Chapter 5
Blythe’s stomach grumbled at the yeasty scent of freshly baked bread.
Inhaling deeper, she snuggled into her pillow before her eyes shot open.
Bright light haloed the curtains in her childhood room.
Why had no one woken her? She had planned to be up with the dawn, as she used to.
Everyone would already be out in the fields, yet she languished in bed.
She threw back the curtains. Only a few hens pecked at the dry earth in the yard.
Where were the children?
At the washstand, she poured water from the cream ceramic jug into a bowl before splashing it over her face.
From the chest of drawers, she pulled out an old shift and short stays she could tie in the front.
She opened a trunk and inspected the folded day dresses.
The layers of blue, pink, peach and yellow silk were all unsuitable.
She pulled out the plainest muslin gown she owned, but it was still too fancy for farmwork. Perhaps she should purchase more robust materials to make some day dresses that she could work in. But that would mean…
“Do not be a coward, Blythe,” she murmured. Avoiding Midthorpe would be impossible.
She threw on the gown but could not reach all the buttons. Perhaps Mrs Lowe could help.
Almost bouncing down the stairs, only her footfalls echoed off the panelled walls until she approached the kitchen, and Mama’s voice rang out. “Make sure there’s plenty of cider on the cart. Oh, is that the time? We need to get these elevenses out to the fields.”
Mama spotted her. “Why are you out of bed and why did you not send for a maid?”
Three maids bustled around the kitchen, packing crusty rolls and rounds of cheese into baskets. Mrs Lowe removed more bread from the oven.
“They have enough to do without attending to me. Why did you not wake me earlier?”
“You’re a lady now. I won’t have you up at the crack of dawn like the rest of us.” Mama frowned. “What if you have visitors? You can’t be seen in that! Put on one of your silk frocks.”
“Why would anyone visit me? I told you, I am here to help. I cannot milk the cows, tend the garden, feed the hens or take care of Papa while wearing silk and taffeta.”
“I didn’t insist you marry well only to have you return and work your fingers to the bone like me. Ladies do not work.”
“I am not a lady.”
Mama braced her hands on her hips. “I’m still unhappy that you disobeyed me.”
Do not be deterred. “You should have told me Papa was unwell. Jane needs to rest, and you cannot do everything yourself.”
“Your father will be back to full health in no time. Jane’s a sturdy lass, and she’s already gone to the fields.”
“You cannot send her out on the cart in her condition!” She would have words with Jane about succumbing to Mama’s demands.
“I worked until I had to push you and John out. It will do her no good to be idle.” Mama paused with a crusty roll in mid-air. “I hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
Blythe placed a wheel of cheese into a basket. “Did Elijah go out with John?”
“Yes, and don’t change the subject.”
“What about Violet?”
“She’s having lessons with her governess like a proper young lady should.”
“I planned to show her how to feed the chickens and milk the cows, like I did when I was her age. While French and art are admirable, it will do her good to learn practical skills.”
Mama narrowed her gaze. “What are you planning, Blythe?”
Stand firm. “You know I was unhappy in York. I am a farmer’s daughter. I would have been a healer and a midwife. I was raised to be useful, not a decorative ornament.”
“You’re far too beautiful to waste your life digging a garden and making medicines.”
“It is what I have always wanted. I have no interest in gossiping with other rich men’s wives.”
“Do you know how many girls would love to change positions with you, to have such beauty they could catch any man and raise themselves up in the world?”
“Plenty, I am sure. But it is not what I want.”
Mama shook her head. “I don’t understand you. Have you not met anyone else who takes your fancy? Now you’re out of mourning, you could marry again.”
Blythe stiffened.
Mama never missed a thing. “You have, haven’t you!”
Blythe sighed. “Mr Drake has proposed. But only so he can gain my shares in the bank and control the children’s shares.”
“And have you accepted?” Mama’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“So, you have come home to make him wait a little.” Mama nodded. “Nothing keeps a man on his toes like uncertainty regarding a woman.”
“I do not plan to marry him.”
“You will. A few weeks here will change your mind.” Mama slapped her palms together.
“Well, if you want to work, then I’m more than happy to let you.
” She raised a finger. “But I don’t have time to supervise you.
Can you remember what needs doing? There’s no room for mistakes, my girl, especially at harvest time. ”
“I am sure I will manage.”
Mama shook her head. “That frock will be ruined by the end of the day.”
“It is the plainest I have until I can make something more serviceable.”
“Borrow something of Jane’s. You’re of a similar size.” Mama’s lips pursed. “I’ll order some fabric.”
“I will pay, Mama.”
“Of course you will. Just stay away from Midthorpe. I don’t want you tangled up in any nonsense again.”
Mrs Lowe cleared her throat, and Blythe pursed her lips while Mama continued, “I know you, girl. You were always too quick to let your heart rule your head. Thank goodness I stepped in and saved you from this life of drudgery.”
“It is not a life of drudgery. It has purpose.”
Mama narrowed her eyes before she said to the cook, “Finish packing the bread for the elevenses, and I’ll be back in a tick.”
“You, come with me.” Mama tugged her back up the stairs to Jane’s bedchamber and rifled around in several drawers before pulling out a brown frock and a drab petticoat. She held them out in front of her. “This will have to do for now.”
Without asking, Mama removed Blythe’s gown and petticoat. She fingered the fabric and hummed with pleasure. “What a shame it would have been to ruin such fine muslin. This will feel a little rough against your delicate skin.”
“I will endure it.”
Mama threw the dress over her head with vigorous haste. Why did she wish Blythe to be a lady of leisure when she had raised her with a high regard for hard work?
Before Mama could button up the drop-fronted gown, Blythe brushed her hands away. “I can dress myself.”
“Well, I thought you might be out of practice, having a lady’s maid an’ all.”
She had left the maid in York because the woman was in Mrs Simmonds’ pocket. “That does not mean I have forgotten how to do such things myself, or milk the cows, or churn the butter, or make bread.”
“We’ll see if you feel the same once you’ve had to do those tasks every day while you’re here.” Mama hummed. “You looked so fine when you arrived in your silk and feather bonnet.”
“They are just clothes. They do not guarantee happiness.”
“Forgive me for making sure my daughter could enjoy the finer things in life.”
“I do not require the finer things in life.”
Mama shook her head.
“Is your life so dreadful? You and Papa have worked hard, but look what you have achieved. Papa now owns the farm, the first in generations who have worked this land. You have a lovely home, servants, and plenty of fine clothes and bonnets.”
“When do I get to wear them but to church?” Mama’s hands went to her hips again. “I toil all day, every day, but I can’t enjoy the fruits of my labour.”
“Perhaps you can retire soon.”
“Ha! Your father will work those fields until he turns up his toes.” Mama clasped Blythe’s elbows. “Will you consider the offer from Mr Drake? Do not waste this chance at a life where you don’t have to dig your own potatoes.”
Blythe said, “I will consider it while I am here. But let me be clear: I am not averse to digging potatoes.”
“I know, dear, and that’s what worries me.” Mama sighed. “Now, take some tea up to your father, then make yourself useful.”
After checking on Papa, Blythe slipped into a pair of sturdy wooden clogs and wiggled her toes. The familiar weight, after fifteen years of silk slippers and soft leather half-boots, provided comfort. She grabbed an apron from the peg on the wall and headed into the garden.
The sun’s rays warmed her raised face while she wandered down the gravel path, trailing her fingers through the purple lavender blossoms and the needle-like rosemary leaves. Comfort washed over her when the floral scents tickled her nostrils.
A horse neighed in the stable, and a maid hung linen shirts on the washing line. Hens meandered around the dusty yard.
Several dandelions poked between the lush green carrot tops, so she pulled them, shaking the soil from the long, pale roots. The leaves would make an excellent syrup to ease Papa’s cough.
The rooster strutted with his chest puffed out. His bright red comb and wattle wobbled while he surveyed his territory.
“Do you mind crowing a little louder tomorrow to prevent me lingering in bed?” she asked her beady-eyed companion.
The jingle of a harness drew her attention. Her breath caught in her throat when the black-clad, but familiar figure of Gabriel Sharpe dismounted.
Alongside Samson, Gabriel blinked.
Indeed, Blythe Dixon stood in her garden at Silverdale. Her golden curls gleamed like a halo. Despite her dull brown gown and lumps of soil splattered along the hem of her apron, his chest ached. Why could she not have developed warts?
The rooster fluttered its wings, breaking his dumbstruck awe.
“Gabriel,” she said with little more than a breathless whisper.
He swallowed against his parched throat. “Blythe.”
“What are you doing here?”
The brim of his hat stuck to his sweaty brow. The late morning sunshine must be addling his thought processes. It had nothing to do with the woman before him, the woman who still haunted his dreams—and now his waking moments.
She frowned. Dear God, had he been staring in silence again? Do not let her distract you! He cleared his throat. “I came to see your father.” Why else would he be here? Why indeed?
“Oh.” She brushed at her gown and the stained apron. Her gaze wandered over him from head to toe. “You look well. Being a physician clearly suits you.”
“I find my black attire a little vexing at this time of year.” His insides squirmed. Why did he allow this woman to confound him so?
She nodded.
He fiddled with Samson’s reins. Say something! “We thought you would have visited sooner.” It was a mean blow, but he could not help himself.
“Yes, well…” Her cheeks pinkened. “I brought my children to see their grandparents and learn a little about my life when I was a girl.”
Would her tale include how she had treated him?
He snorted. No one would want their children to know they had behaved in such a way.
Instead, he said, “The fresh air will do them good, but surely you will not wish to remain here longer than necessary, and your father should be fully recovered within a few weeks.”
Her face crumpled, and her fingers played with the edge of her apron.
You are better than this! Damnation! He should be above such a vindictive response, but his scarred heart demanded retribution.
Another awkward silence passed before she said, “And your family, I trust they are well.”
“They are in excellent health.”
“Does your mother still practice?”
“Yes, and she has a new apprentice.”
Blythe’s chin dropped to her chest.
His wriggling insides would never settle at this rate, but why should he hide the truth from her? Gabriel glanced at the maid peeking over her shoulder. The girl’s head shot back around before pegging a shirt on the line.
As though sensing their discomfort, Samson nudged Gabriel’s shoulder. Come now, you are an educated man. Indeed, he should rise above this belittling urge to lash out at her. “How goes the harvest?” he spluttered.
“John says the spring barley has done very well and will bring in a good crop this year.” She re-arranged the dandelions in her hand.
“We will need it to feed the nation since war has resumed.”
“Many are concerned that we may be invaded by the French.”
“The swelling ranks of the militia will stand up to any forces sent by Napoleon.”
“I hope so.”
He shuffled his feet on the dry, packed earth. This had been a mistake. He should not have come. You still have no sense when it comes to her. He must do better.
The farmhouse door opened, and out rushed Mrs Dixon, who shot a nervous glance between him and Blythe. “Doctor Sharpe,” the woman wiped her hands on her apron. “We were not expecting you today.”
“I thought I would pay an early visit to see how your husband fares.” And you could not resist the urge to see her daughter. He must do better.
“How kind.” Mrs Dixon’s frosty tone belied her statement. “Blythe, take the doctor’s horse to the stable, then you can finish your work.” The woman shot a pointed glare at her daughter.
“Of course.” A brittle smile spread across Blythe’s face.
A pang of pity struck, but such feelings were unwarranted.
He handed over Samson’s reins, and their fingers brushed. Even through the leather of his riding gloves, a jolt of awareness ran up his arm.
Her wide-eyed gaze shot to his. Had she felt it too?
Mrs Dixon cleared her throat.
Heat climbed up his neck. Lord, he was a fool. “Good day, Mrs Simmonds.” He nodded before he followed Mrs Dixon into the farmhouse.