The Apple Blossom Bower (Historical Romance Novella) by Margaret Evans Porter

of linen wrapped around his head. This was his first day out of bed, and he stated forthrightly that he meant to make the most of it.
    “You said we could ride to Dartmoor,” he reminded Edwin.
    “I know, but I can’t go there today. I’ve so much to accomplish in too short a time—that is, I’ve given the servants several things to do and I feel I ought to be here to supervise. What’s your opinion of this?” Edwin picked up a bust of a laurel-wreathed gentleman who was missing most of his nose.
    “Isn’t he someone famous? Caesar, or some other blasted Roman? There was a chap just like him in the pater’s study. He fetched quite a good price at the sale.”
    “What sale?”
    Garth chewed his lower lip, his face unnaturally flushed. “Before we left the London house, my parents sold off a few articles they didn’t’ wish to move. Pictures, furniture, that sort of thing.”
    “I should do the same,” Edwin commented dryly. “Not that I think anyone would buy a moth-eaten pheasant behind glass. Or a threadbare rug,” he added, frowning down at the one beneath his boots.
    “Oh, you’d be surprised,” said his friend airily. “But why d’you want to be rid of them?”
    “The house wants refurbishing,” was the extent of Edwin’s explanation.
    Garth narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “It ain’t on my account you’re banishing the pheasant. I’ll be bound this has something to do with a female.”
    Finding himself backed into a corner, Edwin did not quite deny the truth of it. “Nothing’s certain—I’ve not yet informed the lady of my intentions.”
    “You’re taking a wife?”
    “If Miss Kelland will have me.”
    “That wench who came here t’other day, the smuggler’s daughter?” Garth was patently horrified. “Good God, man, where are your wits? You act as though you’re the one who took a blow to the head!”
    “Shouldn’t a betrothal announcement prompt hearty felicitations?” Edwin struggled to keep his temper in check.
    His visitor strode about the room, jaw tightly clenched. “Lizzie will be most distressed—my parents, too,” Garth muttered. “To make a fool of yourself over a girl like that…incomprehensible! Bed her if you must—I’d do the same—but don’t ruin your life by marrying the slut.”
    Edwin’s hand curled itself into a fist. “I’ll not listen to such slander, Garth. Apologize—now.”
    “For what? I called her what she is, it’s been clear enough to me since that night at the inn. I saw how she looked at you, eyes all soft and her lashes fluttering.”
    “I’m still awaiting your apology.”
    “Oh, I’m sorry, never doubt it. Sorry that you’re so numb-brained you’ve been taken in by a schemer like that one. Why, I’ll wager she’s lain with half the lads in this part of the shire.”
    “That’s quite enough,” Edwin barked. “I don’t care to come to blows with a guest in my house, but if you don’t guard your tongue...” He left his threat hanging ominously between them.
    “I seem to have worn out my welcome at Harbourne Court. I suppose I could go.”
    Edwin wasted no time in seizing upon this half-hearted suggestion. “Yes, that would probably be for the best,” he said sternly.
    “But—” Garth stared back at him in dismay, but evidently he understood that there was nothing more to be said and stalked out of the room.
     
     
    This midday sun cast its warming rays across the barton at Orchard Place. Annis, crossing the farmyard with a pail of milk, paused to lift her face to the sky, careless of any damage to her complexion. From the bird’s nest tucked into a corner of an outbuilding she heard the cries of hatchlings. Bees darted from flower-laden trees to the row of skeps behind the apple house. The orchard was in full bloom, and a sight to behold, for each tree was surrounded by a nimbus of palest pink. She hoped Edwin would come today, that he might see the glorious vista of blossoms.
    Hearing hoofbeats and wheels