistle.
“Well, Thornton?” Rhys said, coming up behind him and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s see if you’re as good as everyone says you are.”
“Putting pressure on me, Captain?”
“We’ll see if you can handle it,” Rhys said, eyeing him coolly. “This is just the beginning. We have quite the season ahead.”
Colin didn’t need to be reminded as he kicked the ball back toward Tommy, who had to lift his leg to get a piece near his waist. Still too high. He cursed.
“Into formation, boys!” Rhys called out before the other ten players, including Colin, found their places, and Rhys went to the center for a coin toss. He lifted his hand in the air in victory before taking the ball to the center and kicking it forward to Tommy.
The game started quickly, with each team out to prove themselves.
Colin had always been a natural goal-scorer, and he stayed near the center, ready to make a break toward the Athletics’ goal if his team could get a handle on the ball.
He nearly slipped a few times over the mud on the field from the wet conditions the day before.
But none of that overly mattered.
What did matter was the exhilaration of being back out here, with his team, playing the sport he loved.
Even if it meant receiving a dirty shot now and again.
Tommy had the ball on the outside and passed it into the middle. Colin tried to dribble forward, with only one player between him and the goaltender, but the defender’s shoulder met with his middle, and he went sprawling backward, the cream of his jersey instantly covered in mud.
He cursed as he got to his feet and jogged after his opponent who now controlled the ball. As mad as he was, however, a smile covered his face.
For this was only the beginning.
And he was thrilled to be here.
“Is this football or a street brawl?
Lily laughed as Emmaline called out her criticism, her voice drowned out by the rest of the crowd, none of them particularly glad to see one of their players taken down.
Lily didn’t have a clear enough view to see precisely what had transpired, although she wondered by the man's build if it was the same one who had knocked her over – literally and figuratively – at that first practice.
She wished she knew his name or more about him, but it was not as though she could ask her father any particulars.
“Did you see that?” Emmaline asked Lily as she stood in the open-air carriage parked next to the field. “Dam—er, the Athletics took out one of our men.”
“I can’t see well,” Lily said, and Emmaline took on the problem as her duty to fix. She asked the driver for a box that Lily could sit on, and soon enough, Lily was watching the game with interest.
At this point, it was nearly impossible to tell which team was which, as both were covered in so much mud that the color of their jerseys was nearly indistinct, although the baby blue of the Athletics stood out through any gaps in the mud.
“Do you think we have a chance?” Lily asked Emmaline as the score remained a draw through the first half of the game.
“Of course we have a chance,” Emmaline said, crossing her arms over her chest. “We always do.”
Lily’s laugh earned her a look of reproach from her mother, who was watching in solidarity with her husband, even if she always turned up her nose at the rather raucous crowd and uncouth fans whose presence she had no choice but to bear.
As she kept a respectable distance from them in her carriage at the end of the field.
“Lady Harcourt, do you not think we could have a better vantage point if we watched from the pavilion with the gentlemen?” Emmaline asked, batting her eyelashes, but Lily could have told her not to bother.
It wouldn’t sway her mother. Nothing did save for the threat of social ruin or the promise of social rise.
“Miss Emmaline Whitmore, what would your mother say about such a thing?” Lily’s mother asked, though her question only made Emmaline grin wider.
“She’s too busy to pay much notice,” Emmaline said with a shrug.
She had two brothers, and her mother, the daughter of a shipping magnate and, therefore, of a different class than Emmaline’s father, had brought with her an altogether different notion of parenting and a zeal for the growing feminist movement.
While she kept her politics as far from her husband’s social circle as possible, there were murmurings that, fortunately, Lily’s mother had thus far ignored.
Lady Harcourt did frequently note that Emmaline had been given far too much freedom, but Lily enjoyed the days when Emmaline's mother “chaperoned” them.
Emmaline was distracted from the conversation as action on the field captured her attention.
“Go!” she shouted. “Pass! Shoot!”
Lily smiled at her friend’s enthusiasm as her mother rolled her eyes.
They all watched intensely, however, as one of their players heading toward the Athletics’ goal passed it into the middle, where another player picked up the ball, dribbled around an opponent, evading a shoulder to the mid-section, and then sent the ball flying toward the posts.
“Goal!” Emmaline shouted, nearly jumping in her excitement, slightly rocking the carriage.
Lily’s mother’s grip tightened on the side of the carriage, her knuckles turning white as she eyed Emmaline.
“I say,” she said. “That is quite enough. Sit down, Emmaline.”
Emmaline did as she was told, but not without smirking Lily’s way.
No additional goals were scored the rest of the game, and by the time it finished, the referee blew a whistle to signal the end of the game. Lily’s heartbeat slowed, as it had been beating as fast as the players’ feet during the game.
“Come along,” her mother said. “We best drive out of here before the crowd begins to make its way through.”
“What about Father?” Lily asked.
“We will wait for him nearby so that we do not become caught in the crush.”
The carriage drove a slight distance away, just out of sight of most of the crowd, the driver and footman who had accompanied them on the lookout to keep them safe.
After a significant time had passed, however, Lily’s mother became impatient.
“James,” she said, turning toward the footman. “Will you go see what is taking my husband so long?”
“I would, my lady,” he said, his face troubled, “but Lord Harcourt was adamant that I remain with you.”
“Benedict is here,” she said, motioning to the driver.
“I understand, my lady,” he said, looking from one of them to the other, uncertain.
“Why do Emmaline and I not come with you, James, and then Benedict can look after my mother?” Lily suggested.
Her mother immediately began to wave her hand away at the idea, but Lily fixed a serene look on her face.
“We will not be long, Mother. All of the crowd is gone now, anyway. Only a few gentlemen remain, and we will be in sight of both you and Father.”
She pointed up toward the pavilion, where she was sure she could make out her father in his maroon cloak, conversing with some other gentlemen who had attended the match, most of them part of the club committee.
“Besides,” she said with a slight shrug, hoping that her mother wouldn’t read through her intentions, “I have not yet met all of the club members. There are possibly a few younger ones who could make a good match.”
Her mother eyed her, likely correctly guessing that Lily was trying to manipulate her, but overall, her suggestion was compelling enough for her mother to agree.
“Very well,” she said before lifting a finger and pointing it toward Lily with a stern look. “You walk straight to your father. Do not deviate. And return here immediately afterward.”
“Of course,” Lily said, stepping down from the carriage before her mother could change her mind, Emmaline following after her.
“I cannot believe that worked!” Emmaline said in a hushed voice as they hurried away. “I thought your mother would see right through your excuse.”
“The key with my mother is knowing exactly what will move her,” Lily said with a proud smile. “But the truth is, she can see us, so we do not have much choice but to do as we are supposed to.”
“Would we ever do otherwise?” Emmaline asked with an innocent gaze as they walked toward the pavilion, James falling into step behind them.
They were nearly at her father’s position, Lily’s eyes still upon him, when Emmaline grabbed her arm, trying to wrench her backward as a door swung open and a long line of tall, strong men walked out of a building that Lily soon realized was a bathhouse.
But Emmaline was too late.
For the first man out the door who walked straight into her was the one who had struck her with the ball… and left an impression that had never quite faded.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5 (Reading here)
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38