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

in the yard, she peeked hopefully around the corner of the building where the apple carts were emptied at harvest time. Sir Edwin’s leggy gray horse was pulling a gig—Mr. Corston held the reins, a white bandage visible beneath his cocked hat.
    “Miss Kelland,” he greeted her, climbing down from the vehicle. “The very person I’m seeking.”
    Mistrusting his broad smile, Annis squared her shoulders. “You are not welcome here.”
    “Even though I come from Harbourne Court, bringing fresh news of its master?”
    Unwilling to be observed in his company, she reluctantly led him to the rear of the cider house.
    “I’m here on an errand of mercy,” he began. “Despite his prior courtship of my sister, Eddie cannot be dissuaded from his infatuation with you. If you cherish dreams of becoming Lady Page, I can bring it about.” Moving closer, he added, “But for my efforts I require a reward.”
    “Even if I had anything to give you, Mr. Corston, I wouldn’t.”
    His low chuckle was far from pleasant. “What a little liar you are, Annis Kelland. You might as well tell me where you keep your gold. Better still, show me. I need money. We both know his fortune far exceeds whatever paltry sum your father left you. Stop being such a stubborn little fool, denying what I know to be fact.”
    “You are the foolish one,” Annis retorted, her eyes glistening with anger. “What you suggest is as despicable as it is impossible. Be gone, sir—I’ve no time to waste upon you.”
    His hand shot out and gripped her arm. “Not so fast. You think you can win Sir Edwin Page without my help, do you? If I told him I’d had you first—you know what I mean—I can spoil your feeble chance of marriage. He’ll believe me over any protests of yours.”
    She twisted about, desperate to break free of his cruel grasp. “Release me, else I’ll scream!”
    “And when your parents come rushing to save you, I’ll tell them about the many times we’ve lain together. Once at the inn in Dartmouth, and also the day you visited Harbourne Court. And again just now, in the shade of the apple trees.”
    Her breath came in short, erratic bursts. “You wouldn’t dare! My stepfather will throttle you!”
    Pulling her closer, he contradicted her by saying, “At worst he’d demand that I marry you, and I’d have to flee the shire. But not before spreading the sordid tale of our liaison.”
    Feeling his hot breath on her cheek, Annis wrenched away. Fortunately a weapon was a hand, the long wooden pole leaning against the wall of the cider house. It could be useful for more than knocking ripe apples out of the trees.
    Seizing it, she pointed it at him. “Keep your distance.”
    Apparently unconcerned, he lunged at her.
    Annis swung the makeshift weapon, first delivering a hard blow to his upper arm, then employing it as a prod. She drove him around the side of the building and into the stable yard, ceasing her attack after he backed into a mounting block and lost his footing.
    “Arrogant bitch,” he grunted, scrambling toward the gig. “You’ll pay for this. I’ll make sure Eddie marries Lizzie after all.”
    Hastily he gathered up the reins and hastened to escape from Orchard Place.
    Shocked and shaken by her own violent actions, Annis dropped the pole.
    Instinctively seeking a familiar refuge, she picked up her skirts and ran through the orchard, weaving between the blossoming trees. No chance of solitude for mediation—her stepfather stood at the base of her special tree, glaring up at a flame-breasted robin perched on a branch.
    “This cheeky fellow seems to think he owns our Dundridge’s Glory,” the squire greeted her.
    “Chase him away,” Annis begged. “They’re such unlucky birds.”
    “Come now, you’re too sharp to believe your mother’s superstitions,” he chided.
    Summoning a hollow laugh, she acknowledged that her luck couldn’t possibly get any worse.
    “Now that’s a puzzler. At breakfast you were all