Chapter Two
On Wednesdays, the village near Chadwick Hall held its market day.
With nothing much to do on the estate to rival the entertainments that London usually offered, Juliana had begged her mother to allow them to ride to the village and see what could be found to occupy their time.
Needless to say, Mr. Prescott had been assigned their protector, though a less likely candidate for the role, Cassie could not imagine.
Fortunately, his presence was soon forgotten amidst the many sights, sounds, and, indeed, smells of the market activities.
It was clear from the moment they’d entered the village square that there were pigs and chickens present.
The ladies lifted their handkerchiefs to their noses, drifting automatically to the farther side of the square that they might be spared the worst of the offensive odors.
The crowd morphed in clumps that withdrew and reshaped around new vendor displays, constant chatter and haggling filling the dusty air.
Mr. Prescott paid a few coins to leave their mounts with willing stableboys before joining the ladies as they browsed the wide range of wares dotted throughout the market.
Cassandra was delighted to discover a stall that sold secondhand apparel. “I’ve been wanting a new bonnet,” she said, admiring the millinery on display.
“This is not a suitable source from which to obtain such items.” Mr. Prescott sniffed. “Who knows upon what sort of head these hats have been previously perched?”
“Oh, I don’t mind that,” Cassie reassured him. “Whoever they are, they have looked after their belongings very well. What more do I need to know?”
Juliana promptly lifted a hat to admire it and show her solidarity with Cassie. “This one only needs a fresh ribbon, and it will be perfect for church. What do you think?”
Cassie nodded, their private circle closed against further discourteous comments from Mr. Prescott. He expressed his disdain by stepping over to the next stall, where a breeder was selling hunting dogs.
In a distant corner, a storyteller had drawn the attention of eager children whose parents were only too grateful to have them occupied while the adults got their weekly shopping done.
With new-old hat in hand, Cassie strolled, arm interlinked with Juliana’s, toward the narrator, leaving Mr. Prescott behind to analyze the merits of the hunting breeds for purchase.
“Miss Richards?”
The voice was oddly familiar and yet it brought no name to Cassie’s recollection. She tilted her head this way and that to find the speaker.
Behind a large trestle table laden with carrots, turnips, eggs, butter, and some sort of fruit preserves stood Mr. Reid.
A very different Mr. Reid. One whose shirt and jacket and tweed cap were bone dry.
One whose ready smile lit up a pleasant face not furrowed with concern as it had been at their first meeting.
A very pleasant face, now that Cassandra had a good look at it.
He was, unsurprisingly for a man who worked the land, well-muscled, his face tanned from a life lived out of doors. Although his thick brows shaded his eyes, Cassie remembered them to be green, for they had looked upon her with such care that she had noticed every detail about them.
“Juliana,” Cassie said, delighted to introduce them in the absence of Mr. Prescott, “this is my rescuer, Mr. Martin Reid. Mr. Reid, this is Miss Juliana Webb. I have the happy privilege of serving as her companion.”
Mr. Reid slipped his cap from his head, running his fingers through his brass-colored hair to tidy it before nodding and smiling. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Webb.”
“And I yours,” replied Juliana. “We are most grateful for the way you rushed to our Cassie’s assistance.”
“It was a very small thing.” Mr. Reid’s eyes lowered modestly.
Cassandra was about to protest that it was no small thing for her when a warm, velvety presence pressed into her hand.
*
Duke had not been mistaken. It was the same woman.
With the same tantalizing scent of Willow upon her skin and clothes.
His man had only tied him loosely to the wagon, a small mound of hay at his feet to chew on, so Duke had been able to wander closer and confirm what the morning air had suggested.
He had taken several deep breaths. Then, when he was as sure as he could be, he had clopped his heavy hooves around the edge of the table and pushed his nose into Willow-Scent-Woman’s hand.
“Oh!” She laughed in surprise. “Your horse is very friendly. He must smell Willow on me.”
But Duke had no interest in her opinion of him.
Where was Willow? He lifted his head, sniffing the multitude of scents that drifted in layers upon the currents of air.
If she was close by, he should be able to locate her, but the market carried a plethora of strong smells that overrode Willow’s. He called for her. And again.
Then came the answering call.
Duke’s ears flicked back and forth. She was close!
“Willow?” asked Master Reid. “Is that your horse’s name?
No wonder Duke is so restless! The two of them grew up together.
He has always been very fond of her. However, shortly after I purchased Duke, Willow was sold to the posting inn.
I assume Mr. Prescott must have acquired her from them recently as a carriage horse.
Chadwick Hall has stood empty for so many years—most of my life, actually.
But with the family in residence now, they would have need of a carriage again. ”
“Poor thing,” said Willow-Scent-Woman’s friend, who stroked Duke’s flank. “You miss her, don’t you?”
Duke’s skin rippled at the stranger’s touch.
“I would offer to take him to her,” said Willow-Scent-Woman, “but he is a lot of horse. I might not be able to steer him if he has other plans. Would you walk him over, Mr. Reid?”
Master Reid shook his head. “I can’t leave my table at the moment. Perhaps, when you head home, you could stop by and let the horses get reacquainted.”
Willow-Scent-Woman’s eyes shone. “That’s a splendid idea!”
Master Reid grew thoughtful. Duke, who knew him well, could tell from the manner in which he narrowed his eyes that something puzzled him. “You know, Miss Richards, there is something very familiar about you. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”
Willow-Scent-Woman laughed. “Perhaps if I poured water all over myself and limped a little, it would jog your memory.”
Master’s Reid’s face reddened, a trait among humans that Duke had never fully understood. Sometimes it meant anger, or drunkenness, or exertion. But this pinker version usually meant embarrassment, though why his man should feel awkward quite escaped Duke’s understanding.
“No,” answered Master Reid. “This memory is older, fainter.” He continued to stare in a way that even Duke knew would make a woman uncomfortable. And the longer his man gazed upon Willow-Scent-Woman, the stronger his heartbeat grew.
She had awoken something in Master Reid. Duke recognized it. It was the same sort of anxious happiness Duke felt when he was near Willow but could not be with her. His man liked this woman. He liked her very much.
“What’s this, then?” asked a voice that made Duke forget about heartbeats and longings. It was a sound every prey animal knew. A predator was approaching.
*
Cassandra instinctively pressed more tightly against Juliana’s side.
Mr. Prescott sauntered closer. “Doesn’t the housekeeper see to the stores?” His eyes fell upon the bonnet in Cassie’s hand and his expression darkened. “What will Aunt Augusta say when she knows where you bought that?”
“Why does she need to know?” countered his cousin. “Are you determined to make trouble for Cassandra? That’s not very chivalrous, Wesley.”
“She wouldn’t be in any trouble if she had listened to me in the first place,” he said tightly. “Miss Richards is given ample funds to secure an acceptable wardrobe. Why should she skimp by purchasing used items?”
Juliana wrapped Cassie’s arm within her own. “I think it speaks well of her that she does not like to waste these funds you speak of.”
Mr. Prescott snorted. “What’s next? Buying her own vegetables to take pity on the household budget?” His upper lip curled contemptuously at the goods on display.
“You are such a prig, Wesley.” Juliana huffed.
“Cassie merely stopped to greet the good gentleman who helped her when she took that fall. You might remember she mentioned Mr. Martin Reid?” She indicated to the man behind the table.
“Mr. Reid, my apologies, but I am obliged to introduce my cousin, Mr. Wesley Prescott.”
Cassie knew Mr. Prescott was intensely unlikeable. But she had not expected such an adverse reaction from the agreeable Mr. Reid.
The corners of Mr. Reid’s amicable mouth fell sharply.
“You’re Thibault Prescott’s son,” he said, the simple words a denouncement.
“You look just like him.” And then, as if the penny had dropped, he looked at Cassandra once more, his mouth opening slightly, his eyes filling with what Cassie could only describe as horror.
She did not know what he had suddenly seen in her, but a similar unease spread within her chest.
Mr. Prescott tapped his riding whip against his boot.
“And you’re the farmer who brought Miss Richards home in the storm.
For that reason alone, I shall overlook your indiscretion.
But I expect you to limit your fraternizing to your own sort in future.
These ladies are no friends of yours. Nor will they ever be. I hope you understand me.”
“I’m sorry,” replied Mr. Reid, “but what, exactly, is my sort? Just so I may be clear with whom I might pass the time of day.”
“Don’t be obtuse, Reid. I should not have to explain that even a lady’s companion is far superior to a mere laborer.”