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

smiles and sighs.”
    She gave him a pithy account of her encounter with Garth Corston.
    “After he has blackened my reputation, Sir Edwin will be done with me,” she concluded miserably. “And once I’ve lost his esteem, I’ll never be able to recover it.”
    Breaking off a thoughtful silence, the squire said, “If this young villain is intent on making trouble, you’d better take refuge with that cousin of mine in Totnes. Now hear me out, Annis, before you refuse. Besides getting you out of Corston’s way, a visit to Myra will do you a world of good. She knows everything about choosing servants, entertaining guests, mixing with the gentry—skills you need when you’re the mistress of a great house.”
    “If I run away I can’t defend myself against Mr. Corston’s falsehoods.”
    “Never fear, I’ll make sure Sir Edwin knows where you’ve gone—and why. Harbourne Court is nearer Totnes than Orchard Place. I don’t doubt he’ll be calling upon you there.”
    Upon consideration, she found no reason to oppose his suggestion. “I will go.”
    “By the time you see your baronet again, he’ll know his friend’s untrustworthiness—I’ll make sure of it.”
    “Oh, I do wish he had come instead of Mr. Corston! You’ve raised my hopes so high—and in a way, that scoundrel did as well. But Sir Edwin hasn’t offered for me.”
    “Not yet,” his said sympathetically. “I predict that within a very short time your future will be settled to your satisfaction. I’m off to explain to your mother that you’ll be off to Totnes by evening. I’m off to the cellar for a cask of my apple brandy to send.”
    After he left her Annis remembered the pail of milk she’d abandoned outside the dairy. When she went back to fetch it, she discovered that the kitchen cats had tipped it over onto its side and were lapping up the last drops of milk, most of which had seeped into the earth. That robin, she thought glumly, had definitely been a harbinger of ill-fortune.
     
     
    Late in the day, as thick, dark clouds obscured the lowering sun, Annis departed for Totnes. The box-like trunk containing her finest garments was strapped to the pony’s back, along with a small round keg, Squire Dundridge’s gift to his cousin. Pippin’s pace was typically slow, and Annis doubted she’d reach the town before the rain began to fall.
    Passing Sir Edwin’s gates, she looked toward the distant manor house, just visible through a screen of trees. Should she stop—did she dare?
    It was an opportunity, she decided, to refute Garth Corston’s vicious lies before they took root. Guiding Pippin between the ivy-hung pedestals marking the entrance, she swatted his rump with her willow switch, wishing he’d lift his heavy feet more quickly.
    The stable boy Bart took charge of the pony. He bobbed his curly head in affirmation when she asked if his master was at home. “Aye, and proper busy he is.”
    Annis reconsidered her plan—but when Sir Edwin heard she’d stopped there, he would wonder why she went away without seeing him.
    She crossed the lawn, dotted with gay yellow celandines and white ox-eye daisies. The front door flew open at her approach, startling her.
    The man she loved beyond reason invited her to enter his house.
    “I saw you from the parlor window,” he said, stepping aside to permit her entrance. “This is an unexpected and most welcome surprise.”
    “I’m on my way to Totnes,” she blurted.
    He led her into the parlor, in a pitiable state of disarray. She had interrupted his dinner—atop a gate-leg table was an array of serving dishes and cutlery.
    “Pray excuse the untidiness. The business of imposing order can be a messy one, I’ve discovered. So many objects, and many of them unnecessary. There is, however, one thing the place sorely lacks. A mistress.” Reaching for her hand, he drew her to the window. Pointing at a stand of flowering trees, their branches whipped by the wind, he asked, “What do you