Simon

       It was an hour past noon when the short caravan of carriages and wagons traveling from the Cottrells’ party reached the lane that would eventually lead to Everett’s house. Simon signaled Everett to pull back. This smaller portion of the party was moving on to Everett’s house for a few days.

Simon turned his horse off the lane and back toward the way they’d come to allow the baggage wagons to continue, and Everett did the same, only stepping back onto the road after the last of them had passed. From this distance, Everett would be able to talk loudly enough for Simon to hear without broadcasting the conversation to swell the current stream of gossip.

       “You said you didn’t want to talk about the incident,” Everett reminded Simon.

       “Well, now I do.” But he didn’t. He didn’t know where to start. Questions swirled through his head faster than he could snatch one to consider. Instead, he blurted out, “Cora could have acknowledged what Lady Radnor saw. We were alone, embracing. It was exactly what she thought she saw.” Simon glanced at Everett to gauge his response, but Everett just nodded and looked back toward the road. “Cora could have forced a marriage, and I wouldn’t have fought it.”

This time, Everett’s gaze didn’t leave Simon though he held off giving an opinion. Simon continued, “I would have considered myself lucky. We would marry, and I would have proudly announced it to anyone who would have listened. The whole country would have seen my joy. There would have been no scandal because I wouldn’t have been trapped but rescued.” Simon’s voice softened as the last sentence trailed to an end. More to himself than to Everett, he added, “But she didn’t.”

Their horses clomped on the road, and the baggage wagons rattled ahead of them. What had he missed? He saw her longing. He felt her passion. He thought it was love. Had he been a fool over it all? They rode in silence until Simon asked, “Why didn’t she, Everett?” He wasn’t sure he wanted an answer.

He didn’t want to consider what it might be though he’d lain awake the nights since trying to answer it to himself. Maybe she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in England. Maybe she wanted to choose from many advantageous offers and not get tied to anyone yet. Maybe … she wanted her husband whole. There was a prick at his mind, but it dulled quickly. He’d never seen pity on her face when she looked at him. He had to believe better of her.

What would she have to give up to marry him? On the surface, she seemed ready to give up much—her home, her friends, her country. What more would it cost her to choose him? Did she consider that price too high? Simon admitted to himself that he knew little of Cora’s requirements for a husband. He knew there was friendship. He knew there was attraction. He decided that his next step would be to show her what it would be like to love him—what their life together might be like.

       “That’s the ticket. Thank you, Everett.”

       Everett smirked and shook his head, a quizzical arch to his brow. “Glad to have helped,” he answered.

Simon heard the unspoken question in his reply but didn’t elaborate. With new confidence and a direction, he sat taller in the saddle. Cora might have come to England with an idea of marriage, but he had a plan of his own. “Race you to the front!” Simon called to Everett and kicked his horse to a canter.

At the end of the drive was Everett’s home. It seemed to lounge against a thick edge of ancient woods, dignified, old, and welcoming. The gray stone reached three stories high in the main building, but a wing only two stories high extended to the south, and beyond that, one story looked squat at the end. It was never intended to be a grand house. The oldest part began as a modest stone home, but as the years passed, and families built on, a manor house emerged. The property was never entailed, and his father had passed it to Everett along with the accompanying income and responsibilities.

Simon had met Everett at school—two thirteen-year-old boys shuffled off before their time. Simon thought fondly of the days he’d spent in the oldest part of the home. The children’s wing was as far away from guests as possible. It was one thing for the home to look dignified and something completely different for the children to act so.

The carriages stopped on the drive along the front of the house, and the wagons of luggage trundled past to the rear entrance. A line of footmen stood at the ready to assist the visitors to alight. Simon took his time dismounting his horse and giving the groom directions for its care, all the while watching in his side vision, gauging when to approach, so he could lead Cora out. The moment he saw her, he stepped in front of the ready footman and extended his hand.

Cora’s expression brightened, and a giggle revealed her surprise. Her hand in his felt as right as she had felt in his arms. His fingers tightened momentarily. She could imagine that he did so to secure her step down, but it was an instinctive response of his own.

It seemed now that he’d decided to woo her, his heart would take advantage of any touch.

With her feet on solid ground, Simon transferred her hand to his other, which safely tucked it in his elbow. And he could have—maybe even should have—extended his arm away from his body, but he didn’t, preferring her hand to brush against his coat as they walked.

Simon leaned closer and said, “Welcome to Elder Weald, Everett’s home.”

Cora’s gaze scanned the property as they walked toward the house, her steps slowing the closer they drew. Before mounting the stairs, she smiled up at Simon. He could have sworn his heart flipped over. When he realized she’d caught him staring at her for moments too long, he cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like some time to rest after the journey here?”

She stopped just inside the entry hall, her eyes following the staircases that arose on either side connecting to the mezzanine level and more stairs rising to the third floor. “It’s been barely over an hour’s time. No, I don’t want to rest. Let’s explore.” She released his arm as they entered through the massive wooden door, and he immediately missed the connection.

“Let’s,” he replied and retrieved her hand, tucking it again in his elbow. He considered what might interest Cora most and began leading her across the home to the back lawns. Once outside, he added, “The stables, first?” Her eyes twinkled in the morning light as she gave a quick nod, so he turned them away from the kitchen gardens and toward the large stables behind the children’s wing.

“I like it here.”

Simon looked toward her. “Is it much like your home?”

“Yes, but nothing like it, too. This home is much larger than mine, but I’d say the quarters for our horses could have rivaled these.” She pointed toward the stables. “The paddock and barn were just behind my bedroom. I used to sneak out to pet the horses when I was younger and to ride them when I was older.”

Simon noticed a wistful sound to her voice and a gleam in her eye that looked like unshed tears. He realized because both her mother and father had passed on, Cora probably came to England because she didn’t have that home to live in anymore—such was the way with inheritance. A strong urge to protect her, to care for her, to make a home with her overwhelmed him.

She was in the situation that his sisters could find themselves in should he die before securing their futures. Perhaps Cora had the advantage there, being an heiress. She could still afford to make some choices for herself.

“Should you come up missing in the middle of the night, I’ll look for you here first.”

A tenuous smile tipped her lips upward. “It seems a little harder to sneak around these stables with so many hands employed in the care of the horses and carriages. I’ll first have to make friends with them.”

“You rode your horses at night?”

Cora opened her mouth, then snapped it shut.

He waited for a moment.

Then she said, “We had an arena. There was no danger to either of us on a bright night.”

They wandered the stables, commenting on the horses they passed in the stalls. “This beautiful horse is mine.” The horse poked his nose above the gate and nudged Simon’s shoulder. “This is Hrimfaxi.”

Cora nodded and said, “Frost Mane.” Simon looked at Cora with surprise, but she continued, “He pulled the night across the sky. My father had an interest in that kind of thing.”

When they reached the other end, they exited toward the carriage house. “May I take you for a ride tomorrow morning if I can secure a vehicle from Everett?”

“I’d like that, but even more, I’d love you to teach me to drive.”

“My pleasure.” He stopped walking, and Cora turned toward him. “In the morning?” he questioned, remembering that she said she took exercise early each day. He was still selfish enough to hope for as much time as possible with her.

Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Before breakfast,” Cora answered. “I’m sure whatever dangers lurk in these woods will not need my attention tomorrow.”

Simon was pleased that he ranked above her exercise now.

Very early the next morning, a small gig waited in the drive with a groom standing ahead of the single horse harnessed to the buggy. Along with Everett, Simon had inspected the conveyances carefully the night before, choosing the right vehicle.

This one was light enough to be pulled by one horse, and with only two wheels it was easy to maneuver, making it easier to learn to drive. It was in excellent condition, and perhaps the most important factor was the diminutive seat. The two of them would barely fit if they sat very, very closely. It was perfect. He found great excitement in the prospect of sitting beside her.

The sun had risen within the last hour, and fog sat heavily along the river that snaked through the meadow in front of the house. Simon extended his arm and escorted Cora down the steps at the front walkway.

“Well, there’s hardly room for my dress let alone the two of us,” Cora quipped.

Simon worried he had assumed too much and feared he had offended her.

“I guess you’ll have to squeeze in closely,” she said and winked at him.

With relief, he helped her into the gig, pushed her dress in, and then hopped up beside her. As predicted, their legs ran alongside each other’s when they were seated. Although Cora adjusted the cape she wore, she didn’t pull away from Simon’s touch.

“I’m so excited to learn this. I woke up several times last night thinking about it.” Cora pushed as much of her dress as she could behind her feet and under the seat, drew the riding apron into place, and sat with the same posture she had when she rode a horse.

“The first thing is to put your right foot on the footrest at the bottom of the dash instead of flat on the floorboard.”

“To keep from being pitched forward, right?” Cora made the adjustment, and then looked toward Simon for the next instruction. Her full gaze smiled up at him, taking his breath away.

He dropped his eyes to see her boot peeking out from beneath her skirts. “Exactly.” Again he wished he had already earned her love, and they were going out for a romantic drive—a very short drive and a stop in the woods near the ruins for a private moment.

Simon held the leather ribbons in one hand and cupped his left hand around the backside of hers, forming them into the shape needed to hold the reins, threading the leather ribbons through her fingers, securing them in her palm. Of course, he could have demonstrated the hold with the end of the reins in his own hand while she followed his example farther up, but where was the pleasure in that? He was definitely enjoying the contact even though both of them wore gloves.

Reluctant to release her hand, he began a bit of instruction. “Fingers aren’t strong enough to hold back a horse if there are problems, so hold the ribbons tightly against your palm.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

Cora leaned toward him, the bill of her bonnet grazing the top of his head and speaking low enough but close to his right ear so the groom could not overhear her. “I think I’m going to like this lesson. You have my complete attention, sir.”

Was she flirting with him? He thought she might be. Her blue eyes were bright with delight. She knew she had captured his attention, too. When Simon took a breath, hoping to clear his mind, he noticed the slightest pleasant smell—sweet, like cake. He wanted to lean closer to Cora to make sure, but realized his face wore a daffy smile and cleared his throat, leaning away instead.

“This hand will hold the whip, like so.” He placed the handle across her right hand. “Then these fingers are available to hold the tail of the reins beneath your left hand. With a turn of your hand, one side or the other will tighten, signaling the horse to turn.” He pushed her hand toward the horse to loosen the reins, then demonstrated how to turn her hand. “The trick is to ask with your hand and command with your voice.”

“Shall we go?” she asked.

“When you’re ready,” he replied. She nodded, and the groom at the horse’s head stepped away. “Just say, ‘Walk on.’”

Cora repeated the command, and the horse began to pull.

The lane to Everett’s house was long and straight once they rode past where it wound this way and that around the gardens. There were no canals on either side, so if the horse left the trail momentarily, it might get bumpy but not dangerous. Simon noted how relaxed and comfortable Cora seemed as the driver. She sat straight and left some ease in the reins. Her hand gently, discreetly tipped the reins to confirm the horse’s desire to walk down the road. She was gentle with a horse’s mouth.

Nearing the end of the lane, Cora asked, “Right or left?”

He pointed to his left. “This way, between two grassy hills, is a rather lovely pond with a bridge going right through the middle, and that way,” he said, pointing across Cora, “are some mysterious, and some say magical, ruins.”

“The pond today, but I’ll hold you to exploring the ruins another time.”

Simon entertained the daydream he’d had earlier of holding her behind the ruins’ crumbling rock—of her cheek pressed to his chest, her arms around his neck, and stolen kisses.

As they reached the crossroads, Cora looked up and down the road before she turned her shoulders and rolled her hand slightly, sending the horse to the left.

Soon after they topped the hill, Simon saw a farm wagon barreling down the other side of the road toward them. The horse appeared to be out of control by the look of the man desperately pulling at the reins. The wagon pitched from side to side as the horse ran, dust flying up when the wheels veered into the less-packed dirt along the roadside. Simon could see the bed of the wagon tip while the driver, his feet high and spread wide on the dashboard, fought to stay aboard. The horse listed to the side at an unusual angle. Part of the harness must have broken.

The man failed to stop the horse before it could enter the bridge straddling the lake, and in the next wild lurch, the front wheel left the bridge, pulling the wagon and horse after it into the water.

Simon reached to take the reins but he heard Cora yell, “Heya!” and saw her flick the ribbons against the horse’s hindquarters. The animal bolted from a trot to a canter, covering the distance to the accident in seconds. When she reined him back at the lake’s edge, Simon jumped to the ground before their carriage was fully stopped, kicked off his boots, and waded into the water, stripping his coat and vest as he went.

Where was the driver? Simon couldn’t see the man. The horse thrashed, desperately intent on swimming though it was tethered still to the wagon, churning the water into frothy waves and obscuring Simon’s search. He swam around the panicked beast and dove under the water, staying clear of the flailing hooves. Nothing. Again and again. Nothing.

Moments passed. He couldn’t tell how long it had been, but he knew time was running out. If the man hadn’t died in the accident, he would drown. Simon gasped a huge breath and dove. If he couldn’t save the man, he would stay until he pulled him from the depths and returned him to his family. His muscles burned as he continued his hunt, weighted down by his soaked clothes.

Suddenly, the water calmed as the horse swam toward the shore. This time when Simon dove, he saw the driver and reached for him, but couldn’t pull him away from the wreck. Simon surfaced, gulping air and quickly kicking under the water again. He positioned himself at the man’s back, wrapping his arms around the man’s chest, and braced his feet on the side of the wagon. Finally thrusting his legs out, he wrenched the driver away.

When he reached the surface, Simon towed him toward the shore. There was no movement in his arm as Simon swam. It had taken too long. The man was dead. He wondered how he would shelter Cora from the situation, but as he began pulling the body along the muddy bottom, he saw Cora, her hair wet and the skirt torn from her dress and tossed aside. She stood next to the wagon’s horse, their own gig’s reins wrapped around its neck, fooling it into thinking it was haltered.

Simon stood and wrapped his arms under the shoulders of the driver and pulled him closer to their own carriage before laying him on the ground. As he wrestled with what to say to Cora, she ran to the man and stripped away his shirt. She placed her cheek at his mouth and then on his now-bare chest.

“Help me,” she demanded.

Simon didn’t know what help they could now offer the man. His chest didn’t rise with breathing, and the pallor of his lips and skin spoke of death. Simon realized he was a young man from the thin, fuzzy whiskers on his cheeks, dead long before his time. It would be a blow to his family. How could he shelter Cora from realizing the man was dead? He didn’t think she was the fainting type, but what about hysterics? Was she the type to wail?

Before he knelt beside her, Cora had bent to the man’s face, pinched his nose, and kissed his lips several times. It worried him that it was the hysterics.

“Take over when I tell you.” She pointed at the man’s head. The command in her voice was apparent, but he didn’t know what to do. Maybe the stress had been too much for her, causing an irrational state.

A light rain began to fall, but Cora didn’t seem to notice. “Breathe for him.” Her voice was strong. She had moved to the man’s chest and leaned—no, pressed—against it repeatedly. “Do it now. Share your air with him.”

Simon leaned over the man as he had seen her do and exhaled into the dead man. The man’s chest rose with the breaths as Cora leaned back on her heels and watched.

“Stop for a moment.” She began vigorously pushing the man’s chest again. Wisps of her hair had long ago escaped their bun as she worked. “Your turn. Breathe.”

They continued back and forth, stopping occasionally for Cora to check for breath. Then they started again. Simon wondered when she would accept the man’s death and cease the ritual. Could she? Was there truly something imbalanced with her in this situation?

She leaned back after another set of compressions and motioned for Simon to take his turn. Before Simon could comply, the dead man spewed vomit, and Cora rolled him to his side.

“Yes! He might make it.” Cora pressed a wad of her underskirt into his mouth and ran it across his tongue, then rolled him again to his back and listened at the man’s mouth. “He’s breathing. Let’s get him to a doctor.”

Simon realized the young man must be alive. His chest moved on its own, but Simon knelt rooted to the spot, awestruck by the possibility.

“What happened?” Simon gazed at Cora. “What did you do?”

Cora didn’t answer but strode to the wagon and threaded one of the reins of their horse through what was left of the other horse’s bridle She called over her shoulder to Simon. “Pick him up.” She was quickly at his side. “Where’s a doctor?” Cora grabbed one arm as Simon took the other, the man upright between them.

“I don’t know, but Everett’s staff will begin nursing care until we find one.” They struggled to pull the man up into Simon’s lap before Cora took the reins and turned back the way they came. “Cora, how did you know. . . I don’t even know what that was.”

Cora’s eyes were fixed straight ahead, but Simon recognized that she was thinking. Finally, she answered. “It’s rescue breathing. Sometimes it can save someone’s life.” And as if considering whether or not to say more, she paused, and then added, “I teach children whose health is very fragile, so one of the requirements is that I learn to do breathing for them if there is ever an emergency. I’ve never had to do that until today.”

“I’ve never even heard of that.”

Emotions swelled in Simon’s chest for this woman who would think more of a horse’s safety than she did her own. One who cared for the dying without fear, fainting, or the hint of a swoon. And one who showed great intelligence, strength, and calm in a crisis. Cora Rey was a remarkable woman.

“It seems nothing short of a miracle,” he said.

He saw her bite the corner of her bottom lip. “I’d rather not make a big deal out of it.”  Though not a question, it sounded like one, the way she said it. “I feel comfortable saying that he went into the lake, and we pulled him out.” He thought he saw fear in her eyes, pleading with him. “We can talk about what happened later. Please don’t tell anyone.”

Simon nodded but internally questioned the request. They rode in silence to Everett’s home.

A whirl of activity ensued when they reached the estate, and a groom was sent to fetch the doctor. While the servants were busy with the young man, Simon assisted Cora from the gig. She had adjusted the ripped skirt of her dress to be held up by the riding apron and concealed that beneath her cloak. Her arms crisscrossed her stomach, and one could easily think she was having an attack of nerves instead of holding her clothing together.

As they entered the house, May approached with a worried look for Cora, no doubt because of her disheveled appearance and being soaking wet, and a scowl to reprimand Simon for mistreating Cora so.

“Will you help Cora to her room?” Simon said before May asked a question.

Cora added, “Yes, please.” Then she whispered something to her friend.

May placed her arm around Cora’s waist, and the women began to climb together.

How would Cora explain the ruined dress? She probably wouldn’t have to. May was the kind of friend who would help her dispose of the evidence with no one the wiser. The women made slow, measured steps. Only at the top of the stairs did Cora turn around. He saw some sadness to the look in her eyes.

His every nerve and muscle surged with energy. He wanted to charge up the stairs and take her in his arms. He could hold her until the hurt went away. He knew Cora had done the right thing, a heroic thing, yet she seemed pensive. Surely she didn’t regret saving that young man’s life. Maybe she felt the weight of the man’s survival. For a long moment, they gazed at each other. His heart pressed for him to love her, to claim her, to protect her. She smiled at him without the usual sparkle of her real smile, then disappeared down the hall to her room.