Chapter 22

 

“Wherein Kit makes a discovery.”

Charity sat on the wall and watched the horizon. Autumn was in the air; she could smell it. It was faint yet, but the air was cooler, crisper, though the sun still warmed her back. The scent of September drifted across the moors, something ripe and fecund as the earth gave the last of her bounty before the winter left her barren once more.

She’d spent the morning picking blackberries with John and Jane, trying to allow their cheerful chattering to gladden her heart, just as their constant demands to know when they’d see David again tore it into smaller pieces. Charity sighed and rubbed her sore hands on her dress. Her fingers were stained red and stung where the prickles had stabbed her. Scratches covered her arms and she’d torn her dress on a particularly vicious thorn, another job for her to do this evening. Why was it that the sweetest, most tempting fruits were always just out of reach? She always had to get her hands on them, some stubborn sense of determination refusing to be thwarted no matter how the thorns dug into her flesh.

She sighed, wishing the tear in her heart could be mended as easily as the one in her gown. Except that it was more shattered than torn.

There had been no letter. No emotional visit begging her to change her mind.

Nothing.

Days had turned to weeks and had forced Charity to accept that either her actions had hurt Luke so deeply he couldn’t forgive her, or that she’d been wrong about him.

She wasn’t wrong about him. The truth of his feelings, the knowledge he loved her—or had loved her—was something she would not allow herself to doubt, which meant that he was too angry and too hurt to forgive her. The thought made her shrivel inside. It made her want to curl up into a little ball and hide away, wallowing in her misery. Wallowing was not in her nature. There were animals to feed, the garden to see to, John needed new shoes… she would have to go into Tillforth at the weekend, and little Jane was growing like a weed too. So, there was no time for wallowing, or for regrets and doubts and what might have beens.

Yet when she lay in bed at night and the world was dark and quiet, she remembered what it had been to lie in his arms, what it had felt like to be loved by him… and her soul wept for everything she’d given up.

At least Kit would be back today. His last letter had been full of his triumph and excitement and she longed to see him. At least she could share in his wonderful news and hope that his good humour would rub off on her and force her from the gloom that enveloped her, sapping her energy.

A figure appeared on the horizon and Charity jumped off the wall, getting to her feet and waving. The figure waved back, and she grinned, running along the path to meet her brother.

“Where have you been?” she called as he got close enough to hear her. “I expected you hours ago. Batty will scold you.”

“Nothing new there,” he said, grinning at her and getting down from his horse to give her a hug.

“Let me look at you.” Charity held him by the arms and looked him over. “You look well,” she said, her tone cautious as he laughed at her.

“I am!” he said, rolling his eyes at her. “Fit as a flea, so stop clucking about me.”

She smiled, relieved as she let him go.

“I have news,” he said, his eyes bright with it as Charity laughed at him.

“Well I know that,” she said, linking her arm through his as they walked the path back to the farm. “That’s why we’re so impatient to see you. There’s roast pork for dinner and Batty’s made a summer pudding for you. See how the prodigal is greeted on his return,” she teased.

Kit stopped, turning to her. “I don’t mean that,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean, news you are not aware of.” There was something in his expression, he was bursting to tell her something, but was unsure of how she would take it. He looked anxious.

“Oh?” Charity stilled. There was a strange, prickling sensation running down her spine that she could not account for.

“I stopped in Tillforth for a bite to eat at The Nag’s Head,” he said, his tone nonchalant.

Charity snorted, relieved it was just local gossip after all. “A pint, or two or three, and an earful of chatter with your friends, you mean,” she said, tutting at him and pretending to be cross.

“Well, of course,” he said, waving that away as being obvious. “But the village is alive with talk.”

“Oh, do get on and tell me, Kit,” she said, laughing at him now. “I can’t stand the suspense!”

“He’s here.” Kit stared at her, watching for her reaction.

Charity stiffened, knowing instantly who he was. She stared out at the moors for a moment, telling her heart to stop being so foolish and settle down.

“Well, what of it?” she said, turning away from him and shrugging in as casual a manner as she could manage. “It’s a free country. He was born here, after all.”

“You’re here, Charity,” Kit said, his expression impatient now. “And I don’t think for one minute he’s forgotten about you, or that he’s angry, or he’s given up. Well,” he added, his tone thoughtful. “He might be angry. I know I damned well would be if my beloved had pulled such a trick with me,” he added with asperity.

Charity shot him an impatient glare, sorry now that she’d confided her fears in her letters to him. Except there was no one else to talk to. She’d refused to discuss it with Mrs Baxter, simply saying she had thanked Lord Devlin and they’d parted as friends. Batty had given her a look that said she didn’t believe a word but had at least held her tongue.

“Just because he’s back here… it means nothing, Kit.” She shook her head, able to think of many reasons he might have returned, none of which had anything to do with her, though her heart was hammering in her chest all the same. “If he’s here for me, why not come and see me? Why not get in touch?”

Kit snorted and threw up his hands. “Because you won’t listen to him,” he said, frustrated. “You’re a pig-headed, stubborn, wilful—”

“Yes, thank you, Kit,” she retorted, the words tart as she pursed her lips at him. “Any one of those insults could perfectly describe you and you know it.”

“Of course,” he said, shrugging, before turning and winking at her. “You’re my twin.”

He reached over and tugged her hair and she couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Seriously, Kit. Please, don’t make anything of it,” she said, her voice low now, a pleading note to the words she hoped he would heed. “I’m sure it’s nothing to do with me. That part of my life is over.” She smoothed a hand over her flat stomach. Her courses had begun again, much to her relief. Why that relief had made her weep as though her heart was breaking all over again she couldn’t say. “I must get on with things here, now we know we are staying. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty to keep me busy, is it? I was thinking about the roof of the smaller barn,” she said, determined to move the conversation to safer ground. “It’s about time—”

“He’s building a house.”

Charity stopped in her tracks, staring at her brother.

“Oh.” She breathed. None of her affair. It was none of her affair. “Well, good for him.”

“It’s between here and Plymouth.”

Suddenly her heart was beating in her throat.

“What?” she demanded, her voice at once squeaky and alarmed.

Kit nodded, his eyes gleaming. “Less than an hour’s ride from here, I reckon. Good farming land he’s bought, by all accounts. I heard he had his surveyor working all hours. He instructed the man to find good farmland and a suitable site for a grand house, but it had to be within an hour’s ride of a certain spot.”

She couldn’t breathe. Her chest had pulled tight and the knack of her lungs expanding as she inhaled seemed to have escaped her.

“Want to know what spot?” Kit demanded, waggling his eyebrows at her.

Charity shook her head. No. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do this. She couldn’t see him every day, couldn’t face him every single day and keep saying no to him. Damn the man. He knew she was in love with him, why did he have to go and make such a grand gesture. He’d come to hate her for it when she’d never asked it of him. She knew he would.

“We’ll have to sell the farm,” she said, panic surging through her blood, as she gasped for air.

“What?” Kit said, his eyebrows hitting his hairline. “Don’t be ridiculous! You love it here, your heart and soul is here, same as mine is. Where would we go? Besides, it’s ridiculous, Charity. You fought to be here, and now, he’s fighting for you.”

Charity paused, shaking her head. She was trembling, and she didn’t know why. Was this trembling anger at him turning her life upside down again fear because she believed he was angry and punishing her, or excitement and hope because… because he wasn’t giving up?

He wouldn’t give up on her.

She took a deep breath and then hitched up her skirts. “Help me up, Kit,” she said, lifting her foot to the stirrup.

“What?” he said, his eyes widening as he realised her intention. “No! Lord, Charity. I’ll take you over there tomorrow, first thing.”

“No.” Charity replied, shaking her head, dizzy with anticipation. “I’ll go mad if have to wait that long. I must see him. Now. I need to know what he’s doing, what his plans are. I… I have to.”

“But it’s a man’s saddle. You’ll have to ride astride,” Kit said, scandalised despite often declaring himself the most open minded of men.

“So be it.” Charity glared at him. “Help me up, damn it.”

Kit did, knowing all too well that Charity in this mood could not be reasoned with.

“But you don’t even know if he’s there. The place will be alive with workmen. It’s no place for a lady, Charity.”

“I’m not a lady, Kit,” Charity shot back at him, shaking her head. “That’s the whole point.”

“Damn it, Charity, I’m going to the farm and getting Goliath and then I’m following you, hear me?”

“If you must,” she said, gathering the reins. “Now, where will I find this building site?”

“You know the old shepherd’s hut where we used to picnic as children?”

Charity nodded, remembering the spot well.

“About three miles after that, as if you were heading towards Plymouth. Stick to the track and if you get lost go back to the hut, I’ll find you.”

She didn’t wait to hear any further instructions, her heart and her emotions too jittery to stand still another moment. Kit’s horse seemed to pick up on her urgency and allowed her to ride hard. At least Kit hadn’t come far today, and the horse was fresh and eager to stretch its legs.

The shepherd’s hut came into sight about forty minutes later and Charity paused to get her bearings. What was she doing? If he was here for her, why hadn’t he come to her? Why hadn’t he said anything?

Because you’re pig-headed and stubborn and wilful.

She gave a little laugh, hearing the truth in Kit’s words and torn between terror and hope. Yet she didn’t know what she would say to him, or what she was hoping for when she knew there was no hope but see him she must. She couldn’t bear another day of not knowing. So, gathering her courage, she urged the horse on.