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Wynne’s belief was proven moments later by the rather hawkish stare of Harrold, the Baker’s son, as he wandered past, and walked straight into Mr Tempton’s low stone wall.
“Shouldn’t we go and rescue him?” Estelle asked once Harrold had disappeared over said wall, his feet being the last thing she saw.
Wynne huffed and shook her head, clearly unimpressed. “Stupid boy. He got himself over there, he can get himself out.”
Sure enough, they watched Harrold pop up seconds later, his cheeks florid and his hair ruffled. Without a word, he coughed, straightened his jacket, vaulted back over the wall, and hurried off down the road without a backward look.
“What’s wrong with him?” Estelle was amazed he hadn’t done himself a mischief.
“Doesn’t think with his brain,” Wynne replied knowingly.
Estelle frowned at that. She would have followed her grandma, who began to make her way back toward the house, but was compelled to take one last look at the rapidly retreating back of the local gentry rather than the baker’s boy. To her surprise, she was more disappointed than she expected to be to find the path empty. Slowly, and thoughtfully, she turned around and followed her grandma home.
“Are all the men in this village strange, or is it just me being new to the area not understanding country folk?” she mused aloud.
Wynne wisely kept her mouth shut.
CHAPTER ONE
Myles drained the dregs of his ale and slapped his tankard onto the table with a grin. The world was an increasingly merry place, aided by the heady volume of ale he had steadily consumed throughout the evening, and the good company he sat with.
“Thank God that’s over,” he mumbled around an earthy belch, confident that his derision was matched by his friends’ own aversion to matrimony.
“It’s worse than a burial,” Elijah grumbled.
Rufus tried to place his elbows on the table as he leaned forward but misjudged the distance and fell to one side. Heaving himself upright he peered suspiciously at everyone.
“If anybody tries to make me do it; as my friends I give you full permission to slap me senseless until I am no longer attractive. Saving that, shoot me,” he announced solemnly. He eyed the buxom barmaid who dared to venture close enough to replace their jug with another full quota of ale but backed away warily.
“After the trauma of today I am going to avoid women for the time being,” Robard declared with a theatrical shudder.
Sam shook his head as he watched the sashaying backside of the barmaid disappear behind the bar. “I wouldn’t refuse,” he sighed. “Just don’t expect me to make an honest woman out of any of them when it is over.”
“You are a real charmer, aren’t you?” Robard teased. “Lift your skirts but don’t ask for more.”
Sam shrugged but didn’t deny it. He couldn’t. It was the truth.
“Well, I am not going to get shackled. I would rather marry the bloody vicar than hand my carcass over to any shrieking harridan. Why would I want to spend my days looking after a female? She has parents, doesn’t she? That’s what they are there for.” He snorted. “They can bloody well keep them,” he muttered.
Myles peered at his childhood friend across the table. His sluggish mind struggled to comprehend his friend’s sentiments. When he thought he had the gist of it, he nodded emphatically. His groan was loud when his brain protested. He held it still when he was certain his head was going to fall off and waited until the sensation passed before he tried to talk again.
“I feel sorry for the poor fellow,” he muttered. He scowled as he remembered the ceremony they had all endured that day. His good friend, Hugo, had looked so solemn one might have been led to believe he was being led to the gallows. His put upon demeanour hadn’t improved throughout the wake – celebrations – that had followed. In fact, Hugo had been led off to, wherever, after a suitable period of celebration, as quietly as a lamb being led to slaughter. It had been all Myles and his friends could do to watch the carriage trundle off, taking their friend and his new bride off to begin their life of matrimony together.
“He is beyond help now,” Robard sighed despondently. “Poor fellow.”
“You want to get married, you know you do,” Myles retorted. He knew that of all of his friends, Robard was most probably the only one who would actually consider finding a wife.
Robard didn’t deign to answer him. Instead, he shook his head and took a long sip of his ale.
“I think Sam is going to be hitched first,” Elijah laughed. “He was the only one in the church who didn’t squirm like a five-year-old on Sunday.”
“Go to Hell,” Sam muttered. “Myles will be the first to fall. He is the most handsome of all of us. All it is going to take is for him to be in his cups somewhere and some calculating female is going to corner him. He will be doomed. Doomed, I tell you.”
“Hah! Not while I have breath in my body,” Myles huffed, but without heat. He took another sip of his ale while in the back of his mind he firmly pushed aside the lingering memory of the woman on the clifftop.
Estelle.
She had haunted his dreams every night since he had left her with her grandma in the village three days ago. For some reason he couldn’t understand the memory of her left him with an edgy, restless feeling that made him feeling vaguely discontent with his lot in life, as though there should be something more but he wasn’t sure what. He had money; a wonderful, if a little rundown estate, a healthy
