Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"And you haven't forgotten the arrival of the dowager countess, have you, Mrs. Parks?" Edmund Banfield, the Earl of Beaumont, said.

He was looking up from the breakfast table at his housekeeper, who now forced a smile to her lips and shook her head.

"No, my lord. How could I?" she replied.

Edmund smiled. It was just the way he felt, too. His mother was due to arrive from London that afternoon. She spent most of her time in the capital, preferring it to what she referred to as "the provincial scene."

The dowager countess was a socialite who found the countryside boring, and had been only too glad to rid herself of the responsibilities marriage to Edmund's father had brought.

"All those pointless charitable endeavors, the endless entertainment of dull people, and the fact one could never buy anything one really wanted," she had said, before leaving for London following the death of Edmund's father.

But Edmund himself had taken a different view. He had been away at school, and then at Oxford, before a period spent in military service to the crown. But all of these endeavors had been a waiting game—the wait to inherit, which he had done eight months previously upon the death of his father. But returning to Hampshire had not been the trial he might have expected, had he believed the many things his mother said about her forced exile in the countryside—quite the opposite. Edmund liked the countryside. He liked to ride out or to walk across the estate, immersing himself in the natural world, with all its beauty and diversity.

"Prepare yourself, Mrs. Parks. I love my mother dearly, but you know better than me what she can be like," Edmund said, shaking his head as he rose from the breakfast table.

"I served your grandmother, then your mother, my lord. I know just what's expected," Mrs. Parks said.

"You missed your true calling, Mrs. Parks—you should've been a diplomat. I'll leave the preparations in your capable hands. She won't be here until late this afternoon. I'm going to take one last opportunity for some peace and quiet," Edmund replied.

It was a beautiful morning, and he intended to ride out to the far side of the estate, where a wood bordered the river and bluebells grew in abundance.

"May I ask, my lord, why Her Ladyship is visiting Beaumont Abbey at all? I thought she detested being here," Mrs. Parks said, and Edmund raised his eyebrows.

"Yes...I'd wondered the same. But I fear her reasons are...practical. She wants me to marry, and since I won't go up to London, she's coming here instead," he said, and the housekeeper nodded.

"I see, my lord. Well...I can only wish you luck," she said, and with a curt nod, she left the dining room.

Edmund smiled to himself. His mother was not as bad as might be thought. But she was a forceful presence, and she had made the intentions of her visit clear.

"It's high time you were married, Edmund. Think of the family line," she had written in her letter inviting herself to stay with him at Beaumont Abbey.

There had been no suggestion as to how long the dowager would remain in Hampshire, and Edmund could only assume she would do so until her task was completed. He knew it was his duty to marry. The line was an ancient one, and the Beaumonts were a noble family. But Edmund was in no hurry to do his duty. He was not about to begin a courtship with someone simply out of necessity. If Edmund was to marry, he wanted to do so for love. His mother did not see it that way, of course. She and his father had married through an arrangement, and though it had been a happy marriage—despite Edmund's mother's dislike for the countryside—it could not have been called passionate. Theirs had not been a marriage based on love, but rather, a marriage based on duty. It was not what Edmund wanted.

But I'm sure she's got other plans, he thought to himself, wondering how his mother would go about finding him a match.

The district of Beaumont Abbey was limited in terms of society. They had neighbors, of course, but there was little by way of a social scene. Edmund preferred the company of his friends to larger societal events, and since returning home to take up the title, he had made several close friends with whom he hunted or went for long walks with across the estate. But today, he wanted to be alone with his thoughts—before his mother arrived to fill those thoughts with her own agenda.

I suppose I should be grateful to her, Edmund thought to himself, as he left the house and walked the short distance across the gravel to the stables.

His mother had his best interests at heart. Edmund knew she wanted him to be happy, but her dominance and interfering attitude often resulted in conflict.

"I'll take Lorna," Edmund said, after the groom had asked him which of the horses he would like to ride out on.

"It's a fine morning, my lord," the groom said as he saddled the chestnut mare.

Edmund took a keen interest in horses—both breeding and riding them. Lorna was his favorite—a gift for his eighteenth birthday from his parents. She was a fine horse, and as Edmund climbed into the saddle, he looked forward to the swiftness of the ride, and the freedom of the gallop.

"Thank you, Jones. I don't know when I'll be back—not before noon, at least," Edmund said before riding out of the stable yard and urging Lorna into a gallop across the parkland.

The dew was sparkling on the grass as he rode, and a mist on the river was still clearing. The sun was already warm, and Edmund breathed in the fresh air, delighting in the freedom of the ride. He was glad to have this moment of peace before the arrival of his mother—a chance to think and reflect on the past eight months. He was twenty-two years old, and already burdened with the responsibility of one far beyond his years. But duty was a lesson his father had taught him from a young age, and despite the burdens of his title, Edmund knew he would not shrink from doing what was expected of him.

And I suppose that includes marriage, too, he told himself as he charged across the parkland, taking a path that would lead him by the river and toward the woods where the bluebells grew.

Edmund often rode that way. He liked to see the changing of the seasons in the changing of the trees—bluebells heralding the end of spring or falling leaves signaling the approach of winter. But today, the promise of summer reigned, and the air was fresh with the scent of new life. Lorna was in excellent form, galloping by the river as though she, too, wanted to feel that same freedom Edmund was experiencing.

"Woah there, Lorna," he said, reining in the horse as they came to the edge of the trees.

The carpet of bluebells was spread out before them, a wave of color enveloping the woodland floor. Edmund smiled, taking in the scene and knowing he would far rather be there than in the middle of a city, surrounded by noise and other people. Here, in the cool stillness of the woodland, he felt at peace, and now he set Lorna into a gentle trot, following the path through the woodland and admiring the bluebells as he went.

It's so beautiful, he thought to himself, smiling at the thought of this all being his.

But Edmund sat lightly to his power. He did not boast of it or use his position to influence others to his own advantage—or so he hoped. But in this moment of peace, he allowed himself to feel a small sense of satisfaction at all he had achieved in the past few months since inheriting the title.

I wonder what my father would say? Edmund thought to himself.

His father had been a cold and distant figure during Edmund's childhood and having been sent away at an early the two of them had never had much chance to form a bond. But in the last few weeks of his father's life, the two of them had come to an understanding of sorts.

"You'll make a good earl, Edmund. A better one than I ever was," he had said, and when he had died, Edmund had found himself feeling unexpectedly bereft.

And that's why I suppose I have to do what my mother wants—it's what he'd expect of me, too, Edmund thought to himself.

They had come to the very center of the woods, where the trees were the most ancient, and their canopies merged as one, creating an overarching roof like that of a great cathedral with its gothic arches. The sunlight was cast in dappled rays, and the bluebells stretched out on every side, like an endless sea of purple. Edmund smiled—it was a secret place, hidden away, a place of peace and contemplation. He was about to slip down from the saddle, intending to climb up into one of the trees and sit there for a while, when a sudden movement to his left caused him to startle. A deer had just appeared from behind one of the trees. It darted across the path, startling Lorna, who now reared up on her hind legs.

"Woah there, Lorna," Edmund cried, but the horse now bolted, and Edmund was thrown from the saddle to the ground.

He landed awkwardly, hitting the back of his head on the gnarled root of a tree protruding from the ground. As he did so, he heard a loud crack, followed by a searing pain in his right arm. Rolling amid the bluebells, he gazed up at the canopy above, dazed and confused.

"I think I've broken my arm," he said to himself, unable to sit up, and now lying helplessly in the middle of the wood, the horse gone and help far away…

***

"I'd forgotten how beautiful England can be on a summer's day," Johanna said to herself.

She had ridden as far as the woodland bordering the east side of the village before proceeding on foot through the trees. Bluebells were growing in abundance, and Johanna had brought her sketchbook with her, intending to draw a scene by the brook—where she had often come to sit and contemplate. It was a beautiful day, and Johanna had been glad of her wide-brimmed sun hat as now she sat sketching beneath the trees.

I've certainly improved my sketching since going abroad, she thought to herself, for on the continent, she had made numerous sketches of the buildings and landscapes they had seen.

In time, Johanna intended to paint some of them as pictures to hang at Wilton Grange. But that was a task for the winter, and on a day such as this, she was content to sit with her sketchbook and try to forget her mother's plans for the London Season. But despite her best attempts, Johanna could not forget her mother's plans. Life was about to change. It already had in many ways, but as for what would happen when she and her mother went to London…

"I don't want to think about it," Johanna said to herself, trying to concentrate on her sketch.

But her thoughts kept returning to her brother's words, and to what was intended now she and her aunt had returned from Europe. What would London be like? Would she be expected to attend all manner of balls and soirees? Did she really have to make a match by the end of the Season? It was all very confusing, and Johanna sighed, wishing she was about to set off on another adventure with her aunt. She had just finished making her preliminary sketch, when the sound of voices echoed through the trees. Johanna's heart sank.

"I just don't understand it, Hortensia—one minute he was paying calls and arranging picnics and visits to the theater, and the next...well, I've heard nothing from him," a high-pitched voice was saying, as along the path came the Parker sisters—Hortensia and Mildred—arm in arm.

They were dressed in the most ridiculously impractical and over the top clothes—dresses like ballgowns, and heavily decorated bonnets covering their hair—as though they had set out in the hopeful expectation of encountering a match on their walk through the woods. There was no time for Johanna to hide, and now she scrambled to her feet, dusting herself down as she came face to face with the two people she had hoped not to meet.

"Johanna—we were just talking about you the other day. We thought you'd got lost on the continent," Mildred said, smirking at Johanna, who forced a smile to her face.

"Mildred, Hortensia—what a pleasant surprise. I arrived back today, in fact. I thought the two of you might be...in London for the Season," she said, and the expression on the sisters' faces changed.

"No...we decided to remain here. Mother isn't well, and...well, one doesn't need to be in London to enjoy the Season, does one?" Hortensia replied.

There was a defensiveness to her tone, and Johanna thought better than to prolong the conversation with further questions. She had never cared for the Parker sisters, and she knew the feeling was mutual.

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother," Johanna said, and the two sisters nodded.

"Yes, well, Doctor Arnold's been very good with her," Mildred replied.

"I'm glad to hear it. I should be on my way," Johanna said.

"Oh, were you meeting someone? I didn't realize," Hortensia said.

The Parker sisters had not changed—they delighted in scandal and were not above creating it to satisfy their own ends. In something as innocent as a walk in the woods, they were likely to read more into the matter than was the case. Johanna shook her head.

"No, I'm not meeting anyone—I've only been back a few hours. I came to ride out. I've missed doing so abroad," she replied.

"Well, don't let us keep you, Johanna. I'm sure we'll bump into one another again soon—it's inevitable in a small place," Mildred said, and nodding to Johanna, the two sisters walked on, arm in arm, whispering to one another.

Johanna sighed. She had tried to be friendly toward Hortensia and Mildred, but the two sisters kept their own counsel. In the past, Johanna had often felt a sense of rivalry and jealousy on their part toward her.

Better kept at arm's length. Roger's right—at least I won't have to contend with them in London, Johanna thought to herself, as now she returned to her sketching.

But she had barely drawn the outline of another tree when the sound of horse's hooves caused her to look up. There, to her immense surprise, was a saddled horse charging through the trees at a gallop.

Where's the rider? Johanna thought to herself, rising to her feet and wondering if she should try to catch the creature before it disappeared.

But the horse was too fast, and Johanna knew better than to try to get in the way of a charging mount. She was about to follow at a distance, hoping to catch the reins, when the horse eventually came to a stop, when a shout through the trees caused her to startle.

"Help me...is anyone there? Help me, please," a voice called out.

It was a man's voice, and Johanna now hurried through the trees, looking for its source. She found him in a clearing of trees, lying on the carpet of bluebells. He was well-dressed, a gentleman in a green frock coat, riding breeches, and black boots. He was a few years older than Johanna—perhaps her brother's age—and handsome, too, with tousled blonde hair and a fair complexion. Johanna hurried over to him.

"It's all right—I heard you. The horse threw you. I'll help you," Johanna said, kneeling down next to the man, who looked up at her with a thankful expression on his face.

"It's my arm. I think it's broken. I can't move it without it...ah, it hurts!" he exclaimed, and Johanna took off her shawl, helping him to sit up before fashioning a sling with it.

"It's all right. I know it hurts. Let me put this under your arm," she said, and the man grimaced as she gently moved the sling into position.

"Thank you...it was a deer. It bolted from the trees, and Lorna—the horse—bolted. I feel so foolish," he said, catching his breath and giving Johanna a faint smile.

"It's not foolish to be thrown from one's horse, is it? It was an accident," Johanna said.

"I know, but...well, it shouldn't have happened. Look at me, sitting here amid the bluebells. Thank goodness you heard me call out. I've never met anyone in these woods before. I thought I might be here all day," the man said, shaking his head, as Johanna now tried to help him to stand.

"It's quite all right...I'm just glad I heard you call for help. Here, put your arm around me," Johanna said.

The man was unsteady on his feet, and Johanna feared he was about to faint. She put both her arms around him, trying to steady him and prevent him from falling.

"I'm sorry," he kept repeating.

"It's all right—just hold on to me," Johanna said.

Her arms were around him, and he was clinging to her as she tried to hold him up. But as she was doing so, the sound of voices now came from along the path.

"One wonders what she got up to—all those months abroad, and with only her aunt to act as chaperone, and...oh," Hortensia said as the two sisters appeared along the path.

Johanna stared at them as they stared back at her, before exchanging glances and giggling.

"We need to help him—can you fetch the doctor?" Johanna said, but Hortensia only laughed.

"Oh, really, Johanna, do you really expect us to fall for that?" Mildred said.

For a moment, Johanna did not understand—was it not obvious what had happened? She was trying to help the man. He had been injured, even as the Parker sisters now turned away.

"Don't worry, Johanna. Your secret's safe with us," Hortensia called out, and Johanna watched in desperation as they walked away, arm in arm, whispering to one another as they went.

"What...what happened?" the stranger asked, his head lolling to one side.

He was about to faint, and now she could no longer hold him, and together, they tumbled to the ground. He was unconscious, and now Johanna was the one calling for help, even as the Parker sisters disappeared through the trees.