One Enchanted Summer Read online

  Mia couldn’t give Mr. Attwood marks for civility, but she could hardly blame him. Charlotte Ward was the silliest widgeon.

  “Anne Skipworth claimed that she had twisted an ankle in hopes that he’d let her ride that horse of his. The foolish girl sat squarely in nettles while waiting for him and now has a rash over both hands. All for naught.”

  “I’ve seen the fellow, and he’s not especially attractive,” John Denning rumbled as he pushed back his chair and rose from the table. Lettice poo-pooed his statement with a roll of her bright eyes.

  “I’m just saying, if he crooked his finger at me, I’d be in his lap in a second and wouldn’t be complaining if he asked for more than that,” Lettice said slyly to Mia before shooting her husband an imperious look. “And don’t get all lofty on me, John Denning, because I’ve seen you drooling at the sight of Mrs. Hightower’s enormous bosoms just last week. You didn’t hear me getting cross.”

  John harrumphed as he went to the door, though a slight blush was visible despite most of his face being hidden by a thick brown beard. Thinking he was getting the argument’s last parting shot, he called accusingly over his shoulder, “You made me wait until our wedding night.”

  But Lettice seemed to be expecting such a thing and shouted quickly back, “It’s doubtful he’ll be on his knees with a ring anytime soon so you can take your jealous-ridden body elsewhere.”

  The door slammed shut behind him and Mia awkwardly pretended interest in the scratch on the kitchen table’s surface, embarrassed in the aftermath of a shouting match, but Lettice grinned widely, completely unrepentant, and her blonde curls bounced as she chuckled to herself.

  “He’s been saying that he’ll get that shed fixed and painted all this spring and now, in a high dudgeon, he’ll actually do it. And when he stomps back inside, I’ll say what a fine job he’s done and pet him and coo, and he’ll forget all about that tiff.” Lettice bit into her biscuit with satisfaction, but her face quickly turned crafty again.

  “Now that he’s gone, please tell me you’re doing more than cleaning and cooking for that glorious creature?”

  “I told you, no.” Partly amused but mostly exasperated, Mia shook her head.

  Lettice was a carefree spirit who was as close as Mia had come to a real friendship in the village. Mia rarely gravitated towards people, but Lettice was like an unstoppable force. She had decided Mia needed a friend and insisted that they were now bosom companions. But then Lettice had never felt inadequate or out of her element in her young life. She had grown up in a sleepy village, surrounded by a large family that had lived on the same land for centuries and had never known a moment of uncertainty of belonging. The church’s graveyard boasted the headstones of twenty Dennings and as many Trowbridges, Lettice’s surname before her marriage; her position and sense of belonging in their tiny village was an indisputable fact.

  “Why not?” Lettice demanded. “What are you now, twenty five? What are you waiting for?”

  Mia remained silent though it stung a bit to be reminded of her age. It wasn’t uncommon for a woman to remain unmarried into her late twenties. Many couples couldn’t afford a home until they had a few years of savings. But she had rejected almost every eligible man in the vicinity, and it was doubtful anyone new would move to the village. Many women would be thanking God for her one last chance to attract a handsome stranger’s notice.

  But Mia knew better than to hope for some fairy tale. He was golden like sunshine but too much of those bright rays would inevitably leave her burned and miserable.

  “When you first came here and turned every man down, we thought you were touched in the head, or afraid of men, or had some tragic love affair that couldn’t be forgotten. But it’s none of those things and here you still are!” Lettice continued in annoyance. “If word got out that old Granny Newcombe left you a hundred pounds, you’d have a whole flock of men at your door and yet you’d still insist on scrubbing away for strangers.”

  “Any man knocking at the door for a hundred pounds will certainly spend it quickly. I’d be a hundred pounds poorer, and I’d still be scrubbing away for a stranger except he’d be my husband.”

  Mia didn’t reveal that she’d already spent five pounds at the milliner’s and had already made plans with what she could do with the rest. It was a heady feeling having any money to spend on herself and she wasn’t about to let the world know she had nearly five year’s wages safely stored in Reverend Martin’s rectory.

  She was spared from defending herself further by a wail coming from the adjoining room. Lettice laboriously rose from the table and waddled towards the quickly escalating sobbing. A moment later, she returned with a red-headed toddler balanced on her non-existent waist, his pudgy hand rubbing an eye that still had huge teardrops hanging from its long russet eyelashes.

  “Now, there Willie. It was only a nightmare. And, you miss, if you don’t want hearth and home and husband and family, why not have your fun? Here’s a man that every girl is starry-eyed over and, believe me, a few women are cursing that wedding ring on their finger. You’re free to do what you want!” Lettice’s eyes grew round with a sudden suspicion. “Or is he…is he…you know. Looking for men.”

  This last was said in a whisper and Lettice had cupped a hand around the baby’s one ear that didn’t rest against her shoulder as if he would not only understand but would eagerly spread such gossip beyond the walls of their little home given half the chance.

  “I…I don’t know.” Mia confessed, and the women stared at each other for a moment before Lettice shrugged, sat back down, and handed the boy a biscuit.

  “With some, you can tell right off. There’s no hiding it. But with others, it’s a complete surprise.” Lettice shook her head at the thought of how tricky some of those men could be. “A man as handsome as that and he hasn’t been chased out of one bedroom or barn by a father or husband in three days? I might as well tell the whole village that there’s no hope for that one.”

  ∞∞∞

  Monday morning dawned like every other morning in the retched countryside…the oddly persistent rays of Lincolnshire sun that never seemed to permeate the London smog found their way through the grimy window directly into Dominic’s eyes and the madly twittering birds outside could be heard even when he put a pillow over his head. But when he left his room, anticipation hung in the air as Mia shot him a slight smile as she placed his breakfast on the table and then hurried off to do whatever mundane things she did every morning.

  She looked decidedly pretty this morning though the flush in her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes might be because she was anticipating the fair. No one in town even considered fairs worth the bother any longer…well, not anyone he associated with. The government had even closed the Bartholomew Fair because it had become too raucous for decent people which made Dominic a bit more curious about the fair today. Perhaps country people were as given to licentiousness and sport as their London counterparts and this would be an event that could be a bit interesting.

  Highly unlikely.

  But it was very likely that everyone from the countryside would be there just to enjoy a day of leisure. All the pretty girls and beautiful women would be dressed for the occasion and, since Dominic had not met one woman who could qualify in either of those categories as yet (and he had strictly forbidden his brain to allow Mia in either one), he was interested to see if there was anyone attractive enough to pursue. But then, he never had to pursue anyone. He’d merely encourage one which was usually sufficient enough to begin an affair.

  Cracking his egg with the clunky pewter spoon, Dominic pretended disinterest when Mia came back into the cottage, her hands carrying a water jug. He never considered how often women had to carry water into the house in a day and he had already overheard Mia agreeing with some nosy woman who happened to be on her way by the cottage how lucky she was to have both a spring and a stream so readily available.

  In fact, there had been a few villagers who had stoppe
d by. Dominic assumed that alarming vicar had encouraged everyone to visit and be sure that Dominic hadn’t raped and dismembered Mia. They seemed to time their calls with when he was out riding or walking so they must rush over to check on Mia’s well-being the moment they saw him pass by the road or through the meadow. He often caught them leaving the cottage when he returned, and they always gave him a friendly nod but made no effort to engage him in conversation.

  He had no desire to converse with these bumpkins, but he certainly expected them to be awed by his intimidating presence or at least curious about why he was rusticating in their village for the summer.

  Dominic took a few bites of his egg as he watched Mia puttering about the room before she disappeared into her own bedroom. He assumed to change her clothes. He frowned, his thoughts definitely not focusing on the image of Mia pulling her dull gray gown over her head and standing in the bright morning light in little more than what he could only imagine was a decidedly sheer chemise. He took a long gulp of his luke-warm tea, certainly not picturing her untying pink garters before rolling a stocking down the long length of her leg.

  His wayward thoughts had just gotten to the point that she decided to wear a different chemise all together when her bedroom door opened again, making him jump in guilt at the direction of his fantasies. Noting the speed at which she changed her clothes, a miracle if his sisters’ typical dressing times were any indication, not one of his imaginings had even the remotest possibility of actually having happened.

  But her efforts, though hurried, had not been a waste. Her teal gown had a pattern of gold leaves dancing across the fabric and while her dress was certainly not as ruffled or full-skirted as fashion dictated, it certainly fit her figure better than any other piece in her wardrobe. With a nod to the heat of late June, the neckline was nearly straight across her chest, leaving her shoulders exposed, before the gown ended abruptly in three-inch sleeves. She had piled her hair up in a many looped bun that should have appeared stark compared to the elegant sausage curls, twists, and spirals that were necessary in the elaborate hairstyles for a London evening but the simplicity of it made him stare at the long line of her neck and the pale white patch of skin between the back of her ear and her hairline.

  There seemed to be a lot of flesh showing. Dominic could see the smooth expanse of her shoulders. That gown would have been completely appropriate in a ball room where chaperones could keep an eye on randy young men, but Mia would be ogled and eyed from all sorts of unsavory characters at a fair.

  Realizing his inner voice was sounding a bit puritanical, Dominic ignored the urge to suggest that she bring a shawl. A woman needed a husband, and she probably thought if she hadn’t found one in the village, she had better cast her net a bit wider and attract one at the fair.

  “Are you not hungry, sir? Should I make you something else?”

  Her sharp eyes had noticed that his egg was only half finished and his toast untouched, but Dominic found he had suddenly had no appetite and gestured that she should take the dishes away. With a clatter, she scraped the remaining food onto a plate, set the rest of the dishes into a large bowl already filled with soapy water, and began washing them with almost dizzying speed.

  “I’ll be starting off for the fair right after I’ve set these away if you have nothing else for me to do,” she called out over her shoulder and Dominic could find no reason to have to her linger with him any longer. As soon as he had given her permission, she finished the dishes, wiped down the table and counters, snatched up her now very familiar straw bonnet and a wicker basket, and was out the door.

  He had been looking forward to the fair as a break in the monotony of daily life but now it seemed rather lonesome to ride into the festivities by himself. Everyone else would likely arrive walking in large groups of friends and family or piled into carts, children spilling over the sides in excitement for the occasion. He certainly wasn’t envious of them – he had more wealth, leisure time, and a perfectly respectable family at home if he yearned to be surrounded by the love and inevitable bickering of a family.

  The rub of the situation was that he was accustomed to entering a crowded room and everyone knowing him…or at least his reputation. He had entered school with a family name and fortune that guaranteed acceptance and paved the way for popularity. He had gladly left for university because he was completely assured that his established reputation and handsome features made him a desirable member of every club and social circle. Those elite groups had continued into adulthood where he could knock on almost any door in London and not only be graciously admitted but fawned over. He used to find it contemptible when people changed their attire after asking him what he was wearing to an event or bought a vest that looked shockingly similar to the one he was seen sporting but now he had to admit that he had been flattered and a bit smug that he could merely walk into a room and have such an influence on people.

  But these odd bumpkins in Lincolnshire either held him too much in awe or completely indifferently. He couldn’t think of one person who would greet him warmly or even tip their hat in polite greeting. In fact, he had heard two men murmuring to each other and one finished with a snort and he saw they seemed to find his riding attire amusing in some way. If he assessed their appearance, he could only assume they had fallen into a ditch a few days ago and never changed their clothes but he had fumed the whole ride back to the cottage, alternately sneering at their lack of fashion and wondering furiously if he was somehow deserving of their scorn.

  And Mia, who seemed to have neither family nor a great deal of friends, was going alone to the fair with great enthusiasm. It seemed ridiculous not to exude as much confidence as she, a little nobody, apparently felt amongst strangers.

  His stomach gave a slow rumble, and he recalled that he also had been anticipating someone’s cooking that was a fair bit better than Mia’s. The thought of those buttery biscuits or savory meat pies just waiting for his coin galvanized him into action. Though the females he had seen so far were rather pitiful, he might stumble across a diamond worth a second glance. He’d even consider a bit of topaz at this point.

  ∞∞∞

  For a country fair, it was acceptable, Dominic supposed. In London, he could get a much more varied shopping experience with a short walk down Bond Street or a stroll through the Burlington Arcade, but the villagers seemed content to admire the various goods while munching on their meat pasties and sipping watery ale. After a few minutes he had decided that there was no stall or vendor worthy of his time or perusal and contented himself with eating food not cooked by Mia and watching the assortment of people wandering down the lanes.

  After eating three iced buns in quick succession, he began to wonder where Mia had disappeared and casually strolled the fair grounds, assuming that he’d find her bunched up with a crowd of similarly aged girls, all flirting with loutish young men intent on convincing one of the maids to abandon the safety of her friends for a short while.

  But she wasn’t.

  He spied her standing next to a table covered in engraved wooden boxes, her eyes slightly glazed over but her smile politely interested as she nodded at something an old woman was nattering on about. The old woman kept frowning and shaking her head and Dominic assumed she had a multitude of health complaints when Mia frowned sympathetically. After a few more seconds, Mia seemed to take control of the conversation and the woman finally dropped a few pennies into Mia’s hand and took something from that wicker basket that Mia had determinedly dragged all the way to the fair. He had assumed Mia had packed a lunch in that basket since she would have little money to spend at the fair. He couldn’t imagine her being able to sell food at the fair. For one thing, she wasn’t a very good cook, and he doubted she’d get many people that desperate for nourishment and, for another, all the food in the cottage was purchased with his money and he didn’t think Mia had the makings of a thief.

  “Ay-up,” a gravelly voice spoke beside him, and Dominic turned with some tre
pidation towards the voice’s owner. An old man with a white beard, wicked beetle black eyes, and a smile missing a few teeth grinned at him.

  “Good day,” Dominic replied shortly.

  “Saw that horse over by the rowan,” the old man continued, gesturing with his cane toward a spot just off the fairgrounds. “Is it yourn?”

  “Uh, yes,” Dominic took a step away which was usually enough for people to understand he was not in the mood to converse.

  “He’s a beauty. Are you staying at ol’ Neville Lindsey’s cottage?”

  It took Dominic a moment to translate the man’s speech. It was as if all the words were jumbled together and all the vowels were rounded o-sounds.

  “Yes.” He took another pointed step away, but the older man kept along beside him.

  “Course it’s Theo’s place now.”

  “Lord Pritchard is the current owner, yes.” Dominic hoped emphasizing Tybault’s title would be enough to remind the man that Dominic likely held the same status, and the man would be intimidated and move along. He turned his back on his determined conversationalist and pretended interest in the fair. Ignoring the man made him face Mia again and her mysterious basket.

  Mia nodded once and then smiled broadly, revealing deep twin dimples that put him immediately in mind of Tom Tillman. Dimples could never be elegant or dignified and a woman who had the ill luck to be cursed with them could only hope to be called “adorable” or “winsome.” And deep crater-like holes in a woman’s cheeks should not have been so attractive - especially when they reminded him of a whistling tinker – but Dominic felt an immediate surge of something that fell short of full-blown lust but definitely in the wanting category.

  He immediately turned his attention to her new conversationalist, which he assumed would be a well-muscled farmer considering how much she was flashing those dimples, but it was a woman in her mid-thirties. Her glossy black curls bounced under a pert mint hat that matched her flounced muslin dress. She would have turned heads even in London and it was obvious she not only expected such attention at the country fair but reveled in it. A few men walking by nearly tripped as they ogled her instead of watching their footing.