Flight of the Nightingale

A short romance story set in revolutionary war era England concerning a young girl's flight from tradition to personal happiness.

The windows of Eland Park were lit as the evening drew in thickly around the massive oaks that lined either side of the forward avenue. The sunlight peered over the green hills on the horizon, shining through the wavered glass and draping long shadows over the marble floors. Jane Watford watched the birds flutter through the tops of the trees from the window of her mother’s favorite parlor, her dark eyes moving as quickly and lightly as their wings and following their frantic paths across the estate’s grand front lawn.

                  “Jane, dear, come away from there and sing for us.” Her mother’s voice called to her from one of the lavish sofas, admiring her daughter over the rim of a finely painted teacup.

                  Mr. Longbourne and his son had come to call this evening, bringing with them warm brandy and good humor that Mr. and Mrs. Watford enjoyed immensely. Their daughter, however, was less than entertained. The gentlemen stood, chatting idly and pausing only now that Jane’s attention had been turned back to the goings on in the parlor. They offered their willful smiles, silently pleased to see her looking to them now rather than sitting idly at the window.

Young William Longbourne made no mistake about his admirations for the Watford’s only daughter and stared at her at length where she sat across the room. He was a pleasant young man, though not handsome enough to capture the wandering eye of an eligible female. But he had money enough to compensate for any lack of physical charm and the promise of a grand inheritance that would have excused any foulness in his manners. The Watfords couldn’t imagine a more appropriate match for their lovely daughter, though she hardly seemed to hear him at all when he spoke to her.

“You play so well.” He offered her gentle compliments as he stood beside the pianoforte, looking on while she practiced a delicate melody.

                  Jane answered him with a soft smile, looking up for only a fleeting second before she returned her gaze back to the yellowed sheet music before her. Her slender fingers brushed the notes from the instrument with careful ease, feeling the weighted presence of the young man who watched her so intently.

                  “You should sing for us,” Her mother suggested again, not at all satisfied by Jane’s mere playing. Her daughter would not be distracted and finished the song at length before she stood and dismissed herself for the evening. The night had grown quite late and it was perfectly excusable for her to leave, though William Longbourne made certain that he expressed that he was sad to see her go several times. She was careful to say her goodbyes without ever returning that adoring sentiment and left them in the parlor with a calm, disarming smile.

                  Jane made quick, quiet speed down the grand staircase to the foyer as the midnight hour passed quietly over the estate. One of the housemaids brought her a long brown coat and a shawl that she wrapped around her narrow frame snuggly before she ventured out into the crisp night air. She bid the maid make carefully certain not to mention to her parents where she had gone but to tell them simply that she had retired to her quarters for the night. The maid looked distressed and Jane hated to make the dear woman lie for her, but it couldn’t be helped.

The outside smelled of sweet, fresh dew and the night’s soft wind brushed through her long curled hair of deep, coppery red. She walked down the shadowed paths that led into the open rolling hills, stopping short of the estate’s grounds and giving way to the wild tangled woods and dark open prairie.

Eland Park rose like a gleaming white fortress behind her, illumed by the candles in the windows and lanterns hung about all the balconies and broad patios. Jane was careful not to look back as she wandered away from the gardens and paved walkways that spanned the formal grounds. No direction or sense of purpose carried her forward as she watched the distant horizon and admired the pale lights of the stars.

She strolled the borders of her family’s estate and was only satisfied when she had thoroughly muddied the hem of her gown. Her hair was made tousled and wild by the night air and her fair face was flushed from walking at length. Jane could only praise herself, imagining with pleasure how her mother would have paled and fainted to see her fair daughter in such a splendid mess.

Lights on the distant horizon, tucked up against an outcropping of thick forest, caught her eye and so she wandered in that general direction. Only when she had finally crossed the few miles towards them did she see the shape of the old farmhouse with a slanted roof against the darkness. A long stone fence marked the boundary of her family’s property and from that point she could see the tiny farm’s stables and corrals, the feeding troughs, the oil lamps sitting in the open windows, and the shapes of the little white sheep shuffling about near the stable.

With a huff of effort, Jane pulled herself up and over the stone wall and began across the sloping pasture towards the farm. The sun had just begun to rise again, thrusting the first few shades of daylight into the sky and rousing the birds that nested in the thistle and shrubs. The sound of the crickets humming in the grass began to go silent, always pausing whenever she drew near to them but now they hid away as the world began to waken.

Jane did not fear for being here, so far from Eland Park where she was absolutely not supposed to be. Her parents were full of fresh compliments and good liquor; they would sleep until late into the afternoon without so much as a stir between them. So she kept her dark eyes upon the farmhouse and followed along the stone fence, letting her hands brush the mossy rocks that were stacked up to waist height as she admired the simple place from a safe distance.

A voice called to her, hailing her from the open doorway of the farmhouse where someone now stood and waved to her. It made poor Jane’s heart hammer sporadically to see that mysterious person beginning to approach, walking deliberately across the pasture in her direction. She paused with her back to the bordering fence, watching the tall shape of a man come gradually into view until he stopped just a few yards short of her.

He looked down at her curiously, a man perhaps only a few years older than she, and put his hands into the deep pockets of long dark coat that was draped over his shoulders. She could see how he was dressed beneath and it was humble to be sure. The stains on his shirt and tall mud-caked boots marked him to be a farmer without hearing him declare it aloud. He had a tall, broad-shouldered make to him and lacked nothing in the sturdiness of his structure. She’d seen men of that sort before, working at the docks to load luggage and supplies onto the ships at harbor. But she had only ever observed them through the little glass windows in her mother’s favorite carriage. To see one so near made the frail young woman shy back.

“Are you lost?” He asked her with a tone of genuine concern.

Jane looked up to his handsomely crafted face with uncertainty, faltering and staggering over anything she might want to say. “I don’t think so.”

“My name is Henry Clarke.” He inclined his head with a broad smile, his eyes of calm blue meeting hers without the forceful intention of winning her returning smile. “Are you going into town? It’s quite a long way for a lady to walk on her own.”

“No.” She was quick to reply, though she hesitated to give him her name. “No, I was just out for a walk.”

“A bit early for a walk, isn’t it?” He grinned at her again. If he’d noticed her deliberate lack of introduction, he did not show it at all. “I’ll let you to it, then. I offer my apologies if I happened to startle you.”

Jane watched him as he gave a small bow before turning away back towards the farmhouse. The drab looking structure stood with the door left wide open so that the warm light from the inside bled out into the pale dawn.

“Jane.” She called to him then, gathering up the ends of her skirts and wrestling to catch up with him as he crossed the dew-laden grass. “My name is Jane.”

At the sound of her voice, Henry stopped to watch and wait for her with a curious arch to his finely crafted brow. “Jane.” He repeated the name with a nod of approval. “Are you fond of walking alone so early in the morning, Miss Jane?”

“Yes.” She answered quietly. She watched the lax, comically amused expressions cross his face as they walked beside one another, coming to the doorway of the snug little farmhouse and pausing as he shrugged out of his coat and left it on a hook just inside. Jane hesitated on the step, leaning inside to peer about at the simple, humble dwellings.

“You can come in, if you like.” He chuckled, stooping at the hearth to place a few more logs on the fire. She watched him stoke the embers, coaxing the fire back to life to fill the main floor with warmth and light.

“Won’t your wife mind having a visitor at this hour?” She protested weakly, her fair brow creased with distress.

Henry cast her a bemused smirk, “I haven’t a wife. Not even so much as a maid to my name. This is my father’s farm and I keep it on my own, since his passing last April.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Jane spoke with sympathy, but she needed no more encouragement as she came slowly inside. It smelled of warm, earthy flavors and was only sparsely decorated with the few little sticks of simply crafted furniture positioned about the space. All the windows were pushed ajar to let the cool air move through the house. It made such a peculiar racket, to hear the wind and the soft sounds of the morning birds, that Jane looked about as though she were confused.

“Can I offer you something to drink?” Henry stood back while the young woman appraised his meager dwellings and moved about as cautious as a cat.

“No, thank you.” Jane sat down in one of his wooden chairs, brushing back her shawl and meeting his quizzical gaze. Already her mind turned over the puzzle of leaving without offending him, though she couldn’t say that she had anything pressing that demanded her attention. “I really can’t stay, my parents will be expecting me.” The lie tasted sour on her lips and she looked away directly.

“Stay as long as you wish, Miss Jane.” He chuckled again. “I’ve tea and milk enough to drown yourself. There might even be a scrap of cake left, if you should be hungry. You can do as you wish here for as long as you like, though if you stay long enough I might have to put you to a chore or two.”

Clearly he was joking and that much could be told in his lighthearted tone, but something in Jane’s fair face seemed to liven at the suggestion. She snapped upright in the chair, watching as he began pouring clean white milk into several large glass bottles and topping each one with a big rubber n****e.

“I can do that for you.” She offered in a weak, fragile tone.

He looked back at her over his shoulder, “Do what? Feed the lambs?”

“Yes. Yes! Yes, I can feed the lambs.” Jane stood quickly and went to pick up a pair of the large bottles and stood by waiting for his directions.

Henry was baffled. “You really don’t have to do that. It’s dirty work, Miss Jane.”

“What do you think I am? Look at my dress! I’m not afraid to get dirty.” She chastened him with a pouting, determined huff.

Smiling with a broad, crooked grin, Henry resigned to raise his hands in the air and laugh at her. “I stand humbled, Miss Jane. You may be the dirtiest young lady I have ever met. I’m sure the lambs will be pleased to meet you.”

He took her to the stable where the tiny lambs were kept, showing her how she might hold the bottles and let the little ones nurse. The air was warm and close inside the stable, smelling of sweet hay and the pleasing musk of animals. Jane smiled and giggled as the lambs suckled and pulled against the bottles, rubbing against her and bleating insistently.

Henry fed the sheep and worked about the farm as the sun began to rise, carrying buckets of grain and filling the water troughs while Jane wandered about. At first she was uncertain, careful, and wary of going anywhere he might not approve of a stranger venturing. But he made no comments or moves to stop her, letting her mill about at her leisure until at last the returned to watch him patching up a section of the barn’s roof that had begun to rot through.

Sitting on an upturned bucket and dabbing at the sweat on her brow with her shawl, she started to talk to him. She asked about his family, about his late father and his mother who had gone to live in London with her sister. He told her about his elder sister who was married and living near Bath with her four young children. He spoke about his service in the militia before he had returned here to tend his father’s farm, explaining that he’d never cared much to take a place in the clergy and was better pleased with his lot here than he had been living abroad with the militia. He’d been decommissioned after suffering an injury to his leg that, if not for the tender care from his sister, might have caused him to lose it.

He asked about her family and she told him very little, keeping what she could to herself and giving only what she felt she must with as much ambiguity as her manners would allow. He liked her stories about her Aunt Fran, the woman who insisted on wearing hats with enormous peacock feathers in them to parties that tickled at her husband’s nose whenever she turned around. They gave him terrible sneezing fits that she declared was a symptom of someone talking ill of him, rather than a symptom of her voluminous hats. Those stories made him laugh and Jane smiled up at him brightly, pleased at the sound of his laugh that came in such a rich tone from where he worked on the roof.

“I really must be going back home now.” Jane fidgeted with her shawl, looking up to him with a crease of worry marring her pretty face.

Henry peered over the edge of the roof down to her, seeming to share a private bit of worry as well. He amended it quickly with a disarming smile. “You should walk this way again tomorrow.”

His suggestion made her face bloom prettily with bashful color. It left her speechless and uncertain as to how she should reply or even if she should. She looked at him hesitantly and nibbled at her lower lip, still wrenching her small hands in the fabric of her shawl as she sought desperately for something to say.

He laughed again, waving a hand down to her and shrugging lightly, “I’m only joking, Miss Jane. But I think the lambs would be horribly disappointed if you didn’t come again. How am I to explain it to them?”

 “I will come back.” She smiled at last, leaving him then and beginning the long stroll back to Eland Park with a bit more life to her steps. It gave her energy and greater speed on her journey and only when she had passed through the threshold back into her family’s extravagant home did she feel any hint of fatigue.

It happened just that way every day in the weeks that followed. She would leave in the tiniest hours of the morning, abandoning her mother and father to their lavish parties and make her way across the vale to the small farm at West End.

Henry kept her only as busy as she wished to be, showing her how she might prepare the bottles of milk for the lambs and gather the eggs from the henhouse. He waited for her by the stone wall that joined the two properties, though Jane took special care in making sure he did not know that she had come from Eland Park. That task was made simple because he never inquired about her origins or even so much as suggested that she volunteer anything about herself.

He would answer her questions readily enough, however, and didn’t withhold any detail she might have wanted to hear. Jane imagined the tall, slender woman that he described when she spoke of his sister, giggling at the idea of all four of her young children hanging onto her skirts like chicks around a mother hen.

There was so much warmth in his family and though she never saw any of them, she could hear the affection in his voice to talk of his mother, sister, cousins, aunts, and uncles. They weren’t a wealthy family, not in the same respect that hers was. They had no estates and no large tracts of land. His father had been a clergyman and had tended this little farm for many years when he wasn’t at his parsonage. His mother was a scatterbrained lady with a sweet, gentle temper and a delicate disposition. She had married his father at 15 and had struggled to bear him any children until much later in her life.

After his father’s death and his injury while in military service, a neighbor who had done a poor jog of maintaining the property had kept the farm. Henry insisted that he move back as soon as he was able, against the advice of his sister who was determined that he should stay with her in town. But Henry explained that he wouldn’t let his father’s farm go to ruin and couldn’t imagine selling it away, so he had taken on the work of fixing it up in hopes that he might find a simple job in town to support himself.

“I thought I might inquire at that vast old estate just over the hill there and see if they might hire me as a stable hand.” He mused once, causing Jane’s face to flush entirely of color and her heart to flutter with a surge of real panic.

“Oh don’t do that.” She struggled to keep her own voice even and composed so that she might not solicit a curious look from him. “They are a snobbish lot, I hear. No, I don’t think that would suit you at all. They’re so terribly rich. Why would you want to be at the call of people like that?”

Jane could see his cheek turn up as evidence that he smiled at her words. “You sound like a snob, Miss Jane.” He said to her in jest. “I’m sure they are perfectly respectable people, money and riches aside.”

Her daily visits to the farm at West End made Jane feel much more troubled whenever the tenants at Eland Park came up in their conversations. She steered their discussions as deliberately away from that subject as she could without being obvious. But as the months progressed, she felt she could not keep it from him for very much longer.

Mr. and Mrs. Watford began to notice their daughter’s strange change in temper and appearance, while not as immediately as they might have. Her mother commented on how many of her dresses had been ruined with mud and demanded to know what she had done to damage them so. Jane smiled as pleasing as she knew how and convinced her mother that she had taken up horseback riding in the early morning for exercise.

Her father noticed that her skin had begun to look much more tanned and weathered and her hands looked rather rough. Jane shrugged at him and kissed his cheek, telling him the same fabricated tale of morning horseback rides across the prairie for her health.

Such a story allowed her only a few more weeks before a passing carriage on the road, coming up past West End and making for Eland Park, spied her coming out of the farmhouse with a basket filled with eggs balanced against her hip. There was no mistaking the young Watford heiress, not with her vibrant coppery colored hair blowing loosely about her, and no sooner had she spied the carriage then did the basket slip from her hands and land with a smash on the ground.

Henry was lively with concern, begging her to sit and rest and insisting that the heat must have caused her to swoon. She knew there must be no color in her face and dread made her limbs heavy as he suggested that he might take her back to her home.

Jane appeased him with a cup of tea and numerous assurances that she felt fit enough to walk. But as she left from his farmhouse, her hands shaking and her head pulsing with alarm, she caught a glimpse of his worried frown as he lingered there in the doorway and watched her depart.

Mr. and Mrs. Watford were in full distress when she returned. Mrs. Newport had come to call in her carriage, arriving in a flurry of breathless excitement that brought the estate into a stir. She felt it well within her right to inform the Watfords that their daughter had been spotted coming from a farmhouse where, by all the common knowledge, a young man with no fortune was the sole tenant.

Mr. Watford was furious and his wife wept inconsolably, begging her daughter for the truth of the matter as Jane stood in her muddied gown, coat, and shawl with horror plain upon her face.

“Such a scandal! Oh a scandal!” Mrs. Newport exclaimed, leaving them at the urging of Mr. Watford who was eager to have a sole audience with his wayward daughter.

“What have you done, Jane?” He asked her coldly.

Jane could not meet his eyes, not for the frantic wailing of her mother who had thrown herself over a sofa in despair. “Nothing, father. Henry Clarke is my friend, nothing more. He keeps the farm at West End by himself.”

Mr. Watford was not satisfied and glowered at her punishingly. “You have shamed yourself.”

“I have not!” Jane lashed out with a desperate voice, a wild frenzy in her eyes as she held her father’s gaze. “Ask him yourself, father, I have done nothing but to talk to him. He lets me play with the lambs in the stable, that is all!”

“Lambs in the stable,” Mrs. Watford snorted and sniffled. “Honestly, Jane? Is that what you expect us to believe?”

“How would you have me prove it to you?” Jane dared to offer.

Mr. Watford was quick to reply. “I have given William Longbourne permission to seek your hand. He’s asked us to hold a ball here at Eland where he might ask to court you formally. We will invite Henry Clarke and you will accept William Longbourne’s affections where all can witness it. If it is true what you say, then your dear friend will be overjoyed for your good fortune.”

Jane felt instantly sick, but her father did not provide her with enough to counter his offer. He sent her from the room directly and demanded that she remain in her quarters until summoned so that he could try and console her weeping mother. Jane held her own composure well, but only so long as she knew the maids were about making sure that Mr. Watford’s orders were followed. Alone in her room, she mourned with bitter tears a fate at the awkward hand of William Longbourne. She grieved to lose Henry’s sweet smiles and pleasant laugh. Behind the closed doors and sealed windows, she watched the hours pass in a listless, morose state that could not be comforted.

The days passed swiftly and it was two weeks before Jane could manage the walk back to the farm. Henry was not waiting for her at the wall as he had before, but she could see that the lights in the farmhouse were bright against the heavy night. The lambs stirred in their corral, bleating to see her familiar presence returning and causing the dark shape of a tall man to fill the open doorway.

Henry met her halfway across the narrow drive, grasping her shoulders and looking down to her with a deep frown of concern. “Jane! I thought something terrible had happened to you! Are you well?”

Tears brimmed in her dark eyes to see him again, to feel the touch of his hands upon her in such a benign and genuinely worried way. With a soft whimper, she let her head fall against the broad surface of his chest and reached to clench at the back of his jacket.

Standing in the dim light the ebbed from the open door, Henry held her there and let her cry as long as she wished. He asked her nothing else about herself or what had happened, guiding her gently into the house when at last she seemed to calm.

He brought her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table, bringing her a cup of warm tea before he sat down in front of her and watched her carefully. Jane began to compose herself, wiping her eyes on her shawl and looking diligently away from his deeply worried stare.

Her heartbeat stammered as she saw something perched upon the opposite end of the table. A clean white envelope with spidery, swirling penmanship sat upon pile of unopened mail with the red wax seal already broken. It was an invitation to her family’s estate asking his presence at the Eland Park ball the following evening.

Henry followed her eyes to where the invitation lay, sitting back in his chair and sighing loudly. “It seems they aren’t so snobbish after all.” He told her in a softly joking voice.

“Are you going to attend?” She asked him, her own voice lacking any trace of humor.

“It would be rude of me not to.” He furrowed his brows deeply as he seemed to grow unusually tense. “But I am sure that the invitation is merely a courtesy. I was hoping to inquire if you meant to attend before I decided if I might go.”

Jane flicked a quick, checking glance up to him and reached out to place one of her hands atop is. Such a deliberate gesture took him by surprise and he looked at her with a flurry of confusion skewing his handsome face, making him hesitant at first but his confidence grew as he moved to hold her hand.

The young woman had never felt such a sudden and immense relief of pressure before and Jane quickly found herself smiling at him through her teary eyes. “I would like very much to see you there tomorrow.”

Henry was deeply upset that she once again refused his offer to take her back home. But as the sun began to rise, Jane made her way back to Eland Park before her parents even roused. She readied herself, donning a lovely long gown of emerald green silk and sitting quietly while her mother styled her hair, pinning it into place with a beautiful jade comb adorned with the design of a little golden nightingale.

Eland Park was lit in sparkling, clean white light as the night of the ball brought guests from all about the countryside. The marble floors were polished until they shone like pearl and the doorways were adorned with wreaths of flowers. Couples arrived in intricate carriages drawn by smartly styled horses, greeting the Watfords in the grand foyer with adoring words of praise. They bowed and curtsied, admiring the splendor of the party, and offering lavish compliments upon the family.

Jane was regarded with noticeable care, however, and it seemed that Mrs. Newport had wasted no time in spreading the news of the girl’s frequent visits to a certain small farm in West End. When met with her peers, Jane saw the girls turn and giggle or whisper in hushed voices. The young men seemed equally as amused and eager to scandalize her, though when Mr. Longbourne and his son arrived, their attentions were instantly quieted.

With her face burning freshly with embarrassment, she allowed William Longbourne to kiss her wrist and praise her with compliments that sounded terribly forced. It pleased her parents who looked on, waiting in silent expectation for another certain young man to pass through the tall, grand doors of the estate and satisfy the stipulations for their peace of mind.

Henry Clarke was let into Eland Park, stepping through the doorway dressed in a black suit and coat that matched his tall frame and fit him handsomely. It was quite plain compare to what the other young men wore, having no lace or finely detailed collar, and drew a clear distinction as to the level of income Henry had come from. But he looked distinguished with his dark hair brushed back and his clear eyes searching the crowds of unfamiliar faces with a hopeful expression. Jane knew exactly who and what he was searching for and so her stomach churned with dread.

Gradually he made his way to the front of the long line of elaborately garbed folk that stood, waiting for their turn to greet their hosts. No sooner had his turn arrived than Jane met his eyes and watched the wave of realization crash in upon him. He hesitated at first, obviously vexed and confused as he began to piece together what was happening. Finally he did approach, introducing himself with a chilling sense of calm to both of her parents before he finally turned to her.

“You look well, Miss Watford.” He said, his eyes speaking more than what passed over his lips. His guarded stare savored strongly of betrayal and hurt, though he managed to keep his countenance amiable enough.  The calm in his eyes unnerved her thoroughly, however, and made her tremble as he bent to kiss her wrist.

At the very first moment she could, Jane stole away from her parents to quest through the crowds of guests in search of him. Through the sea of swirling white dresses and finely clad gentlemen, she wandered in search. At last she saw him standing in one of the grand ballrooms where music filled the stuffy, crowded atmosphere even in such a dazzlingly spacious room. He lingered near white marble staircase with his back to her, a group of three other young gentlemen hovering before him and talking with animated expressions. Among them, William Longbourne stood in such stark contrast to Henry that it was almost silly to watch. William looked sickly and petite compared to the tall, broad shouldered young man that was Henry. He looked hale and healthy, formidable and strong, even with the other young men sneering up at him like gaunt hungry coyotes.

Only when she had come quite close to their group, could Jane even hear anything that was being said amongst them. But what she did finally hear caused her to pause short of joining their conversation.

“A farmer, you say?” William jeered, making the other young men laugh with him. “Why on earth would you come here? Surely you realized an invitation like that was merely a formality.”

Henry remained calm and even, as though he were distracted and not at all invested in the conversation. His gaze wandered, looking up to the vaulted ceilings and tall windows.

Only when she finally dared to venture forth and speak to him, did he bow away from the conversation and begin to walk the crowded rooms of Eland Park. He was unaware that she followed him, watching him as he gathered peculiar, lengthy stares from the other guests in the halls. Jane haunted his steps with hopeful glances, following him as he finally found his way to the stables where his horse was stabled. It had been brushed and fed, looking out at him with ears pricked as he approached and opened the stall door.

Only when he turned about to lead his horse from the stall did he see her standing there, the hem of her lovely dress stained and tangled with bits of straw from the dirty stable floor.

She looked as thin and frail as wet parchment, looking at him with doe-eyes brimming with fresh tears. “You’re leaving.” She observed aloud, her voice trembling audibly.

“I cannot stay here, Jane.” He met her eyes with calm resolve, having nothing of anger or resentment present in them as she’d expected. “These gilded doors and painted windows are not for me.”

He paused for a difficult amount of time, seeming to falter as a touch of pain caused him to squint his eyes and brought a furrow to his brow. It struck her with the brutal realization of how acutely and selfishly she’d scandalized them both. What small, good opinions there had ever been of him were now perfectly ruined.

 “I wondered why you would not tell me more about yourself. I assumed you were simply being cautious. After all, I was hardly more than a stranger to you.” He said at last. “But I did come to love you, however foolish and vain that affection may have been. I dared to think, to hope, that some similar affection is what drove you to keep coming to see me.”

“Henry,” She whimpered helplessly.

“But I am outmatched. There can be no mystery about what I have to offer; you have already seen me for all I am and all I ever care to be.” He shook his head and looked to her with such honest amour that it bit furiously at Jane’s conscience.  “I will not forcefully spring you from a life that promises such lavish comforts.”

Jane could not speak. She stood as quietly as a shadow against the wall as Henry led his horse out past the stable doors into the night, unable to say even so much as a word to him. The sound of his horse’s hooves clattering on the cobblestones faded away and left her wrapped in cold silence.

The evening passed into the first hours of the morning when the sun had not yet begun to rise and the ball at Eland Park had not slowed nor had its joyous crowds begun to thin. Music still filled the air along with the sounds of laughter and dancing, but Jane moved through the halls, her face flushed as she wrestled to pull her coat about her. Along her way down to the grand foyer, she felt a snagging hold upon her elbow that snapped her to a halt.

William Longbourne looked upon her with wild-eyed horror and disbelief, gripping her arm fiercely. “You cannot be serious! Him? Are you mad?”

Jane snatched her arm away from him, casting him a fitfully defiant glare. “I am perfectly serious.”

“Do not think that I will accept you under any terms after this,” William hissed at her, gripping her arm again to yank her forcefully back to face him, “When you leave here, you are resigned to the fate of a wild, hapless peasant. You will poison the shades of your family’s estate. You will stain their reputation with lasting shame. No. No, I will not let you do it. Foolish woman, you will come with me back inside right away. I will have what I was promised!”

She could only smile at him the crazed smile of a foolishly reckless young woman and, reaching back to pull the green comb with the little golden nightingale etched upon it from her hair, tucked the trinket into the breast pocket of his coat. She patted it there where she’d nested it before wrenching herself free of his grasp once again.

“That promise was never mine. This is all of me you will have.” She whispered, turning then and leaving him there, gaping in the foyer, while she fled into the softly fading night.

Once the doors of Eland Park were opened and left behind her, her feet knew the way as she ran to the small farm at West End. Her long scarlet hair spilled from the pins here mother had fastened it and the hem of her green silken gown was tattered by the time she made it to the stone wall that lined her family’s property. She called out his name, panting and frantic as she struggled to make her way over the wall in her restrictive clothing. Huffing and puffing, she put her feet upon the free soil on the other side of the stone wall, looking up to see the familiar shape of a man coming towards her from the open door of the farmhouse. Jane Watford smiled, calling his name once again and hearing the distant reply as he answered her.

Winter came and gently faded into spring, bringing with it new lambs and new hungry mouths to feed. The morning dawned early with the sweet smell of dew on the fresh blades of grass and Jane Clarke carried the large glass bottles from the kitchen out towards the stable, singing merrily all the while. She sang and whistled, a sound that the lambs now regarded with excited affection as it always preceded their morning feeding.

She fed them, humming her sweet tunes to them as they suckled the bottles, and pausing only to look out the open stable door to the distant rolling land beyond. It was only a speck in the distance, but she could just make out the white shape of Eland Park rising above the trees. A clean white palace that she had eagerly forsaken for a house of wood and twigs, but she could only look at it and smile at her good fortune before turning back to the lambs and beginning to sing again.

 

 

 

Author's Note

I LOVE writing little romance tales like this. It's so fun to play with the characters and situations...it's like a grown-up version of playing dolls! I write these little short romance stories all the time so I'll be posting them all along. Hope you enjoyed this one! <3
-D

Reviews

[Pencrafter]

Although this genre is one I usually avoid (I normally go for the action and adventure), the story is well written. The plot is easy to follow and there is good character development. The sentence structure is satisfyingly complex without being too complicated and the scene descriptions paint vivid pictures.

[Nicole]

I'm very honored that so many people have read and enjoyed this story! And that it has won so many contests! I suppose the public still has a great affection for a "Jane Austen" style of romance... :3 I find that very satisfying.

-D