A Hope Remembered (14 page)

She pointed to some of the offensive plants. “All the ones that look like those.”

He tore two up at once and flung them into her small pile at the edge of the garden, while grumbling something under his breath. Nora coughed to disguise the laugh rising in her throat.

“I’m almost halfway through the diary.”

“After one night?” Colin sounded impressed.

“I’ve wanted to know more about her for weeks, so I had to keep reading.” She scooted down the row of vegetables they were working on. “Apparently when she was sixteen, Eleanor fell in love with a young man who was seven years older than her. She doesn’t refer to him by name, though. She simply calls him E in her diary.”

“E? Why wouldn’t she write his name?”

“I’m not sure.” Nora tugged at a particularly stubborn weed. “They met at a dance in the village, and after that, they saw each other regularly, usually at a certain spot on the fell.”

“I can think of only a few men in Larksbeck whose names start with E.” Colin tossed more weeds on the pile. Was he working faster than her? Nora jerked at the obstinate weed and finally freed it. “There’s Ebenezer Snow, but he’s got to be sixty-five now—much older than Eleanor would’ve been. Then there’s Egbert Croxley.”

“What’s he like?”

“Large nose, dull as a post. But maybe he was livelier as a young man.”

Nora rolled her eyes. “Eleanor said E was very handsome and amiable. Anyway, this morning I read about E going to London and how much Eleanor missed him.”

“London?” Colin rested one arm on his knee. “So he moved away?”

Nora had quickened her pace. She was nearly to the end of the row. “I don’t think so. Eleanor made it sound as though he’d be away only a few months. While he was gone, she became acquainted with a young man named Matthew. She wrote how he played the fiddle beautifully and was very kind.”

“She wrote out the other chap’s name, but not E’s?”

Nora nodded.

“An interesting mystery.”

“Ready to start on the next row?” She threw the remaining weeds into the grass bordering the garden.

“How many more weeds are there?”

“Too many. I need to ask Bess what she does to keep them out. What do you use over at Elmthwaite to get rid of the weeds?”

“The gardener.” Colin chuckled.

A strong desire to knock his arrogance down a rung or two filled Nora. She scooped up a handful of dirt and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest. Colin’s jaw went slack as he stopped weeding and looked from her to his vest and the brown mess there.

“I think you missed the weed pile,
Miss Lewis
.”

A ripple of emotion ran through her at the low, husky quality of his voice. But she wouldn’t back down. She wanted to strip away the pretense and cynicism Colin constantly hid behind to the man he truly was, the man she glimpsed for a few moments now and then.

“Did I?” she countered.

The roguish look returned to his eyes, deepening their color to ebony, as he threw a handful of dirt back at her. The soil alighted in Nora’s hair and collar. She paused long enough to brush away the granules near her mouth before tossing more dirt at Colin. This time she hit him square in the side of the head. She tried to stop the laugh threatening to escape her lips at how ungentlemanly he looked, but the laughter won out.

With a growl, Colin pummeled her with more soil. Nora ducked as best she could, then scrambled to her knees to get a better throwing position. Dirt flew back and forth through the air between them. Beyond the garden, Phoebe barked incessantly at their game.

Nora didn’t realize Colin had been slowly inching his way closer with each throw until his hand seized one of her wrists. She couldn’t stop laughing, even though her sides hurt. When was the last time she’d felt this alive or carefree?

“Do you surrender?” He kept his gaze locked on hers.

“Never.” She managed to sprinkle a bit more dirt into his hair. His face was mere inches from hers, close enough she could spot the individual particles of soil on his jaw. A boyish grin lit up his entire countenance.

“A truce, then?” Colin brushed some of the dirt from her cheek, his touch sending a shiver up her spine. Especially when his finger trailed her face to her upper lip and stayed there for several heartbeats.

“What are the terms?” Nora asked, hating the breathlessness in her voice. Could he hear the pounding of her heart? Would he request a kiss from her?

“I propose a rest.”

“A rest?” She blinked in confusion.

“A rest from this war with the weeds.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “Which you are losing, I’m afraid.”

Without waiting for her answer, he pulled her down beside him as he sprawled on his back in the garden. Nora took a minute to catch her breath. Colin hadn’t yet released her hand.

“You’re ruining my plants.” It was a halfhearted complaint, which he must have sensed.

“Yes, but I’m crushing the weeds, too.”

She giggled as she stared up at the clouds trailing across the sky. A comfortable, friendly silence settled over them. Even Phoebe had stopped making noise. Colin let go of her hand, but he kept his fingers resting against hers so she felt the warmth of them against her skin.

A swell of gratitude filled her for his friendship. Working with him, teasing him—it was a nice way to spend a morning. Then why the lingering feeling of disappointment?

Because he didn’t kiss you.

She’d expected him to and he hadn’t—and this time, she realized with a start, she would have let him. That thought made her tremble with cold, despite the pleasant temperature. She couldn’t fall in love with him—she wouldn’t. For Tom’s sake, but more important, for her own.

To prove her resolve, Nora scooted to the side, putting a few inches of distance between them. Immediately her right side felt bereft without his warmth. She stayed where she was, though, until she could sit up and smile at Colin with nothing but affability in the gesture.

Whatever happened, Colin Ashby would not overtake her heart.

T
he automobile rumbled up the drive and Colin strode quickly toward it. He’d spotted his father’s car from the air when the vehicle was still a ways off from Larksbeck. A few of the servants waited to greet his father and Andrew Lyle, but most would be preparing dinner. Sir Edward disliked eating late.

Excitement brought a grin to Colin’s face as he went to stand next to his mother. He’d been anticipating Lyle’s visit all week. The last time he’d seen his friend, the man was being loaded into an ambulance after enemy fire had cut up Lyle’s aeroplane, the right side of his face, and his leg below the knee. The last few months of flying in the war hadn’t been the same without Lyle around, especially with Christian gone, too.

When the car stopped, their chauffeur exited and opened the door for Colin’s father. Sir Edward stepped from the vehicle, an uncharacteristic expression of cheerfulness on his face. He gave Colin’s mother a kiss on the cheek and turned to Colin.

“I found the perfect autos in London, my boy.” He squeezed Colin’s shoulder in a rare show of fatherly affection. “Wait till you see them. Once the stables are converted, we’ll have them sent up on the train.”

“Sounds splendid, Father. What do you think of Lyle?”

“Oh, pleasant fellow,” Sir Edward said with an air of dismissal. “Shame about his disfigured face and the false leg.” He walked away to speak with Martin, leaving Colin annoyed.

His mother offered him a genuine smile. “I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

Lyle climbed from the car and approached them, leaning on his cane. He had on his worn RFC uniform. The trousers hid the prosthetic that served as his left leg now. “Colin Ashby.” He extended his free hand to shake Colin’s in a firm grasp. One side of his face appeared normal and healthy, while the other drooped downward where the skin had been grafted around his right eye and cheek.

Colin hurried to swallow his guilt at having made it through the war physically unscathed. “Lyle. Good to see you again, old chap.” He shook Lyle’s hand, then turned to his mother. “Mother, this is Andrew Lyle. Lyle, this is Lady Ashby.”

“I’m honored to make your acquaintance, Lady Ashby.” Lyle made a little bow over his cane.

“The pleasure is mine,” Lady Ashby said warmly. Colin felt a measure of pride at his mother’s kindness. She never acted as anyone’s superior in status or breeding. She treated Lyle as if he were a duke. “I feel as if we know you already with how much Colin spoke of you in his letters during the war.”

“Only good, I hope?” Lyle asked.

“Yes, of course,” she said with a soft laugh. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”

A shadow passed over Lyle’s face before he answered, “I hope so.”

“Colin, I’ll let you show Andrew to his room. Once you’re both dressed for dinner, we’ll eat.”

“Dressed for dinner?” Lyle half whispered as Colin’s mother went into the house.

“Welcome to Elmthwaite,” Colin quipped. “Do you have dinner clothes?”

Lyle motioned to his jacket. “If this isn’t dinner clothes, I’m sunk. I only brought a few suits, nothing fancy.”

Colin clapped him on the back. “You can borrow some of mine during your stay.”

“It’s beautiful here.” Lyle stared in the direction of the lake. “Even more so than you described.”

Colin followed his friend’s gaze. The lake sat still, reflecting the mountains and the patches of blue sky as perfectly as a mirror. How many hours had he spent on its shores, fishing and skipping rocks with Christian? He may not have loved Elmthwaite as much as his brother, but the thought of losing it had endeared the place to him, more so than he’d once thought possible.

“How is Mae?” He shifted his stance to look at Lyle. “You could have brought her along.”

Lyle glanced from the lake to the gravel. “We are…well…” When Lyle finally lifted his head, Colin was surprised to see real anguish in his friend’s eyes. “We got a divorce, a little over two months ago. Although she’d been living with her parents for several months before that.”

Remorse for his friend, coupled with the shocking news, tethered Colin’s tongue for a moment. What could he possibly say by way of comfort? “I’m so sorry.” Colin tucked his hands into his pockets and gave a regretful shake of his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Not your fault, chap. I wasn’t ready to say anything in my last letter.” A tight smile replaced the raw emotion on Lyle’s face. “What about you, Ashby? Any pretty, single girls in this tiny village?”

Colin nearly said “one,” but thought better of it. “You can see for yourself when we go to church on Sunday.”

“You? At church?” Lyle barked out a laugh. “During the war, you wouldn’t even get near a chaplain with a ten-foot pole.”

He shrugged off the teasing. “It’s not as bad as I used to think.”

“Not bad? Who put you up to it? Your father? Your mother?”

“No.” Colin spun around. It was definitely time to end this conversation. “Would you like to see your room? We’ll need to hurry and change for dinner.”

“If not them, then…” Lyle refused to move. “It’s some dame, isn’t it?”

Grateful Lyle couldn’t see his face, Colin said evenly, “She’s a friend, Lyle. And only a friend.”

“Is she pretty?”

Colin swallowed, wishing he could deny it. “Yes.”

“Kind, intelligent, interesting?”

“Yes,” he repeated.

“Laughs at your jokes?”

The memory of the dirt fight with Nora in the garden the other week filled Colin’s mind and he nodded.

“All the things you require in a wife,” Lyle said with a note of triumph. “Believe me, I know. Christian and I heard that list of yours over and over again while we lay awake in that old château in France.”

The mention of his brother, by someone who’d also known and admired him, didn’t provoke the usual sadness. Colin was glad Lyle had come. Now if he would just leave off pestering him about Nora.

But Lyle wouldn’t let it go. He came to stand next to Colin. “Why only a friend?”

Colin studied the intricately carved wood of Elmthwaite’s front doors. “Now that I am the future baronet, my father has rewritten my list. Money and connections are at the top. And unfortunately, Miss Nora Lewis has neither.”

“I’m the one who is sorry now.” Lyle placed his free hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Marriage without enduring love from both parties makes for a mighty burden indeed.”

Colin thought of his parents. While he sensed a genuine, solid affection between them, he didn’t know if either of them had been deeply in love with the other when they married. Is that what awaited him in the future? A marriage to a wife he felt fondness for but never true adoration? The idea appalled and depressed him.

Shaking off the despair that clung to him like mist on the lake, Colin forced a laugh. “You’ve only been here less than half an hour, Lyle, and already you have me as somber as a priest. Reminds me too much of the war. Your job from now until you leave is simply to relax and enjoy your visit.”

Lyle smiled, though his gaze remained serious. “I can’t tell you how wonderful that sounds, Ashby.” Colin suspected there was more his friend wanted to say, but he couldn’t just yet. A moment later the soberness eased from his face and Lyle asked in an amused tone, “Will I have a chance to meet this
friend
of yours while I’m here?”

“As a matter of fact, you will. She’ll be at choir rehearsal tomorrow.” Colin leveled a hard glare at Lyle. “And not a word about my joining the choir. I was coerced, I assure you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lyle held up his hand in surrender. “I’m very much looking forward to meeting this Miss Lewis, though. Who knows, maybe a one-legged solicitor is more in keeping with her tastes than a future baronet.”

Colin chuckled as he knew Lyle expected him to, but his mind revolted against the idea of Nora liking his friend more than she did him. If truth be told, he didn’t fancy the idea of her liking any other man. And such a belief was liable to get him into real trouble if he wasn’t careful.

The nervous bleating of sheep filled the air behind the cottage as Nora handed off another ewe to one of the three shearers seated on wooden benches. She’d grown used to the sheep’s protests, though at first their plaintive cries had made her reluctant to wrestle them into the hands of the shearers. Once she saw the creatures were no worse for the wear afterward, even without their wooly coats, she threw herself into helping.

The occasional cheer from the gathered crowd for their favorite shearer added to the excitement pulsing through the late afternoon. The sun itself had even decided to join the festivities.

After five days of participating in the shearing at the other farms around Larksbeck, Nora felt particular pride that today, the last day of shearing, was her turn. She’d helped Bess and her daughters earlier in the week to prepare and cook enough food for the villagers who came to their farm. In turn, Bess had spent nearly all of the previous evening helping Nora ready the delicious fare now spread across the two tables Jack had set up outside.

The piles of wool—her wool—beside each shearer continued to grow larger. Jack was still in the lead as fastest shearer for the week. He lifted his head long enough to exchange a smile with her before bending to his task again. Nora wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her glove, then tussled the next ewe out of the holding pen. Thankfully she’d brought her work trousers to England.

If Livy could see her now, working as a real sheep farmer…

Nora’s thoughts returned to the letter that had arrived from her friend the day before. It was the second one she’d received since leaving Iowa. Livy had written about her daughter, Kate, and how very pregnant she felt. Her baby had likely been born by now. Had Livy given birth to another girl or a boy this time?

Nora recalled holding Kate the day after she’d been born. Any nervousness she’d felt at holding a newborn disappeared as she drank in Kate’s sweet smell and tiny features. A deep longing to be a mother herself filled her, bringing the mist of tears to her eyes, along with sadness at what might have been had Tom lived.

When would she get to see this newest addition to Livy’s young family? Probably not before the child was walking or talking. The realization brought a wave of homesickness that tightened Nora’s throat. Did life back in Iowa really have to go on without her?

Of course she was happy for Livy, very happy, especially since her friend hadn’t escaped the last few years without difficulty either. But there were times when Nora felt as if her own life, whether there or here, hadn’t followed the normal progression of everyone else’s. Her life had stopped with the death of Tom and her parents, and every day she struggled to figure out how to start it moving again.

Livy’s letter had also included the latest news of the Campbell family. All of them had enjoyed a visit from her oldest brother, Joel, his wife and son, and several of the orphan boys who lived in their home in Michigan. Nora wished she might have seen them. The last time she’d spoken with Joel had been right before he and Tom had left to fight.

It might have been awkward, though
, she reminded herself as she handed off another ewe to the shearer.

While she still considered the Campbells to be the closest thing she had to family, she would have felt out of place with all of them there together. Being in their midst, without Tom, would have likely served as another painful reminder of her loss.

Of course Livy hadn’t passed up the opportunity to ask Nora a few questions about Colin. Nora had finally mentioned him briefly in her last two letters, but her friend had perceptively latched on to the scanty references.

What is he like?
Livy had penned.
Is he really the son of a baronet?
Is he handsome?

Nora cut a glance to where Colin and his friend Andrew Lyle were watching the shearing with obvious fascination. While she longed to sort out her mixed feelings when it came to Colin by confiding them to Livy, she found the idea too uncomfortable. Livy would be the last to judge, but Nora couldn’t let go of the feeling she was betraying Tom. Especially by sharing her thoughts about another man with his sister.

“You’re doing well, Miss Lewis,” the farmer working beside her said. “We’ll be done in no time at this rate.”

A smile pulled at Nora’s mouth. Her clothes were soaked with perspiration and she smelled of sheep, but she didn’t care. This week she’d taken her rightful place alongside the other sheep farmers of Larksbeck.

“Shearers take a break,” Ebenezer Snow, the official leader of the shearing, called out. Jack and the other two shearers stood and stretched their backs.

Nora seized the opportunity to get a bite to eat. She arrived at the food tables at the same time as a towheaded boy, who grabbed one of Bess’s famous butter tarts and dashed off.

“That’s enough tarts for you, William Shaffey.” Bess shook a menacing finger at him. She was keeping the food tables well stocked. “His fourth one,” she grumbled. “Now what can I get you, Nora?”

“A tart as well, please.” She took the pastry Bess presented her and bit into the flaky, sweet goodness. “You can’t really blame him. Your butter tarts are heavenly, Bess.”

Bess shook her head at the compliment. “Go on with you, love. You just haven’t had good English cooking before.”

Nora gobbled up her pastry, then placed a hand to her middle. “I have this week. I don’t know that I’ll need to eat again until next year.” They exchanged a laugh.

“How do you like your first shearing?”

“I’ve enjoyed it very much, especially getting to know the other farmers.” Nora let her gaze wander over the other villagers, the shearers, the sheared ewes grazing in the field. “I didn’t really feel as though I belonged here until this week.”

“You belong more than you know, love.” The reply was spoken in such a low voice, Nora wasn’t completely sure she’d heard Bess right.

“Looks like Jack will win champion shearer again this year.”

Bess nodded with pride. “He’s faster than any shearer I know. ’Course he has got a bit more reason to show off today.” She gave Nora a knowing smile.