A Sense of Destiny (Perceptions Book 6), page 4
Romulus, as though understanding Luke, let out a little whimper and turned his head away from his master.
*
Having promised Magda that he would resolve matters with the enticing Miss Latimer, Jacob set about doing so on the afternoon following their conversation with an enthusiasm that surprised him. Jacob seldom found much in life to be enthusiastic about. It required far too much effort as a general rule, but on this occasion he decided that the situation called for enthusiasm. His uncle would open his purse strings, he knew, if Jacob married a woman who met with his approval.
Truth to tell, it would be no hardship to pay court to Miss Latimer. Jacob could understand what Luke Beranger and Magda’s precious marquess saw in her. She was an enticing little piece, despite not being classically pretty. He tended to avoid females of the Christian persuasion like the plague as a general rule. All that praying and worrying about eternal damnation was simply not his style. He preferred to enjoy life in this world and take his chances when it came to the next.
But there were exceptions to every rule and Flora Latimer, he suspected, would be worth the effort it would take him to win her round. He perfectly understood the attraction from Felsham’s perspective and would be happy to beat him to the spoils. Felsham, as Magda rightly suggested, wouldn’t marry an inconsequential nobody of Flora’s stature, but Jacob would be happy to make an honest woman out of her. His magnanimity pleased him almost as much as it surprised him.
He happened to know that the chit wasn’t badly situated financially, having inherited a large sum from the late Dowager Countess of Swindon. That would come in useful to supplement Jacob’s own income. He had expensive tastes and was always short of blunt. As long as he did what his uncle asked of him, the bishop kept his coffers half full without asking too many questions about how he spent the money. But if he refused to oblige the old man, he wouldn’t put it past him to cut off his allowance—at which point, God forbid, Jacob would be required to work for a living. He shuddered. The prospect didn’t bear thinking about and reinforced his determination to charm Miss Latimer.
He arrived at her cottage at the appropriate hour that afternoon. Fearful of being refused admittance as he had been once before, although he would never have made that admission to Magda, he rode around the side of the dwelling and stabled his horse in her barn. He would approach through the kitchen, as though he was expected. The very pretty little maid he had seen on his previous visit wouldn’t have the nerve to prevent him.
Jacob walked towards the cottage, feeling confident of success, and stopped in his tracks when he saw a familiar figure bending over a well-tended herb garden.
‘Miss Latimer.’ Jacob raised his hat. ‘Attending to your garden yourself?’
She straightened up and scowled at him, looking less than pleased to see him. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I have come to call on you. It is a civilized custom in polite society.’
‘Then you have had a wasted journey. I am not at home.’
‘But you are. I am looking at you.’
‘You would not be if you had called at the front door—in the civilized custom of polite society,’ she responded with asperity, throwing his words back at him. Her violet eyes flashed with hostility and Jacob was jolted out of his introspection when it occurred to him that she really didn’t want anything to do with him. She wore an old gown of checked cotton that had seen better days, her hair was tumbling from its pins and she had a smudge of dirt across her nose, but none of those impediments failed to quell Jacob’s increasing interest in her. ‘Please leave.’
‘Your father and the bishop are both keen for us to become better acquainted.’
He realised as soon as the words left his lips that they had been a miscalculation. She narrowed her eyes at him, her expression turning hostile. ‘My father forfeited any right to dictate my friendships a long time ago, Mr Yardley.’ She had been gardening without gloves and absently brushed soil from her fingers before swiping one hand across her brow. ‘And I have little interest in the bishop’s opinion. If you don’t have the good manners to leave, I shall go inside and bring this interview to an end by that means.’ She turned away from him. ‘Please don’t call again, since I have no interest in receiving you.’
He caught hold of her shoulder as a red mist of rage veiled his eyes. How dare the little tramp walk away from him! ‘Just a minute—’
‘Let go of me!’
‘Is everything all right, Miss Latimer?’
Jacob turned, annoyed by the interruption. He’d assumed he had her to himself since he knew she kept no male servants who could come to her rescue. Clearly, she had an outdoor man and here he stood now, muscles bulging as he glared at Jacob in an insultingly threatening manner.
‘Mr Yardley was just leaving, Will,’ she said calmly, shaking off his hand. ‘Please fetch his horse from the barn.’
And then, without a backward glance, she walked into the cottage through the kitchen door and closed it firmly behind her.
Chapter Four
Flora returned to the house, flustered by Yardley’s persistence.
‘You might have warned me earlier,’ she hissed as she felt a rush of wind past her ear that coincided with Yardley’s appearance. It was Remus’s way of putting her on her guard, but had come too late for her to avoid the confrontation.
I do have other things to do with my time, you know.
‘So you insist, but I suspect you were off somewhere enjoying yourself and neglected your duty of care.’
Remus gave an otherworldly indignant huff. Have I ever let you down? Anyway, he added, not pausing for long enough for Flora to remind him that he had, Yardley couldn’t harm you, not with…
Remus’s ghostly apparition faded away when Beatrice, Flora’s sturdily-built cook, emerged from the kitchen, wielding a rolling pin in her meaty hand and looking more than ready to clump anyone impertinent enough to impose themselves on Flora over the head with it. Flora capriciously wished that Beatrice had reached Yardley before Will had.
‘I was about to come and rescue you from that impudent young pup,’ she said, brandishing the rolling pin above her head and scowling as Flora washed the dirt from her fingers in the scullery, ‘but I saw my Will run him off with his tail between his legs. Yardley, that is, not Will. He’s not afraid of young whippersnappers like Mr Yardley.’
‘Quite.’
Beatrice insisted that Flora needed a protector, had appointed herself in that capacity and took her self-imposed duties very seriously. ‘Don’t know what the world is coming to, lamb, indeed I do not,’ she said, ‘if a young lady ain’t safe minding her own business in her own garden. Like I keep telling you, your living here alone probably makes people think you’ll be an easy target, but Yardley at least will think again now. Anyway, I expect that gave you a right turn. Go and sit down, I’ll bring you a cup of tea and a slice of cake. That will set you to rights in no time flat.’
‘Thank you, Beatrice.’
Tea and cake were Beatrice’s cure for everything, and Flora had learned not to argue with her. Polly followed her into the room and banked up the fire.
‘Are you all right, miss? That Mr Yardley is persistent, I’ll say that much for him.’
‘I am perfectly all right, thank you, Polly. The man irritates me, but I don’t think he will call again. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you. I have accepted an invitation to Lord Swindon’s autumn fair at Beranger Court. Well, it actually takes place in Ashton Keynes but his lordship sponsors the affair. I’d like you to come with me as my lady’s maid, if you think Beatrice wouldn’t mind looking after Alice.’
Polly’s face lit up. ‘Oh, I am sure she won’t mind at all, miss. Alice loves Beatrice. She will enjoy the opportunity to spoil her and I’ll enjoy the opportunity to be of service to you.’
‘That’s settled then. Lord Felsham will be taking us in his carriage.’
‘Oh.’ Her lovely face came alight with animation. ‘I shall feel like a real lady’s maid, travelling in such style.’
‘You deserve it, Polly. Your service is exemplary.’
‘It’s right kind of you to say so,’ Polly said as Zeus, the arrogant white cat Flora had inherited from the countess, jumped onto Flora’s lap, turned in tight circles and then settled down, graciously permitting Flora to stroke his sleek back. ‘Now, if you don’t need me, I’ll pop and tell Beatrice about the fair. When shall we be leaving, miss?’
‘Next week, and we will be gone for several days. A week at the most.’
Polly returned with the promised tea and assurances from Beatrice that she would be delighted to have Alice to herself. When she left again, Flora fell to pondering Yardley’s presumptuous visit, still highly incensed by his arrogance and his assumption that she would be pleased to receive him. After the way she had slighted him on his previous visit, she marvelled at his thick skin, to say nothing of his determination. He was handsome, she conceded, which presumably meant that rejection was not something the rogue was accustomed to experiencing. He must have assumed that Flora would be flattered by his attentions and easily won over.
She sensed her father’s interfering hand behind Yardley’s interest, but Yardley would only look in her direction with the bishop’s approval and encouragement. She recalled the bishop’s clumsy attempts to introduce them at her father’s investiture, before Archie had spirited her away.
She shook her head, dismissing thoughts of the unpleasant young man and looking forward instead to the forthcoming fair in Ashton Keynes. The countess used to enjoy the celebrations, making the effort to mix with the villagers as denizens from all strata of society rubbed shoulders, equals for a few days. Flora would do the same this year in her memory.
Two days later, Flora received the visit she had been both expecting and dreading. She drove the gig with the obliging Mabel between the shafts to the various cottages where those she helped with her herbal tinctures lived. Her last call had been especially trying, and she came home tired and dispirited, aware that there was nothing more she could do for Mrs Calder and that her days were numbered. The last thing she wanted to see was a carriage stationed outside her home; she was in no mood to entertain visitors.
Polly would not have admitted Yardley, so it could only be one other person. Flora swept up to her sitting room to find her father prowling about the place, examining everything with a critical eye. He hadn’t noticed her yet, and she stood in the open doorway with her arms folded across her chest, watching him. He turned, saw her and seemed momentarily discomposed.
‘Flora. I did not hear you come in.’ He made it sound like an accusation.
‘Hello, Father.’ She pulled off her gloves and hat and cast them aside. ‘What are you doing here?’ As if I did not know.
‘You are living very comfortably. I cannot see why one person would need so much space. Who pays for it?’
Flora frowned at what was a highly intrusive question, even by her father’s standards, especially since it implied that she was being kept. Much to her annoyance, her cheeks coloured, since it was partially if unintentionally true. She could not have afforded Fox Hollow if she was required to pay the full market rent. The fact that Archie was subsidising her living conditions was, she decided, neither here nor there and definitely none of her father’s business.
She transferred fisted hands to her hips. ‘And why precisely would that be any of your affair?’
‘Remember who you’re speaking to, Flora. You might be of age, but you are still my daughter.’
‘A fact I am unlikely ever to forget.’
‘The money your grandmother left you will soon run out if you insist upon living beyond your means.’ He softened his tone as he lowered himself into a chair beside the fire. ‘I know we do not always see eye to eye and that you have your reasons for not affording me the respect I am due as your father, but I still care about you, my dear.’
‘And you would not have people imagining that the Dean of Salisbury Cathedral’s eldest daughter is a kept woman,’ she added sweetly, sinking into the chair across from him as she privately conceded that he had a point.
‘Well, are you?’ His eyes bulged with the effort it was taking him to refrain from losing his temper. ‘I would appreciate an answer,’ he added in a more moderate tone, when Flora hesitated.
‘No, sir,’ she said wearily. ‘The countess left me a share of her personal fortune.’
‘Did she indeed?’ Her father’s eyebrows rose to an impossible height, causing his forehead to crinkle into heavy folds. ‘I had no idea. Was it a large sum?’
‘It will be enough to keep me comfortably for the rest of my days. That, I believe, was her very generous intention. She wanted me to have the freedom of choice. I was inordinately fond of the old lady,’ Flora added, swiping aside an errant tear, ‘and will always be grateful to her for her perspicacity.’
‘You choose to live like a lady of means rather than putting your newfound fortune to better use?’ He spoke mildly but the accusation in his tone gave her a clear indication of the nature of his thoughts.
‘The countess would turn in her grave if I gave it to you,’ she responded. ‘She made me independent precisely so that I would not have to return to the family fold and marry a man you deemed suitable. Besides, my living standards are modest.’
Flora had made her point and now wanted rid of her unwelcome guest, but Beatrice bustled in with a tea tray and, inevitably, thick slices of her seed cake. Flora thanked her and poured for them both, passing her father a plate with a slice of cake on it but not taking any for herself. Her father’s visit had killed her appetite.
She watched him consume his cake and allowed the silence to stretch out between them, taut and uncomfortable. She had no intention of justifying herself by pointing out all the help she gave the local vicar for needy causes. To the rag school where she encouraged the children to learn their letters and numbers, and the relief she brought to the incapacitated with her herbal infusions. She did not offer her services in the hope of saintly recognition, but because she felt it was right to help those less fortunate than herself. She was sure her father knew everything about her activities anyway.
‘You live well,’ he said, putting his empty plate aside.
‘For which I make no apology. Speaking of marriage, just so that we understand one another, I have given instructions that Mr Yardley not be admitted to my home if he calls again. I do not like him, we have absolutely nothing in common and I have no desire to further my acquaintance with that gentleman.’
‘That is what I came to talk to you about.’
‘Yes, I assumed that you didn’t come to enjoy the pleasure of my company. That being the case, I thought it best to make matters clear so that we can bring to an end an interlude that gives neither of us any pleasure.’
‘You find my company intrusive?’ he asked, sounding offended.
‘I will not let you tell me how to live my life,’ she replied softly.
‘We have not yet discussed the manner in which the Marquess of Felsham swept you from my inauguration service. What the devil was that all about?’
‘The marquess and I are friends.’ Flora lifted her chin. ‘I have helped him with the pain he suffers from, and he is grateful.’ She held up a hand when she sensed him working up to a moral lecture. ‘Save your sanctimonious piety, Father. If you think me incapable of behaving as I should then you insult me.’ She crossed her fingers in her lap when she thought about the brief kiss she and Archie had shared and how much she would have liked it to develop into something more. The realisation was quite shockingly liberating and she knew she wouldn’t have stopped him if he had attempted to take things further. Even so, the matter was certainly none of her father’s affair.
‘I should be interested to know what your objections are to Yardley,’ he remarked, clearly fighting the urge to dish out orders, rather than cajole and persuade. ‘He is a gentleman, the bishop’s nephew and, I’m told, universally popular with the ladies.’
‘He is arrogant, idle and self-entitled and he is only interested in me because, for reasons that I cannot fathom, you and the bishop have decided that I would make him a suitable wife. Why?’ She cast her father a bewildered look. ‘From what I have heard, the bishop’s favourite relative is known to run wild and the bishop turns a blind eye to his behaviour. Would you wish such a man on me?’
‘All young men go through that stage but settle down with the onset of maturity. Or when they marry.’
‘Did you?’ Flora asked mischievously.
‘Things were different for me,’ he said, looking away from her. ‘I knew from an early age that I intended to go into the church.’
Which didn’t necessarily preclude others who took that path from sowing their wild oats. A lot of them continued to do so after taking holy orders, simultaneously telling everyone else how they were supposed to live. Flora almost smiled, thinking that the countess would have responded to her father’s pomposity by pointing that fact out rather than keeping it to herself.
‘I don’t think there is the slightest possibility of Mr Yardley following in his uncle’s footsteps.’ She paused. ‘I rather think the bishop knows it and is anxious to see him respectably married for the sake of his own reputation. You are equally keen for me to be married so that I can’t embarrass you by living beyond what you and others consider to be my means, thereby creating speculation as to my moral character.’ She almost smiled, knowing that the countess would approve, and glad too to have hit upon a possible reason for her father and the bishop pushing Yardley at her. ‘You and the bishop appear to be similarly motivated, Father. And you will also do just about anything to curry favour with the bishop, so resolving the problem of his wild nephew by marrying him off would do your career prospects no harm.’ She paused, eyeing her father with stark determination. ‘It won’t serve. You’re wasting your time. I neither like nor approve of Mr Yardley, and he is the last person I would ever consider as a suitable husband.’
