One Enchanted Summer Read online

  Only a week ago, Dominic would have been interested in her himself…wondering if that rounded bosom contained mostly padding or layers of petticoats created the illusion of her tiny waist. But among the harried housewives and plain serving girls, she now seemed a little unreal, a caricature in the newspapers with her overly full lips curving into a sly smile as she spoke with Mia. She managed to keep her chin tilted at an angle and her shoulders twisted so her figure was shown at full advantage to every passerby.

  “Oh, I see Mrs. Hightower has caught your eye.” The old man gave a wheezy laugh. “Her husband is dead…hmmm maybe a year? But she’s not the most grieving of widows. She’s more than polite to a few in town and should be no challenge to a man like you.”

  The man stopped just short of nudging him suggestively, and Dominic started to walk down the aisle again, ready to move on and avoid the uncomfortable conversation, when the man shook his head slowly and gave a low whistle.

  “Poor boy. I didn’t realize you were admiring Miss Mia. That’s heartbreak for you, son.”

  Bristling at the thought of anyone calling him “son,” especially some farmer, and accustomed to ignoring whomever he felt like, Dominic was tempted to continue on his way, but pride got the better of him.

  “I’m merely her employer. I have no interest in a maid,” he said firmly, not caring how much derision he had placed on the word ‘maid’ but the old man’s eyes widened first in shock and then in almost glee.

  “Woohoo, that’s good news for you then. Mia is the most stubborn girl in the county. Three years ago, she came here. No family to speak for her and rumors dogging her steps but that didn’t stop men from courting her. And no wonder. She’s the prettiest girl in the shire. If I were twenty years younger, I’d have thrown my hat in the ring too. She had four offers in the first year but refused every one without explanation. Never encouraged a look from anyone.”

  The older man perused the crowd around the fair before gesturing with his cane to a tall, lumbering man stomping down the aisle.

  “There’s Halford Caborn. He asked Mia twice. Broke his heart. He married up with a local girl the following spring.” He hailed Halford. “Ay-up, Caborn. Avya gorra wi’ya?”

  “Who?” Halford responded in confusion. Though Dominic hadn’t said a word, Halford looked Dominic up and down and curled his lip.

  “Your wiv!” the old man said in exasperation.

  “No,” Halford muttered sourly before slouching away.

  “His wife isn’t with him,” the old man explained with a shake of his head. “I thought you’d wanna see her. Not as bonny as Mia but fair. Halford was bitter though. No, Mia came here, and half the men acted puddled if she but smiled at ‘em.”

  Despite his intentions to ignore the fellow, Dominic couldn’t resist learning more gossip about his taciturn employee and, once he saw he had a willing audience, the old man was happy to oblige.

  “Old Granny Newcombe was getting odd and her family thought she needed some a keeper. No one in the village was willing to take her on, but the vicar appears at Granny’s door with Mia in tow and says she’s the new maid. The men around here take notice but in no time at all we hear whispers of her being trouble at one house and some loose behavior with a boy over by Frampton. A few hope the wagging tongues are true and she’s a bit of a strumpet, but she rebuffs them all. Then men start offering marriage and she turns them away too.”

  The man nodded solemnly as if he was relating rumors of Mia cavorting naked with demons at midnight – that her behavior was not only curious but absolutely unheard of in the history of the village. Dominic glanced back in Mia’s direction to see if Mia appeared more attractive and mysterious now that he knew of her frigidness towards every man who begged for her favor. Unfortunately, she was looking at him, her head cocked slightly sideways as if she was trying to ascertain if he needed something and, seeing Mia’s attention diverted, the curvaceous Mrs. Hightower turned in his direction too, her grin widening welcomingly and her fingers fluttering in a flirtatious wave.

  Dominic pretended he was merely glancing around the crowd and then accidently locked eyes with the mad vicar himself, already staring fiercely at Dominic, his wiry eyebrows nearly touching each other in a frown, as his sharp eyes darted suspiciously back and forth between Dominic and Mia.

  “Woohee,” the old man mumbled when he saw who Dominic was staring down. “Reverend Martin is more taloned eagle than cooing dove. A good shepherd of his flock…so good that he’ll brain you with a staff if you glance Mia’s way. Johnny Toyn found that out. Good luck with that man breathing fire upon you, m’duck.”

  It appeared the vicar’s reputation was so fearsome that the old gossip shifted awkwardly from foot to foot before shuffling away and eventually melting back into the crowd, leaving Dominic to stand alone under the vicar’s glare.

  Since he’d done nothing to earn the vicar’s or even God’s wrath, Dominic unblinkingly returned the stare, but had to give Reverend Martin marks for sheer stubbornness…only his mother had ever held his gaze for so long before breaking eye contact.

  Dominic sauntered away, the picture of an indolent aristocrat, but he noticed other men’s eyes lighting up as they came closer to the point where Mia and Mrs. Hightower were still chatting and he now knew that the interest was not solely directed at the buxom widow.

  And he couldn’t imagine why it now annoyed him.

  Chapter 5

  Her basket, now nearly empty, swung lightly on Mia’s arm as she walked back up the road towards the cottage. It had been a productive day but exhausting. She’d rather scrub the Queen’s kitchen single-handedly than smile and nod all morning, but the satisfying clink of the few extra coins in her pocket was worth it. Every penny was welcome.

  Thinking of what she could hash together for supper and watching her footing in the poorly maintained road, she had nearly passed her employer before she noticed him waiting with his great gray beast under the shelter of the old rowan tree.

  “Oh, were you waiting on me, sir?” she asked in surprise. “I was going to be home in time for supper!”

  Dominic waved her assurance away as if he always lingered for hours in a nearly deserted lane before accompanying servants back to the house.

  “I didn’t want you to travel home in the dark. It could be dangerous.” He flushed slightly when Mia glanced towards the still sunlit sky. The summer sun still blazed away, and night wouldn’t fall for hours. “You look exhausted. You may ride and I’ll lead the horse to the cottage.”

  “Oh, sir, I couldn’t possibly…”

  “It would be ungentlemanly not to insist.”

  She certainly couldn’t refuse. She nodded jerkily and stood uncertainly while trying to decide if she placed the basket on the ground before scrambling into the saddle or if she held the basket in her left hand while grasping the pommel with her right. She’d only ridden a pony once, and it hadn’t been near as intimidating. And it was nearly fifteen years ago.

  As if he could sense her predicament, Dominic lifted her easily onto his horse’s broad back, neatly ducking out of the way of her swinging basket. She immediately lost her balance and nearly fell off the other side, her descent to the ground only stopped when her employer grasped her legs and kept a firm hold until she had righted herself.

  “I’m not a horsewoman,” she explained breathlessly, her face flaming with embarrassment. Even though they were safely encased in two-layers of fabric, the skin on her knees tingled where his hands had been.

  “So I gathered.”

  The horse had craned its neck to stare at her as if even the animal couldn’t believe her disgraceful ineptitude. If God had any pity for her, he would strike her dead now instead of making her mentally recall this humiliating moment for the rest of her life.

  Mr. Attwood clicked to his horse and the beast cautiously started walking as if he was certain she’d find a way to unseat herself again. And the dumb animal was likely right. Mia found herself unable to
adapt to the shifting of its gait. She teetered back and forth and found that, even with a saddle, the horse’s spine was uncomfortable.

  “Sir, please, I’ll walk. We’ll likely get home faster!” she said with a self-deprecating laugh though she could feel that her cheeks were still as red as sugar beets.

  He motioned for her to slide forward into his waiting hands. Praying that she wouldn’t end up in a heap on the road, Mia squeezed her eyes shut. She needn’t have worried. He lifted her down easily. She stepped out between horse and master, pretending that she often found herself within a foot’s distance of both.

  “We’ll both walk then.” Mr. Attwood’s tone didn’t brook any argument, and they both began strolling down the country lane.

  Mia found herself in a quandary. Should she walk swiftly ahead so she could get supper started before he returned, or should she fall behind at a respectable distance? If she fell behind, he’d think she was a laggard but if she walked swiftly, his eyes would be on her backside the whole time which was far worse.

  But it hardly mattered since Mr. Attwood seemed intent on accompanying her safely home. He had slowed his normal walking pace to match hers.

  “Did you enjoy yourself, sir?” she asked politely. She thought it unlikely when he was accustomed to the theater and bustle of London.

  “I found a few people who were very friendly,” he replied non-commitally.

  “Yes, I saw you speaking with Mr. Brewerly. The old man with the long white beard? He’s worse than any woman for wanting to know what’s going on behind every closed door in the parish.”

  “Yes, he tried keep me abreast of the local gossip.”

  “And I saw you speaking with Mrs. Hightower.” Mia couldn’t keep the bite from her voice.

  The alluring Mrs. Hightower had conveniently found herself next to Dominic on multiple occasions. Mia had thought the widow’s interest sickeningly obvious and very unbecoming but there was no accounting for some men’s tastes.

  “She seems very popular but then young, beautiful widows usually are. Did her husband leave her a great deal of property?”

  “Enough to make her not need to marry again but I doubt that’s why she’s popular,” Mia replied but realized she sounded spiteful and added, “Her land runs about two miles west of the cottage. She reminded me twice of where her house is and insists that she adores company in the afternoon.”

  “Perhaps you can visit her on your next Sunday afternoon,” Dominic suggested, his handsome face blank and his voice completely uninterested. Mia couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her mouth. Even Mrs. Hightower couldn’t turn his head. If he could resist her alluring charms, the newspapers must not be exaggerating the fashion and beauty of London’s women.

  They rounded the bend in the lane again and a bleak, little house came into view. It was even more forlorn than their own by the spring…its shutters were hanging crookedly beside glassless windows, and even the door appeared to be pulling from its hinges. A general air of neglect and misery hung over the place and the few children hoeing in the garden did not improve the atmosphere. All three children worked lethargically, their faces dull and sullen, with none of the energy usually found in the young. They didn’t even look up to curiously study the strangers coming up the lane.

  “Good morning. You coming back from the fair?” A girl, unnoticed by either of them until they were nearly upon her, was standing by the edge of the weed-strewn path that led from the road to the ramshackle cottage. She couldn’t have been more than fourteen, but her dark brown eyes were fixed intently on Dominic and her crooked smile was very inviting. Her oily hair was piled into a scraggly bun, and her clothes were nearly in tatters, but she had made an effort to appear clean and almost pretty. With a rounded figure that hid the fact of her tender years, she might have tempted some men into trouble, but Mia could feel Dominic leaning away from the very sight of her.

  “Good morning, Jean. Yes, we’re just returning now,” Mia said, her tone polite but firm and dismissive. But the girl only had eyes for Dominic and ignored Mia completely.

  “Your cottage isn’t so far from here. I’ve seen you riding most days. If you need someone to show you about the countryside, I know every inch of it.” Jean cocked her head and smiled, showing more than a little desperation.

  It seemed Dominic could think of nothing to say to this offer. He looked at Mia in shock – she wasn’t certain if it was Jean’s youth or the thought of a rustic country girl escorting him through the countryside that appalled him more.

  “What a kind offer. Mr. Attwood has been overwhelmed with the generosity of so many of our villagers. Oh, I do think your siblings could use your help now, Jean.” Mia quickened her pace and Dominic pulled Monaco into motion again. Jean took a step back to avoid the horse’s huge feet and Mia closed her eyes out of embarrassment and humiliation for the girl.

  In dread, Mia waited for Dominic’s disgust to be verbally apparent because she could already feel the disapproval emanating from him, but he delayed any further conversation until they were out of earshot of the cottage and its inhabitants before letting loose the tirade of words that he had barely managed to contain for the past three minutes.

  “Where is that girl’s father? Accosting men on the road and encouraging strangers to come visit her? She’s barely more than a child.” He shuddered, apparently remembering the invitation in Jean’s eyes and the blatant suggestion of her smile and Mia couldn’t help but defending Jean and her questionable choices in the face of his outright disgust.

  “Don’t judge Jean too harshly.” Her mouth curled into a sad, thoughtful smile. “Her father is too fond of drink and enjoys striking things including his wife when in a mood. We…I mean people at the church…have tried to convince the poor woman to leave him for the children’s sakes but she won’t. Jean has an older sister who married two years ago at fourteen and Jean likely sees that path as her only way out of the house.”

  “She’s more likely to find herself dead in a gutter or tossed in the river than carried off by a prince charming,” he sneered, and Mia nodded sadly in agreement.

  “But you can’t convince her of that. She thinks anything is better than where she is now.” And Mia remembered that feeling…of cold nights and threadbare blankets and a loneliness that consumed even when surrounded by people. She didn’t think she could bear it if Dominic said any more against the girl.

  “What is your horse’s name?” Mia asked, attempting to change the subject. She normally wouldn’t converse with an employer, but Mr. Attwood did seem in a more talkative mood that afternoon.

  “Monaco,” Dominic replied shortly.

  Perhaps he wasn’t loquacious yet.

  “Is he Arabian?”

  “Partly.”

  “I’ve never been around many horses other than my father’s and you could hardly compare the two. Hannibal is a great lumbering giant. When I was a little girl, my father bought him, and he was so large that a man said we might as well have purchased an elephant. And of course, that made my father recall Hannibal crossing the Alps…though that was the commander’s name and not an elephant’s.”

  She was rambling, and she never did that. One of her greatest attributes – though it wasn’t as impressive as being “glorious” as Lettice had glowingly described Mr. Attwood – was knowing when to keep her mouth shut.

  “Your father’s horse?” He seemed completely disinterested in the conversation and, truly, who could blame him?

  “Yes, you’ve seen him. The horse pulling my father’s cart.”

  He didn’t acknowledge her words for a moment, and she thought he must have decided to let the conversation end but then he exclaimed in surprise, “Tillman is your father?” so loudly nearby birds squawked as they rose from the trees to fly off to a safer destination.

  “Yes.” She had thought their relationship was perfectly obvious and Dominic’s reaction was dangerously erratic.

  But then the realization sank in that
her father had never told Dominic of their relationship…he had never threatened Dominic’s life if one hair on his precious daughter’s head was harmed…he had given no indication of caring for her well-being.

  Her cheeks burned in embarrassment and she could feel the disapproval again emitting from Dominic like heat from a frying pan. It had been one thing when she was just a maid in need of work, an honest girl from the village who came from a family with too many mouths to feed – someone unable to find a husband, but quite another knowing she was the daughter of a drummer.

  “When you were young, you lived in…”

  “Yes, in the cart. I traveled with him all year round. Like a gypsy.” The forced brightness of her voice hurt even her own ears, but she had answered these questions a million times after seeing distrust blossom on people’s faces. Well, distrust was acceptable. That was their own narrow-minded view and had nothing to do with her behavior or appearance – these were the people who hated anyone who didn’t live in the same shabby little village that their grandparents did, the same people that called gypsies thieves and actresses whores. What was far worse to her pride was the pitying glances, the reassuring smiles that accompanied a squeeze of her hand as if to say what a brave child she must have been and how lucky she was to survive such a chaotic lifestyle.

  As they continued in silence, she was painfully aware of the thoughts he was likely having. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed as if he had put a bit more distance between them. They were no longer walking in step. She stared down the road at the horizon, determined not to defend her father or his perfectly honest living. She never had enjoyed the constant upheaval of finding a new spot to camp, of being told they were trespassing, of looking for a new village where someone might be interested in a new tea pot or bolt of cloth but whenever people knew of her past, she found herself assuring them how enjoyable it was to meet new people, prattling on about the thrill of being by the seaside for a few days and then in a flowering meadow the next week.