Julia Justiss - The Smuggler and the Society Bride

After a month of living burdened by the weight of scandal and disapprobation, a giddy sense of freedom made her spirits soar. Laughing, she ran in circles about the meadow, whooping with the sheer joy of being alive and startling a peregrine falcon into taking flight in a reproachful flurry of wings.

Of course, she couldn’t remain here hiding under a false name forever. But that harmless bit of subterfuge would provide a welcome respite, allowing her to move about freely while she figured out what to do next.

Even if ‘next’ was returning to Stanegate, being pressed to marry some obscure connection in the farthest hinterlands who could be induced to take a woman of large dowry and stained reputation, or living quietly on her own somewhere, forever banished from Society.

She shrugged off those dreary possibilities to be dealt with later. For now, it was enough just to anticipate the simple pleasure of a ride into town and the paying of an uncomplicated call upon the vicar.

Her buoyant sense of optimism persisted as she returned to the manor to seek out her aunt, whom she found bent over a book in her sitting room. ‘Aunt Foxe, might I borrow your mare? I’ve so enjoyed the primroses Eva Steavens gave me yesterday, I thought to go ask the vicar if I might transplant some from a patch Mrs Dawes tells me grows by St Christopher’s.’

‘Of course, my dear. The ride would do both you and Mischief good. I’m so glad to see your spirits reviving! While in the village, you should shop for some trifles and stop for a glass of Mrs Kessel’s cider. It’s not right for a lovely, lively young girl to live in a hermit’s isolation.’

Her aunt’s words made Honoria wonder again why Miss Foxe—and at an age not much older than her own—had chosen to live in just such isolation. However, the inquiry still seemed too invasive of her aunt’s privacy to pose at present.

‘“Miss Marie Foxe” need not fear visiting the village,’ she said instead. ‘Thank you for allowing me that little deception.’

Her aunt nodded. ‘Your name will still be yours, once you’ve decided how and where you wish to resume it.’

‘May I ride into village immediately?’ A sudden thought struck her and she frowned. ‘Although I suppose I shall have to wait until later. The footmen are all occupied, and Tamsyn has not yet finished her duties.’

‘Even Lady Honoria need not worry about riding unescorted here,’ her aunt said. ‘Especially not on my mare, which is everywhere recognized. I wouldn’t advise that you ride alone after dark, or even in daylight past the kiddley winks—the local beer halls—down by the harbour, where the miners congregate. ’Tis a hard life, and many seek to soften its edges with drink. Men whose wits—or morals—are dulled by spirits are unpredictable and possibly dangerous.’

‘I shall go at once, then, and take care to avoid the harbour.’

‘Could you discharge some small commissions for me? I’ve an order to deliver to the draper and several letters waiting at the post.’

‘Of course, Aunt Foxe.’

‘Enjoy your ride, then, dear. I will see you at dinner.’

Honoria set off a short time later in high good spirits. Her aunt’s equally spirited mare, once given her head, seemed as delighted as Honoria to begin with a good gallop. Urging the animal on, revelling in the sweet, sun-scented air rushing past her, Honoria savoured the simple joy of being young and outside on a glorious early summer day as if she’d never experienced it before.

Perhaps, in a way, she hadn’t. Until a month ago, a carefree canter through the countryside had been so ordinary an event she would never have thought to take note of it. How short-sighted she had been to prize it so little!

She slowed the mare to a trot along the route the carriage had followed yesterday, her anticipation heightening as she approached the village. Though she tried to tell herself she was only mildly curious about him, she found herself hoping that during her time in Sennlack, she would encounter one charming Irish free-trader.

A short time later, Honoria pulled up the mare before the vicarage. She was about to ring the bell when she spied Father Gryffd in the distance, descending the church steps.

‘Miss Foxe, how nice to see you,’ he said, walking over to meet her. ‘Won’t you step in to the vicarage and let me offer you some tea?’

‘Thank you, Father, but I have several commissions to complete for my aunt. I wished to inquire about primroses. After speaking with Mrs Dawes, I believe Eva Steavens may have found the flowers near your brook.’

The vicar nodded. ‘I seem to remember a riot of them blooming there when I walked by last week.’

‘If there are enough, would you permit me to carry some home?’

‘Of course. Help yourself to as many as you wish. I must say, I am glad you stopped by. Might I walk along with you for a bit? It so happens that I’ve been thinking about you.’

Dread twisted in her gut as the prospect of discovery flashed through her mind. ‘Of course,’ she managed through a suddenly dry throat.

He fell into step beside her. ‘I have a project in mind I’ve been thinking of implementing for some time. If you could lend a hand during your stay with Miss Foxe, I might be able to begin it.’

Relief washed through Honoria. ‘What sort of project?’

‘Since the old master retired, there’s not been a school in the village. Some of the boys attend grammar school in St Just, but there’s nothing for the girls. I’ve been wanting to establish one in which they might be taught to read and write and do simple sums. Despite what some might think, with mines and manufacturers hiring both sexes, it’s as necessary for females as it is for the boys to understand the words on an employment list or to total their wages correctly. And to read their Bible, of course, should they earn enough to purchase one.’

‘Why, Father Gryffd, I believe you are a Methodist!’

A light flush coloured the vicar’s cheeks. ‘I had the honour of hearing a disciple of Charles Wesley speak once, and was much struck by his message to do as much good to as many as one can. A directive I have tried to implement.’

‘Establishing a school for girls would do much good,’ Honoria said, immediately drawn to anything that would better the lot of females. ‘How can I help?’

‘I know you are well educated—and kind, judging by your treatment of Eva Steavens. Would you consent to helping the girls learn their letters? I’m sure they would admire you as much as Eva does and put forth their best efforts, in order to earn your approval.’

She, the bane of several governesses—to become a sort of schoolmistress? She suppressed a giggle at the thought.

Misinterpreting her silence, the vicar went on quickly, ‘You might think such a task below your station, but truly it is but a variation on the service genteel ladies have always performed in making calls upon the poor.’

Given her present circumstances, not much would be considered beneath her station, Honoria thought. ‘Indeed, I know it is not!’ she assured him, smiling at the irony of it.

At this hour, Lady Honoria Carlow, Diamond of the Ton, would usually have been yawning over her chocolate while she flipped through a stack of invitations, all begging her presence at the most select functions offered by Society. She would have dressed, and paid calls and shopped, later stopping each evening at several events where she would be trailed by a crowd of admiring gentlemen and a bevy of ladies anxious to divert a share of those gentlemen’s attentions.

If anyone had suggested that in a few short weeks she would count it a blessing to fill her idle hours assisting a bespectacled Welsh vicar to teach a passel of grubby Cornish children their letters, she would have laughed herself silly.