Nicola Cornick - An Unlikely Suitor

Lavender’s pace slowed. The truth was that the thought left her with a hollow feeling somewhere inside her. She had every intention of being a devoted aunt to Lewis and Caroline’s children, but what if she wished for a family of her own? She was unhappily aware that at three and twenty she was well past marriageable age and that she had never met a man who made her pulse race. Well, if she were honest, she had met one, and that was the root of the whole trouble…

She reached the orchard and stopped for a moment whilst the wind snatched the fallen leaves from the path and whirled them around her. The sky was a clear, dark blue and it promised to be a chilly night. It was September, one of Lavender’s favourite months, but already she could feel the year turning, echoing her own feeling of passing time.

On impulse she let herself out through the door in the wall and found herself in the cobbled street that led from the Manor down to the Steep River, past the Guarding Academy. She had not intended to walk far, but now that darkness was falling a sudden inclination took her down to the water, along the Abbey wall and to the edge of the woods. In the daylight Lavender wandered far and wide with no concerns for distance or safety but it was not so sensible to do so at night. She had heard that there were poachers in the woods, and whilst she thought they would not hurt her, it was best not to be seen. Lavender shivered a little in the sharp breeze. She had seen and heard plenty of odd things in the time that she had lived in Steep Abbot, but she never told a soul…

She passed the Guarding Academy and smiled a little as she heard the faint sound of singing on the air. Tonight must be choir practice. The music followed her down to the river, where it was lost amongst the noise of the tumbling water. The moon was a silver disc on the rippling surface and the wind hummed in the trees.

There was a short cut along the edge of the woods back to the Manor gardens, a little path that was bordered on one side by a stone wall and had the whispering trees on the other. It was only a step back to the Hewly estate, but for some reason Lavender felt unexpectedly nervous. Telling herself that it was hunger and not fear that rumbled in her stomach, she stepped out boldly.

She had gone only four paces when she almost stumbled over a large sack that was lying at the side of the path. She looked around hastily, but there was no one in sight. The shadows were thick beneath the trees and the leaves rustled. She could still hear the sound of the river running, for it was only a few yards behind her.

Gooseflesh crept along Lavender’s skin. She could not decide what to do. She could retrace her steps and go home the way she had come, or she could pass by, pretending that she had noticed nothing. That was surely better than opening the sack and discovering some choice piece of game that a poacher was about to reclaim. Then she thought she heard a sound from inside the bag and in spite of her better judgement, she bent down. She had just stretched her hand towards it, when the whole sack shifted of its own accord, as though possessed. Lavender let out an involuntary scream.

Immediately there was a step behind her on the path and before she could even stand up, someone grabbed her arm and spun her round.

Lavender found herself in the rough embrace of someone who clearly wished to prevent her from screaming again. One of his arms was tight about her waist and the coarse material of his coat scored her cheek. He was very tall. And broad. Her hands were pressed against his chest and she was conscious of the hard muscle beneath her fingers and the steady beat of his heart.

Curiously this discovery led Lavender to become acutely aware of the information her senses were providing. She could hear the rustle of the trees mingled with her assailant’s breathing, feel the cold touch of the breeze and the warmth of his skin as he bent his head and his cheek brushed her hair. And he smelled wonderful, a mixture of cold air and the faint tang of citrus. It was this last impression that somehow weakened her and she felt her legs tremble and his arm tighten about her in response.

‘Mr Hammond!’

Lavender could not have said how she knew his identity but she had no doubts at all, and the words were out before she even had time to think. She pushed a little shakily against the man’s chest and he let go of her at once, stepping back so that he was facing her, a few steps away.

‘Miss Brabant!’ Barnabas Hammond’s voice was as slow and thoughtful as she remembered, but warmed now by an amusement that Lavender felt was surely out of place. She had always liked the way that Barney spoke, with perfect courtesy but no hint of deference. His father was always obsequious towards his upper-class clients in the draper’s shop, and Lavender found this grated on her, particularly when she had seen his dismissive scorn towards the poorer customers. She had observed that Barney always treated everybody in exactly the same way and had liked him for it.

Now, however, she felt oddly at a loss, as though the clear definition of their relationship had somehow been blurred. He was a shopkeeper’s son and she was an admiral’s daughter, and with the shop counter between them she had allowed herself to dream a little. He might always speak to everyone in the same manner, but there was a decided hint of warmth when he addressed her, an admiration in his eyes that had made her heart beat a little faster. Then he had been so kind to her when her father had died. He scarcely knew her and yet his words of comfort had been so perceptive.

Caroline was right—she had been calling in at the draper’s shop more often of late, contriving an order of ribbons here, a pair of gloves there. She blushed to think of it now. She had thought…But here her thoughts became at the best confused. Was she a snob, aware of her status and the relative inferiority of his, or was she above such things, scornful of those whose lives were ruled by rank and privilege? Whatever the case, she had never met Barnabas Hammond in a situation such as this and it made her feel strangely vulnerable.

The odd effect he had on her caused her voice to come out with decidedly squeaky overtones when she would have preferred to sound authoritative.

‘Mr Hammond, what do you mean by creeping around in the dark—and with this—’ She gestured with her foot towards the offending sack. It seemed obvious that he had been poaching and worse, that his quarry was still alive.

‘I would have thought better of you!’ she finished with self-righteous indignation.

‘Would you?’ Barney Hammond sounded surprised and amused. ‘Naturally, I am flattered, Miss Brabant, but why should you?’

Lavender frowned slightly. She could not see his expression properly, for it was almost full dark now and besides, he was possessed of a face that was inscrutable at the best of times. She had heard the maids giggling over Barney Hammond, remarking on his good looks and athletic physique, and whilst Lavender would have said that he was in no way classically handsome, she was aware that there was definitely something about him. It was a something that made her feel quite hot and bothered when she dwelt on it and it had even led Caroline once to remark, completely dispassionately, that she could see why all the village girls were wild for him.

Lavender tried to concentrate, aware that such thoughts were making matters worse rather than better. She knew that it would be best to make her excuses and leave, but Barney was waiting politely for her response and she felt it would be rude simply to walk away.

‘I did not imagine that you would stoop to poaching,’ she said coldly, indicating the sack again. It had not moved again but she knew she had not imagined it. ‘And to take your prey without killing it cleanly—that is rank cruelty!’