Second Chance at Harvest Moon

Chapter 1

Blythe Simmonds should have known better than to impart unwelcome news in a moving carriage.

Ahead, the tall, carved limestone of the minster loomed, and she resisted the urge to open the window and release the stifling air in the coupé.

The carriage halted.

“I will not stand for this!” The elder Mrs Simmonds strode into the assembly rooms.

With any luck, the woman would leave her alone for the duration of the evening.

Upon entering the ballroom, Blythe observed the long set of dancers. Fresh-faced girls wearing white simpered at their handsome partners. Oh, to be young again.

Blythe tapped her toes to the jaunty music and unfurled her fan. The heat would soon be oppressive.

Mrs Tyler approached and smiled. “I must say you look lovely this evening, Mrs Simmonds.”

“Thank you.”

“It is so nice to see you out of your widow’s weeds.”

At least someone was happy to see her out of mourning. Across the room, the Simmonds family matriarch stood in full black and glared before turning back to her circle of gossiping matrons.

“How is your son?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I suppose he will take his father’s place at the bank once he is of age.”

“That is his grandmother’s wish, yes.” Blythe was not convinced Elijah shared that dream.

Mrs Tyler wafted her fan. “What do you make of this dreadful business with France? The peace lasted barely a year. Do you believe we are in danger of invasion?”

Blythe fanned her face. The evening had only just begun, but the tedium grated. “I have little knowledge of such events.”

“I have barely been able to sleep for fear of being attacked in my bed by a despicable Frenchman.”

Dear Mrs Tyler and her melodramatics. “I suspect we will be safe in York.”

“What is to stop Napoleon from invading the Yorkshire coast?”

“Our military forces will defend us.” If she kept her response brief, perhaps Mrs Tyler would move on.

“I hope so, my dear.” The woman’s fan fluttered. “York has endured a siege before. We can do so again.” On that turnabout, Mrs Tyler abandoned her.

Blythe observed the restrained atmosphere of the assembly rooms. At least she could enjoy the harvest supper when she returned home.

Images of grazing cows, strutting hens and rolling fields formed in her mind.

At this time of year, her garden would be filled with lush vegetation.

She could gather herbs and pull carrots.

In York, all she did was look pretty, smile sweetly and listen to whatever gossip the ladies of her minuscule social circle tattled about.

It was all so dull and pointless. If she had not married Zachary, she would… well, it was perhaps better not to dwell on what could have been. She could not change her past, but she could change her future. Going home would allow her to do so. What if you are not welcome?

Oliver Drake’s approach increased her agitation. With his blond curls, bright blue eyes and chiselled jawline, the man could pass for an angel walking amongst them. His black tailcoat hugged his broad shoulders, which tapered to a narrow waist and cream silk knee-breeches.

He bowed. “Good evening, Mrs Simmonds.”

“Good evening, Mr Drake.” She curtsied.

“You look well this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you had time to consider my proposal?”

She stiffened. As Zachary’s cousin, he stood to gain the most from marrying her.

Over Mr Drake’s shoulder, the elder Mrs Simmonds’ frosty gaze fixed upon them. If the woman thought Blythe would be swayed, she could think again.

“I suspect you know I plan to return to Midthorpe tomorrow, and I shall take my children with me.”

His blond brows rose. “But you have not visited your family since you married.”

“Which means it has been more than time that I did so.” Now no one could stop her.

“I thought you did not wish to associate with your family.”

She would not reveal how much it stung to have not been told of Papa’s illness until he was out of danger. “Not at all; we have been in constant communication.”

“But they never come to see you, either.”

“They are farmers, Mr Drake.” His family’s fortune had been built selling insurance to farmers.

How detached he had become from the foundations of his business.

“Their tireless work ensured our countrymen have been able to eat during the war with France. They cannot spare the time to leave their fields simply to visit me.”

“I see.” He looked down his nose. “Are you certain you wish to remove your children from York? Mrs Simmonds will be desolate without her grandchildren.”

Desolate, indeed. The woman’s domineering behaviour knew no bounds, but Blythe refused to succumb. “I would like my children to see where I grew up, to enjoy the fresh country air and learn the value of working the land.”

“But your son will work for the bank once he comes of age.”

“If my son chooses to follow in his father’s footsteps, he will have my full support. But first, he must finish his education.” And she would not allow him to be forced into something he did not wish.

“And how long do you plan to stay in Midthorpe?”

“Elijah returns to school in a few weeks, but, as I have no doubt Mrs Simmonds has informed you, Violet and I shall remain until Michaelmas.”

A hint of pink tinged his high cheekbones, and he cleared his throat. “You will be sorely missed.”

She doubted that. No one here cared for her. She was alone and without support, and she shuddered to think what would become of her if she remained. Mr Drake would pressure her to accept his hand, and Mrs Simmonds would support his suit.

“Perhaps, once you have returned home for a while and realised the benefits of living in York, we may have our discussion then.”

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not. “Now, if you will excuse me, I require some refreshment.”