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Chapter 6
Making Amends
Laurence shook his head as he stepped out his door and onto his land, hoping that it would make him feel better as it almost always did. The land was in fine form this afternoon, with a flotilla of butterflies parading through the wildflowers that grew along the western wall of the barn. But the much-sought feeling of relief did not arrive.
As was his wont, then, Laurence decided to seek his comfort elsewhere—specifically, from the mouths of trusted friends.
“That Miss Ramsbury is an odd sort, Penelope,” he said, rubbing his chin in bewilderment. “Even for a high-society type of girl, she is awfully cold.”
As usual, his friends had little to say except for a handful of quacks and nips at Laurence’s heels. He reached down and petted the ducks’ heads fondly, ignoring Clio’s usual good-natured attempt to bite his fingers, then scattered an extra handful of corn for them to enjoy.
“I’m not sure why I’m so surprised,” Laurence murmured to himself. “City people are like that, I know, and if half of what Mary-Anne says on the subject is true, those high-class women are some of the most stuffy and particular people you could ever find.”
This pronouncement was met with another bout of furious quacking. Laurence frowned, imagining what his friends might have to say on hearing him carry on like this. He was under no illusion that his animal friends were speaking to him in any meaningful way. Still, he found it cleared his mind to talk through problems and invent what his animals might give as reasonable replies based on their personalities.
“I just can’t imagine what goes through that woman’s head,” he muttered, walking over to the horse pens. “Here we were having what I thought was a lovely conversation, and then she goes all…fearful. Frozen, even. Doesn’t seem right, does it, Victoria?” he asked the chestnut brown mare.
Laurence considered the strange horse a moment longer as it chewed a mouthful of hay thoughtfully, then nodded and turned to walk away.
“I suppose you’re right,” Laurence said with a sad slump of his shoulders. “Here I was going on and on about the land and Devil-knows-what. The poor woman’s just had a terrible fright, and then I go nattering on about myself. Small wonder she looked so distracted while I was talking—she’s likely still terrified from the accident and farther from home and safety than she’s ever been. I know I wouldn’t be the most generous listener under conditions like that, either.”
Noticing the water trough for the cows was nearly empty, Laurence absently fetched another bucketful and dumped it in. He may as well have been walking through a dream, though, so consumed was he by these thoughts of his strange, beautiful houseguest.
“No, Bernadette, I don’t know why I care,” he explained in response to a curious moo from one of his cows. “She’s just staying for a day or so, and then she’ll be off and I won’t be seeing her ever again. She can believe what she likes for all it matters to me.”
The cow gave him a long, slow blink of her dark eyes. Laurence scowled, remembering the last time he had worked through one of his problems with the cows.
“No, I don’t want to hear it again, Bernadette,” snapped Laurence. “We’ve been down this road, and I most certainly don’t need to be spending my time and energy on finding myself a wife. Even if I did, it wouldn’t be right to make advances on a woman I’ve pledged to shelter and keep safe here under my roof.”
Gorgeous though she may be,he thought, afraid to give voice to this sentiment even to his animal companions.
Laurence sighed deeply and scratched Bernadette along her broad nose. “Why couldn’t it have been a withered crone who crashed on the road right outside my farm? That certainly would have been much simpler.”
“Sorry, Mister Gillingham, what did you say?” came a creaky old voice from out the open barn door. Laurence winced, realizing he had been overheard.
“Nothing, Dennis, thank you!” Laurence quickly glanced at each of his animal’s supplies of feed and water once more, then made his way out of the barn, closing the door behind him.
Time to put this behind me, he thought, returning to the fields in hopes of finding any other chores that might occupy his mind for the rest of the day.Miss Ramsbury can be just as cold as she likes. She’ll get no argument from me, and that’s that.
* * *
That, unfortunately, stubbornly refused to be that. Even as he was hard at work with his hands in the fields, Laurence was repeatedly stopped in his tracks by thoughts of Miss Ramsbury. As he mended the fences around the pasture, he nearly dropped his hatchet in surprise, thinking he saw Miss Ramsbury running toward him from the house. As he was seeing to the watering of the summer wheat he stopped in the middle of shouting direction to Dennis, as he could have sworn he heard her voice carrying to him on the wind.
When twilight came he thought he would stay out a bit longer to avoid having to continue his fruitless conversation with Alicia. But he found he was so distracted while cutting grass that he nearly took off a finger with his scythe, and it became clear there was no rescuing the day. With another heavy sigh, Laurence trudged back to the house, now cloaked in the velvety blue-orange of dusk as candles sprang up in the windows.
What on earth is the matter with me?Laurence thought with a frown as he scrubbed himself clean in the bathtub. Whether at work in the fields or enjoying the pleasures of the natural world, Laurence had always prided himself on his ability to leave his cares behind, absorbing himself fully in whatever occupied his time. Now it was as though he had a manacle clamped to his ankle, and extending from it a chain connecting him to…something.
Am I allowing myself to be weighed down by Miss Ramsbury, somehow?he wondered, concerned.I cannot fathom why I should feel shackled to a woman I barely know. Or is this about more than just one unpleasant conversation? Perhaps there is something greater bothering me, something shaken out in our chat in the library…
By the time Margaret’s deep voice rang through the house announcing that supper was ready, Laurence was clean but still thoroughly confused, and beginning to worry about his own wellbeing. This unpleasant state led to him emitting a most uncharacteristic yelp when he nearly walked right into Alicia at the bottom of the stairs.
“Ex-excuse me, Alic-Miss Ramsbury,” Laurence stammered, taking a hurried few steps back and nearly colliding with a grandfather clock. He was even more robbed of his usual composure as he was stricken by how appealing she looked dressed in a lilac-coloured gown he had not seen before. His bewilderment was made even more severe when it became clear that she had freshly been crying.
“No, it’s…” Alicia said, clutching her hands together tightly and looking at the floor. She took a deep breath, then looked him in the eye. “It’s for me to apologize, Mister Gillingham.”
“It is?” he asked, one arm awkwardly propped against the tall grandfather clock.
“I fear I behaved most rudely before, in the library. Running off as I did…that was terribly discourteous of me, and I wish I had not done that.”
