Page 4 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

“That may be true, but as a physician, I must ensure the privacy of my patients.”

“You and your superior physician’s ways. You may have a medical degree, but don’t forget, I’ve got years of surgeon’s experience on you.”

“You paid for my medical degree so I could become a physician.”

Father grinned. “Aye, and I’m fair proud to say you’re a thinking man rather than an old sawbones like me.”

Gabriel mopped up the last of the broth with the bread crust.

Father said, “I wonder why Bl⁠—”

“William Sharpe!” Mother pointed the large wooden spoon at her husband. “You know better than to mention that flighty girl in my presence.”

The broth and bread curdled in his stomach.

“Forgive me, my love.” Father held up his hands and shot Gabriel a sheepish glance.

He had no desire to hear that name either, and thankfully, Mother changed the subject. “Has Baron Lipton settled his bill?”

Now it was his turn to direct a sheepish glance at Father.

“Gabriel!” Mother sighed. “The man owes almost ten guineas.”

“He has requested more time to pay because he is short of blunt.”

Mother snorted. “Not so short that he has curtailed his gambling habits. According to Mrs Briggs⁠—”

“I am not interested in the tittle-tattle of the local gossips, and how many times must I ask you not to allow them to gather in the shop?”

As though he had not spoken, Mother continued to stir the pot. “If you’re not careful, you’ll end up without two pennies to rub together. You take the word of the likes of Baron Lipton, yet you refuse to trust⁠—”

Gabriel pushed back his chair. “My bed beckons.” He had had enough lectures for one evening.

Mother set aside her spoon and cupped his jaw. “I’m sorry. I worry about you, my boy, that’s all.” Her thumb brushed his stubbled cheek. “Love requires a leap of faith, and you don’t know if it’ll be worth the risk until you jump.”

He slid his arms into the sleeves of his coat before kissing his mother on the cheek. “Thank you for feeding me. I shall see you tomorrow.”

CHAPTER 3

Stooks of barley dotted the flat fields, waiting to be gathered.

Blythe could not stop the rhythmic tap of her heels. She was home. But would she be welcome after all she had done?

Elijah peered out of the carriage window. “Is all this land part of Grandpapa’s farm?”

“Yes.”

“Is Grandpapa rich?” Violet asked.

“He makes a good living as a farmer. Some years are more difficult than others depending on the weather, and a poor harvest affects more than the farmer.”

“Why have we not visited before?” Violet fidgeted next to her governess, who appeared mesmerised by the passing fields and hedgerows.

“Because farmers are busy all day, every day. There is a lot more to do than just tend the fields.” It was a partial truth. The children did not need to know the promise she had made to their father. “Your grandparents will be delighted to meet you.” Well, she hoped they would be. Mama had encouraged her to stay away. But regaining control of her life included standing up to her mother.

“What if they dislike me?”

“No one likes you.”