The Mistress of Black Grove Manor (4 page)

Chapter Seven

Charles was filling a plate from breakfast trays on the sideboard as Imogen entered the dining room. “Why are we eating in here,” she asked.

Charles spun nearly dropping his plate, “Good lord, you scared me.”

“I usually have breakfast in the kitchen. Why are we in here?”

“Well as Jonathon said, you’re not a shop girl anymore.”

“What does that have to do with breakfast?”

“That means breakfast is as good a time as any to teach you how the gentry behave.” He pointed to a book beside the tea pot, “That’s for you.”

Imogen picked it up to read the title. ‘The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness by Florence Hartley.’ “It tis rather large isn’t it?”

“I found it in the library; every woman should have one. He pulled out a chair to sit, “I hope it’s of use to you.”

She set down the book and took to arranging her breakfast plate before sitting across the table from Charles. He took a long sip of coffee as he stared at Imogen picking at her sausage and eggs. In the few weeks of his stay, she had grown under his skin. She was stunning, naive and innocent of all the games women he was accustomed to played. A little bird, that’s what she brought to a mind. A timid little creature, fragile in all ways. Her modest femininity intrigued him. The way she fluttered about the manor, oblivious of her beauty, made him feel things he hadn’t for some time.

A part of him wanted to keep her sheltered in this country manor, far from the frivolities and foolishness of London’s society and its strict, rigid rules of conduct. Yet, another part wanted to open her up like a flower and taste her. He watched her as she brought the spoon up to her mouth, she had an innate grace and fluidity to how she moved, and it intoxicated him.

Jonathon came in for his breakfast and drew his attention from Imogen.  “Good morning all,” as he took his seat. “How is everyone this fine morning?” Charles nodded as he raised his cup of coffee, “Morning chap.”

“Good morning Jonathon,” chirped Imogen. “It was a lovely morning until I received this,” she pointed to the rather thick etiquette manual, “I’m beginning to realize just how difficult a feat it will be to become Lady Rhodes.”

Jonathon picked up the book, “Where did this come from?”

“Charles found it in the library.”

“Well Charlie, aren’t you the clever one.” He took a bite of his breakfast and set down the fork, “I will be leaving this afternoon and should return by the weekend. I’m looking forward to seeing your progression love.”

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Love? This was the first time Jonathon had referred to her as anything but Imogen. It stirred something in her. Just last night she had laid her head on the pillow thinking of Charles, now she was feeling a twinge in her stomach and having notions of Jonathon. She watched the men carefully as they conversed over their morning meal.

Charles was closer to her in age, attractive but cocksure. His humor and cheek were not unlike boys she had met at village fairs. They would chase the girls, tease them and run away. He was, in fact, running from a girl presently. Who was this Miss Townshend? She imagined a smartly dressed young woman who attended balls and knew all the dances. What was so wrong about her that he had to flee London?

Jonathon was handsome in a different sense. When they had first met, his eyes were the color of stormy waters, a gray blue bordered by thick eyelashes. Eyelashes she was envious of. Now there was a softness to his eyes that pulled her in whenever they had the opportunity to spend time together. He was older, not quite forty, the wrinkles on his face gave him character. She loved how his smile was slightly higher on one side of his mouth and that his nose crinkled whenever he read something disagreeable to him.

What was happening to her? She had never paid this much attention to a boy, never mind, grown men before. Maybe it was her age and lack of experience with the opposite sex that was causing these peculiar feelings. At her tender age of nineteen, she had kissed only one boy.  Calvin Moore was the farm hand employed by the Abbey’s neighbor. She had been told by the

vicar to give him a wide berth, and she dutifully followed his warnings.

              Whenever he would come to the fence she ignored him. However, he persisted. He would leave field flowers on the cottage doorstep and still she ignored him. Then much to her surprise, he walked up to her one day, took her by the shoulders and kissed her. She was too stunned to slap him. He then shook her hand and announced he was leaving to go home to Scotland, and that was the last she saw of Calvin Moore.

              ‘What am I doing’ she wondered to herself, both of these men were off limits. Jonathon was her father’s cousin, second or third cousin, yet family nonetheless. He was her benefactor, her friend. She needed to stop thinking about his crinkles and how comforting the timbre of his voice was. She had to get Charles out of her head too. He was clearly a love them and leave them kind of lad and could not be trusted.

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When Jonathon left that afternoon, she felt a sense of foreboding. There was nothing to justify what she was sensing, yet, the feeling clung to her like a wet blanket. She looked out the window of her bedroom, the sun was high and nary a cloud on the horizon. On today’s schedule was another horseback riding lesson and a visit from Mr. Ellcroft.

He had visited thrice since she arrived at the manor. He had explained to her that in less than a year, ten months to be exact, she would be able to come into her inheritance. As he had told her many times, the once vast estate had been cut up into parcels of land and sold to the highest bidder which diminished her holdings significantly.

She would be coming into an annual income of five thousand a year which would ensure her a comfortable living for many, many years. There was also the summer home of the Baroness, which was a Tudor style country cottage featuring a wraparound porch, an elevator, and a lush wild flower garden.  They had not yet visited the property as Mr. Ellcroft hadn’t the time to make the three-hour journey to Bath.

A knock on her door captured her attention. She turned to see Charles leaning against the door in his riding gear. “You are a little early don’t you think? I haven’t put on my riding habit.”

“You said you wanted to ride after lunch. It’s after lunch. Get dressed and meet me at the stables. I’ll get the horses ready.”

“Ok, I will get ready.” She tried to close the door, but he remained against it. “Charles, I have to get dressed.”

“Yes, I know. But you’d have to get undressed first.” He flashed his devilish grin, “I’m going.”

Chapter Nine

Imogen met Charles at the stables as planned and they set off for the pasture. This was only her fourth outing, and she was still uncomfortable in her sidesaddle. The weight of her velveteen riding habit and lack of experience made it difficult to balance and direct her mount. She was perfectly fine with the mare’s natural walking gait and a short trot any faster than that made her very uneasy. Charles and his thoroughbred had rocketed out of the paddock and were broaching the hilltop some distance away.

She wanted to catch up and prove to him that she was gaining confidence and learning from his teaching. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair.  She didn’t want to be a delicate flower, always shrinking from a challenge. Coming to the manor took courage even though she didn’t have much say in the matter. It took a lot of fortitude to pack up what little she had and leave everything and everyone behind. She was coming into her own and beginning to embrace her strengths.

Charles had reached the hilltop and was waving for her to catch up. ‘I can do this,’ she thought. ‘I am braver than I believe myself to be.’  With a quick jab to its side, her horse reared up and bolted into the open meadow. All she could do was hold on and scream. The reins had slipped from her kid gloves and were dangling from the mare’s neck. Her hands gripped the pommel as the wind tore off her riding helmet.

Her terrified screams brought Charles racing to catch the runaway mare. He caught up to her as the horse jumped a fallen tree. Somehow she remained atop her mount. He came up alongside her trying to reach the reins. The wild eyed horse took a sharp turn, narrowly missing a culvert.  Charles yanked on his reins and veered his horse in her direction.

He succeeded in pulling up beside her for a second time, once again reaching for the reins. “Hang on, I’ve almost got them.” His fingers just managed to catch one of the reins. He pulled his horse hard to the left and forced her mare to follow his lead back to the stables. Once her horse was fastened to a post, she loosened her death grip on the pommel and collapsed into tears. He helped her unmount, and she fell into his arms.

“My God Charles, you saved my life,” as she pulled him closer.

“I don’t know about that. You’re safe now.” His arms were wrapped around her waist, “Actually, you were quite impressive.”

“Don’t tease me.” She tried to pull away, but his arms tightened.

“Tease you? I wouldn’t. It’s you that is a tease.”

“Charles, please,” she was growing increasingly nervous in this position and more so with his tone. He had been her rescuer and of that she was grateful, but a growing fear was coming over her. ‘Why isn’t he letting me go?’ she thought, ‘this isn’t right.’

“Aren’t you going to kiss your knight in shining armor? Isn’t that what damsels in distress do to thank their hero?”

“No Charles, I am not going to kiss you.” Imogen pushed hard against his chest and broke his hold on her waist. “I want to go back.” As she took a step backwards, her heel caught on her riding skirt, and she started to topple. He grabbed her arm and stopped her fall, “Now that’s twice I’ve saved you. I deserve a kiss now.” He took her face in both hands and kissed her hard, his tongue pushing into her mouth. A swift slap broke the kiss.

“Charles, what are you doing? Stop this.”

“You want this.”

He grabbed the back of her head and kissed her again. His tongue darting into her mouth as she struggled. She tried to push him away, but he pulled her tighter wrestling her arms behind her back. He pulled down on her wrists and her head and shoulders jerked backwards. Her chest heaving; her heart racing like a rabbit. Charles released one of her wrists and pulled on the front of her riding habit tearing it. His hand cupped her breast as she managed to pull her other arm free and swung at his face. The blow caught him on the bridge of his nose causing it to bleed. It was her opportunity to run.

              She snatched the reins of his horse and flung herself into the saddle as Charles, momentarily stunned by the blow, was coming for her. His hands got hold of her skirt. “Where are you going little bird?” She kicked at him with all she had. “Let me go you bastard. Let me go.”

“I’m not the bastard here,” his words stung her. “Go…get out of here, fly away little bird.”  He slapped the rump of the horse causing it to move away, she grabbed the reins and steered it towards the manor.

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Imogen pulled the horse to a stop in the drive of the manor and tied it to a railing before racing into the house.

“My lady?” Godfrey was almost bowled over as she ran past him clutching the front of her dress as she shot up the stairs two at a time. She slammed her door and bolted it before falling into the fetal position. Her head was spinning. What just happened? What did I do? What do I tell Jonathon? Or should I not say? What will happen when Charles gets back? The tears came hard and fast.

“My lady?” a gentle knock on the door followed. “Its Mrs. Tinsely dear, will you open the door?

“I can’t,” she was barely able to answer through the sobs and shaking.

There was a click of a key turning in the lock, “I’m coming in.”

Mrs. Tinsely pushed on the door, but it was blocked by Imogen’s body. “Please, my lady, come away from the door. What’s happened? Another gentle push and Imogen slowly collected herself and rose to open the door.

Mrs. Tinsely came face to face the shaken girl, her dress torn, hair wild and whiter than bone. All she could think of doing was grabbing the poor thing and hugging her. “Child, what’s happened?”

              It took some time for Mrs. Tinsely to calm her enough to get the details of the events that took place. “I always said that boy was trouble.”

Now what to do? Jonathon was away and wouldn’t be returning until the weekend, which was two days away. “I’ve sent for Master Jonathon. He needs to come home immediately.”

              “No, please Mrs. Tinsely. He mustn’t find out. He can't.”

              “My lady, what Charles has done is…well…I haven’t the words for how filthy that boy is. You should not be alone.” She wiped away the tear soaked strands of hair from Imogen’s face, “I have no doubt Master Jonathon will be here tomorrow. Rest now child, I will bring you some tea.”

              “No, Mrs. Tinsely,” Imogen took her hand, “I’m too afraid to eat. What if Charles….”

              “Never mind about Charles, he won’t ever hurt you again.”

              “But…”

              “You are safe and sound. I will lock the door behind me. Try to rest.”

Chapter Ten

              Charles arrived at the manor and was greeted at the door by Godfrey and his shotgun. “Not a step inside Master Charles.”

              “Godfrey,” he raised his hands in submission, “There’s no need for that.”

              “I’m afraid there is very much a need for this,” as he raised the barrel of the gun.

              “I’m leaving, I just need to gather a few things,” he took a step forward.

The gun clicked has Godfrey released the safety. “We will send your items to your London flat sir. Now leave. I’m not asking a second time.”

              “You wouldn’t shoot me.”

Godfrey fired the gun over Charles' head, the blast of the pellets exploding into the door frame. “Are you sure about that sir?”

Realizing that Godfrey was not going to back down, he bowed and walked backwards out the door. Once Godfrey heard the rustle of Charles mounting his horse and its swift hoofs on the drive, he put down the gun and closed the massive oak door.

Night had fallen when Jonathon arrived at the manor.  He shot through the door and bounded up the steps, his coat flying behind him. Mrs. Tinsely stopped him at her door. “She’s had quite a shock today. I’ve just taken her, her tea, she’s asleep.”

“What’s happened? I was told to come immediately, something about Lady Imogen.” His eyes wide with fear as he grasped for answers. “Tell me now, what’s happened? Is she not well?”

Mrs. Tinsely placed her hand on Jonathon’s arm, “Please come away from her door,” as she led him down the hall. They took a seat, and she laid out all the tragic events of the day, runaway horse to a shotgun blast. “She’s ok, just shaken. That’s a brave lass we have there.”

              “Jonathon?” Imogen was standing in the hallway, ethereal in her white dressing gown. “You’re home?”

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              A week had passed since the tragic events of that day. Imogen was reading in the study and beginning to feel whole again under the watchful eye of Jonathon. He had been her rock throughout the healing process. Every night that week he had slept on the chaise lounge in her room. They would talk as the candles burnt down until they fell asleep. Just knowing he was there was all she needed. 

              “I’ve received word on Charles,” Jonathon entered the study and sat across from Imogen. “He’s in the custody of law enforcement. They will be sending a constable out to take your statement.”

              “Law enforcement? Have you told them what happened?”

              “Remember Miss Townshend?”

              “The woman that fancied him?

              “She didn’t fancy him. He wasn’t running from her; he was running from the constabulary. Miss Townshend cited some very serious charges, which he will have to answer to.”

Imogen was shocked, “He’s done this before? To her?”

              “Yes, I’m afraid there were others.”

“My hands are trembling, Jonathon…”

“You are safe. I’m here to protect you now and Charles, well, he’s gone. There is nothing to fear my love.”

Imogen’s eyes widened, he had never said “my love.”  She grabbed his hand and pulled him to her “I know,” and she kissed him. A bolt of electricity shot through her as their lips met. Surely he must have felt that as well? She stood and pulled him to his feet. Their eyes locked on each other, she could feel herself getting wet. Such a strange and exciting feeling.

“May I?” he asked.

“May you?

“Kiss you.”

“Please.”

He gently took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. His full lips pressed against hers, his tongue exploring her mouth. He pulled away and looked into her eyes, “I love you. I think I’ve loved you since you walked into my library those months ago.”

“I love you too.”

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It was the day before Imogen’s twenty-first birthday. Mr. Ellcroft had arrived with the requisite paperwork. “Just sign there and at midnight tonight, you will no longer be a…what did you call it…no longer a prisoner.”

“I was a foolish girl then.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m a married woman.”

THE END

For now

A Soldier’s Last Hope

By: Stephanie Hunt

Chapter One:

Scott sighed, leafing through the thick sheaf of papers in his hands.  The end of his career.  A career that he’d thought would take him to retirement was over before his twenty fifth birthday.  He looked out the window, focusing on the landscape instead of the cold black and white words.

The landscape wasn’t much better.  What should have been a verdant and flourishing cornfield was dry and stunted.  The crop had failed while he was gone.

A bitter smile curved his mouth.  Maybe he had something in common with this place after all.  He’d heard his parents talking last night about selling some of their stock.  Not for a vacation or to do some of the repairs the old place desperately needed, but simply to pay the bills that were piling up.  Feed and seed bills, utility bills, the payment for the tractor that they would owe for another three years.  He’d left with plans to help them take care of all of that.  Now he was back, jobless and humiliated.  They’d been so proud of him when he’d left.

“Scott!” his mother called up the stairs.  “Suppers on the table!”

And he was simply another mouth to feed.  With a heavy sigh, he pulled himself upright and went down the stairs.  The paper was lying on the table and he picked it up, pulling the want ad section out.  Every day he hoped for something different, but there weren’t very many jobs in the farm town.

He was desperate enough to take anything now, but even that hadn’t turned up any luck.  The grocery store wasn’t even hiring.  He scanned the ads.  A law firm needed a paralegal, but he didn’t have the qualifications to do that.  And the local dentist’s office was hiring a hygienist.  He had even less qualifications there.  At least he’d been in court before.

His father laughed suddenly.  “Hey, I might have found you the perfect job,” he said as he looked over his own section of the paper.

Scott looked up eagerly and saw a large ad surrounded by roses.  “Looking for love?” It read in curlicue cursive.  “Come out to Cargill Estate Friday, April 22
nd
to meet Miss Catherine Cargill, our lovely daughter! The lucky chosen man will be her groom!”

              Scott stared at his father who was chuckling and then at his mother was looking at the paper with wide eyes.

              “That can’t be serious!” she said, dropping a pan of cornbread onto the table. “No one in this day and age would--”

              “That’s the Cargills for you,” Eric said with a shake of his head. “Nothing crazier than a person with money and too much time on their hands.”

              Linda shook her head too. “All the money from those hotels and this is how he spends it? Publicity to marry off his daughter?”

              Scott took a thick slab of cornbread and crumbled it into his potato soup. “Hotels?”

              Linda handed him a napkin. “You know who he is,” she said. “All those luxury hotels? From the rocky peaks of Vail to the shores of Hilton Head,” she said in a refined and soft toned voice. “Come and relax while the Cargills take care of your every need...and want.”

              “Oh,” he said, plunging his spoon into his bowl of soup with a grin at his mother’s acting. “Yeah, I’ve seen that commercial.”

              She smiled back before dishing up her own bowl of soup. “And just think!” she said dramatically. “You could marry into all of that! Scott Cargill, hotelier!”

              He laughed, but the idea stuck with him. Not the idea of running a chain of hotels...that seemed like much more trouble than it was worth...but the idea of being the one to win Catherine Cargill’s hand. With that much money at her disposal, she could help out the ranch. And if she was disinclined to do it...well...even with a good prenup, the other half usually got a good settlement in these cases. He barely tasted the rest of his meal. Maybe he wasn’t quite out of options yet.