Lily's Leap (19 page)

“I don’t care.” Lily stamped her foot and saw the fleeting smile cross her aunt’s face.

“You do and that’s the first spark of life I have seen in you for over a week so don’t try and pretend that you don’t.”

“It’s days and days of travel and I can’t face another journey.” The tears pooled in her eyes. “Along the same road.” She gulped back the perpetual sobs threatening to erupt yet again.

“You don’t need to travel the Great North Road home. You can take the overnight steamer to Morpeth. Once there you can hire a horse and arrange a companion and ride to Wordsworth from Morpeth. The journey will be over before you know it.”

She leaned her head against her aunt’s shoulder and nodded slowly.

“Yes, you’re right. You will get word to me as soon as you know anything. You promise?”

“Yes, darling. Of course. This is one of the very few occasions where I would counsel leaving the matter entirely in your uncle’s hands. He has the contacts and he is best able to advise both Tom and the Governor. He’s already had a meeting with the magistrate who interviewed Tom on Cockatoo Island.”

Lily pulled away and stared out of the window over the sparkling harbor, wishing she could at least see Cockatoo Island or better still get a message to Tom.

“There is a steamer leaving tonight so you can be back at Wordsworth in no time, or if you prefer, break the journey in Morpeth and travel home a few days later.”

Her aunt was right and she couldn’t spend the rest of her life moping over something beyond her control. She squared her shoulders–it was time to go home and face her father.

* * * *

Lily drew Nero to a shuddering halt and raised her hand to her forehead shading her eyes from the mid-afternoon sun. Sweat trickled down her back and the heat sizzled across the paddocks, the grass already burned to a dusty gold. It would be a long hot summer and she was thankful for the fodder stored in the shed, without it the horses would lose condition. She had a commitment to the agisted mares and their owners. It was small comfort, but her prediction at the Windsor Races had been correct and Nero was in great demand for stud services. People were beating a path to the door requesting stud services and fighting to purchase any animal sporting the ED brand and offered for sale.

She slid out of the saddle and made her way to the edge of the river. The mighty Hunter River was little more than a brook compared to the raging torrent the Hawkesbury had been when they had swum the horses across. It had been six long weeks since she had left Sydney and returned to Wordsworth and the routine of the life she had been so determined to maintain. Her aunt and uncle had been unusually quiet and her letters to them had only resulted in the briefest of notes handed from traveler to traveler to say everything was ‘progressing’.

She slapped her riding crop against her saddle in frustration and Nero pranced in the shallows of the water sending crystal droplets spraying across the river. What did ‘progressing’ mean? It could mean Tom was progressing on his way to Norfolk Island, it could mean he was still incarcerated on Cockatoo Island or it could mean he was living in luxury at Government house.

Bending down she collected a handful of small pebbles, and scrutinized them carefully as she chose the flattest three and skimmed them across the river, counting the skips they made. She smiled, remembering Tom lying on his back on a bed of eucalyptus leaves, his chest rising and falling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. His lashes resting like dark fans on his tanned cheekbones. Her heart contracted. It was a far happier picture than the torment of the thought of him shackled in leg irons. It was ridiculous. She had no idea what had happened to Tom or what the Governor might or might not have said.

Shaking her hair from her face, she forced herself to think logically and cling to the knowledge she would have heard if he had been sentenced and transported. It would have been reported in the
Maitland Mercury
or her aunt would have notified her. She’d had no response to the numerous letters she had sent him. The frustration from the lack of knowledge hung like a pall over her bleaching any sense of enjoyment out of her life. She kicked through the shallow water washing the dust from her boots. Memories of their seven days on the road tormented her every waking moment. She could recall so clearly every moment of those days from the very first when she had set eyes on him sitting astride a heap of crow-bait to their unsatisfactory parting in Sydney. She shivered at the memory of his first touch, how she had tried so hard to blot out the sensations he evoked, the sight of his beloved face as a smile lit it was etched in the deepest crevasses of her soul, his even white teeth and the tanned creases around his dark eyes a road map of their love.

She felt the heat warm her face as she remembered the way she had shamelessly clung to him after she had leapt the convict wall. The pent up emotion and thrill of the ride stirring her blood to an uncontrollable frenzy. The feel of his strong thigh between her legs as he had pulled her astride him and the rush of warmth between her legs and the imprint of his arousal against her belly. And his furious retort as they both fought to repress their instant attraction. She chuckled to herself knowing now the force of that attraction had shaken them both equally from the very first moment they had touched.

Nevertheless matters now were out of her hands and she had to move forward. She turned and clambered up the bank and sat in the shade watching Nero as he snuffled and snorted in the water. Conversely, the past few weeks had brought her closer to her father than she had ever been. In the unnatural hiatus of uncertainty they had managed to forge a truce and arrive at tentative agreements. His drinking had slowed and he was even beginning to show interest in the possibilities Nero’s win had opened up. He had agreed they should aim to send another group of remounts next year. They had received payment for the first shipment and now Lily was legitimately in control of her own money her father had had no option but to acquiesce to her decisions. He had even accepted the fact she no longer wanted George on the property and when she had arranged an offer of employment at another property he had reluctantly agreed.

She smiled as she remembered the last letter she had received from Bonnie. She sounded so happy and content talking of the vegetable garden she had planted at the Common and the fruit trees she hoped would survive the hot summer.

If the intervening weeks had proved anything to her it was the knowledge she had made a mistake. She wished with every fiber of her being she had been brave enough and had the courage of her convictions as Bonnie had to turn her back on her home, her inheritance and her horses and ride off with Tom to embrace a life on the road.

* * * *

The gray stallion tossed his head and sidestepped like a skittish colt still full of vim and vigor despite the hard ride from Wollombi.

“Easy, Graybeard,” Tom said as he stilled the horse with a gentle pressure of his thighs and a calming stroke of the dappled neck. From his vantage point atop the hill he could see the twisting path of the Hunter River flickering in the afternoon heat haze and the rich green alluvial river flats melding to yellow and a dusty brown in the distance. The summer heat had taken its toll on the landscape and feed would be in short supply unless there was rain.

He sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the welcome scent of the sun-baked bush and of freedom, finally erasing from his mind the dank, damp horror of the cells of Cockatoo Island. A matter of weeks had been more than enough to prove he had been right. He was not a man who could live a life of incarceration and thankfully with the help of Lily’s uncle and his connections his gamble had paid off. He had learned his lesson too. The next bet he laid would be on Lily at the racetrack and not on the whim of the Governor.

He patted the pocket of his breeches for reassurance. His compass still sat snugly against his leg, the last reminder of his former life. The room at The Settler’s Arm had been emptied and taken to Sydney. Later his trunks and notebooks had been delivered to Government House where they had been appraised and his records of expenditure scrutinized. He had been cleared of every accusation of excessive spending and his offer to donate his maps to the government finally clinched the deal. He had accepted his pardon with as much grace as he could muster and now he had only one more hurdle to overcome.

Kicking Graybeard into a canter he crested the hill and headed for the river. The curl of excitement in his belly blossomed and he urged the horse into a full gallop racing recklessly down the hills to the roadway he could see curling in the distance. Throwing caution to the wind he bent low over his horse’s neck and encouraged him faster. The wind whipped around his face, dust and dirt sprayed up and stung his hands and face as he pushed onward suddenly impatient to make an end to his journey and have the pieces of his life fall into place.

As the miles disappeared beneath Graybeard’s hooves he remembered Lily storming down the hillside and flying over the convict wall. He envisioned her galloping madly across the Common, her hair streaming behind her like a copper pendant and, finally and perhaps most poignantly, the bleached look on her face as he had pulled her from the swollen waters of the Hawkesbury and the coil of dread that had knotted his belly when he thought he had lost her forever.

He had no intention of ever feeling that way again. Everyone he had spoken to from Will and Bonnie to Lily’s Aunt Emily and Uncle Richard had assured him she would welcome his return, and with the new title deeds firmly back in his possession there was little Edward Dungarven could do. He was simply going to have to come to terms with the fact the Roscomons would occupy the neighboring property. He chuckled to himself–as he envisaged acres of horses and children with violet eyes and fiery spirits careering across the river flats. Everything depended on Lily’s answer, and no matter what he said or did it would undoubtedly be her own. No matter what her answer, he would carry those poignant memories of her to the end of his days.

* * * *

It might have been the play of light on the hillside or simply a passing fancy but she turned westward and shielded her eyes to confirm the sight of a figure on the dusty track, so far away it could have been anyone. She brushed the grass from her breeches, wiped her hands and whistled through her teeth to Nero.

He trotted over obediently and she mounted without hesitation, calmly walking in the direction of the dust cloud. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, matching the goose bumps flecking her arms. When she could finally control neither herself nor Nero a moment longer she broke into a canter as the figure rounded the last curve of the track into the house paddock and dismounted to stand slouched against the shoulder of the large gray horse. She spurred Nero on, flying in a madcap frenzied gallop across the paddocks clearing fences and fallen tree trunks until she reined him in and leaped from the saddle.

Tom stood, his shoulder resting against his horse, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hat pulled low. He stared at her from below the felt brim, his face expressionless, his eyes, despite the dark rings and the hollow cheekbones, the same smoldering obsidian chips branded on her very soul. She didn’t dare believe it.

“Good afternoon, madam.”

She seized the greeting he threw at her and tossed her head and then hurled herself into his arms laughing with sheer delight.

He caught her in his strong muscled arms and held her fast. His hat fell to the ground but she was intent only on the warmth of his body and his familiar touch. The very essence of his being filled her and her heart finally settled. He stilled and she sank to the ground. For a brief moment he leaned away from her and she immediately regretted the space between them. Her gaze never left his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his compass. The brass glinted in the sun, the reflection of a single white cloud playing on the worn glass.

“I don’t believe I will be needing this anymore,” he murmured as he pulled her close and finally claimed her as his own.

About Téa Cooper

Téa Cooper lives in a little stone cottage in the historic village of Wollombi, a couple hours north of Sydney, Australia.

She is thrilled to join Lyrical Press, and looks forward to seeing her first historical romance novel, Lily’s Leap released. She is currently working on another story featuring two of Lily’s friends and more of the fascinating characters that haunt the local museum.

Visit Téa Cooper at
http://www.teacooperauthor.com

Lily’s Leap

9781616504588

Copyright © May 2013, Téa Cooper

Edited by Ann-Marie Smith

Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.