Page 2 of Beneath the Harvest Moon

“Thank you.”

“Have you had time to consider my proposal?”

She stiffened. As Zachary’s cousin, he stood to gain the most from marrying her.

Over Mr Drake’s shoulder, the elder Mrs Simmonds’ frosty gaze fixed upon them. If the woman thought Blythe would be swayed, she could think again.

“I suspect you know I plan to return to Midthorpe tomorrow, and I shall take my children with me.”

His blond brows rose. “But you have not visited your family since you married.”

“Which means it has been more than time that I did so.” Now no one could stop her.

“I thought you did not wish to associate with your family.”

She would not reveal how much it stung to have not been told of Papa’s illness until he was out of danger. “Not at all; we have been in constant communication.”

“But they never come to see you, either.”

“They are farmers, Mr Drake.” His family’s fortune had been built selling insurance to farmers. How detached he had become from the foundations of his business. “Their tireless work ensured our countrymen have been able to eat during the war with France. They cannot spare the time to leave their fields simply to visit me.”

“I see.” He looked down his nose. “Are you certain you wish to remove your children from York? Mrs Simmonds will be desolate without her grandchildren.”

Desolate, indeed. The woman’s domineering behaviour knew no bounds, but Blythe refused to succumb. “I would like my children to see where I grew up, to enjoy the fresh country air and learn the value of working the land.”

“But your son will work for the bank once he comes of age.”

“If my son chooses to follow in his father’s footsteps, he will have my full support. But first, he must finish his education.” And she would not allow him to be forced into something he did not wish.

“And how long do you plan to stay in Midthorpe?”

“Elijah returns to school in a few weeks, but, as I have no doubt Mrs Simmonds has informed you, Violet and I shall remain until Michaelmas.”

A hint of pink tinged his high cheekbones, and he cleared his throat. “You will be sorely missed.”

She doubted that. No one here cared for her. She was alone and without support, and she shuddered to think what would become of her if she remained. Mr Drake would pressure her to accept his hand, and Mrs Simmonds would support his suit.

“Perhaps, once you have returned home for a while and realised the benefits of living in York, we may have our discussion then.”

“Perhaps.” Or perhaps not. “Now, if you will excuse me, I require some refreshment.”

CHAPTER 2

The East Riding of Yorkshire

Gabriel Sharpe jerked upright and blinked away the fog of sleep. He swayed with the leisurely gait of his horse. Thank God Samson knew the way home.

Small blobs of light sat on the horizon.

He shifted in the saddle, and Samson grumbled. His backside chafed, and his neck and shoulders ached. The rumbling of his stomach could probably be heard in Midthorpe. Another of Mrs Brimble’s meals would be cold and congealed by now.

Finally, Samson plodded down the main street. The silhouettes of red-brick cottages rose on either side. Many were dark and silent, their occupants tucked in their warm, cosy beds in anticipation of another day in the fields.

Despite the fine linen and blankets, his bed was far from cosy. If only he had someone to share it with. But sharing a bed meant sharing his heart, and he would not risk that fragile organ again. As always, his two-story house loomed empty before him.

Before Samson turned into the gateway, he nudged the gelding onwards and headed towards a home where he would receive a warm welcome and, hopefully, a hot meal.

He dismounted outside his parent’s house, nestled next door to his family’s apothecary shop and surgery. A yellow glow peeped between the drawn curtains.