By GL Robinson (excerpt)
“Flossie!” cried Susannah. “Where have you been, you naughty dog?”
“She’s been running around my yard getting under the horses’ hooves, that’s where she’s been,” said the tall man angrily. “She’s damned lucky I didn’t shoot her. If she had hobbled one of my bays, I would have.”
“She was frightened by the cat,” said Susannah, “and she’s never been here before. We just arrived, you s…”
He cut her off. “Spare me the explanations, for which I have neither time nor patience. Just make sure she never comes onto my lands again. Next time, I will shoot her.”
Susannah suddenly remembered Aunt Honoria’s words about trespassing on the neighbor’s lands and her temper rose.
“Now look here, Mr. Fletcher,” she said, “I…”
He cut her off again. “You have the advantage of me, Miss whoever you are, and you look. I will not have dogs, or people, come to that, on my property without invitation.”
“I am Susannah Marsh, Honoria Peabody’s niece, and I am glad to hear it,Mr. Fletcher,” she said hotly, “for that means I need never see you again. Give me my dog.”
“With pleasure.”
The visitor handed her the rope and Susannah pulled on it to bring Flossie inside. The dog, however, seemed reluctant to leave her savior, and jumped up at his handsome boots, wagging her tail, and apparently wanting to play.
“Come, Flossie!” said Susannah angrily, and dragged her inside. Then she banged the door shut in the man’s face.
“Who was that?” Aunt Honoria had awoken from her nap at the sound of the door banging, and was looking up, groggily, her cap askew.
“That was Mr. Fletcher. He brought Flossie back. Apparently she had strayed onto his stables. What a horrible man!”
“Oh dear, oh dear! I wouldn’t have had that happen for the world!” wailed her aunt. “He has enough troubles without that.”
“What troubles can he possibly have, except that he’s insufferable?”
“He was wounded during the Penninsular Wars, at Ciudad Rodrigo, I believe, and was invalided out of the army. Didn’t you see he has a limp, poor man?”
Susannah remembered the cane. He had been leaning heavily upon it.
“Oh!” she said. “Yes. But that doesn’t give him the right to be so rude!”
But even as she said it, she knew that she had been as guilty of that as he. She hadn’t even thanked him for bringing Flossie back. And she’d slammed the door in his face! Her own face now blushed crimson with embarrassment. Her tongue! Her mother had always said it would be get her into trouble. She’d just have to apologize. She’d write him a letter. No, she’d have to go and see him. Another thing her mother said was that only cowards apologized in writing when they could do it face to face.
“Well,” said Aunt Honoria, “we’ll just have to hope he forgets all about it. It doesn’t do to be unfriendly with the neighbors, my dear. It’s not like in town where you have lots of people to choose from. Here, society is very limited, and it’s uncomfortable if neighbors aren’t on speaking terms. I know, we can send him over some of my raspberry jam. Everyone likes that.”
“I’ll take it to him tomorrow,” said Susannah, and added, “Thanking him with the jam will give me an excuse to go, and the apology can be secondary.” Then she realized that didn’t sound very sorry at all.
For his part, the gentleman limped back to his gig and climbed awkwardly into it. He sat still for a moment, scowling, thinking about the whole episode. The damned dog had been frightened by the horses, and had run under his feet. He’d been off balance, and had fallen on his injured leg. He’d been infuriated. His wretched leg would ache abominably for days and he’d be forced to use his damned cane. He hadn’t seen the dog before, but he’d heard Mrs. Peabody was taking in her niece and had guessed the silly little animal was probably hers. He’d been in a towering rage when he’d driven over to have it out with her. But he hadn’t imagined the niece would be young and personable. His harsh face softened as he thought how Miss Marsh’s tumbled mass of reddish curls had shone in the weak sunlight. And how her dark eyes had flashed! In temper, it was true, but he’d always admired a woman with spirit. She was a remarkably pretty girl, even when she was slamming the door in his face. Then he collected himself. You’re a cripple, he said to himself. And a fool. With a sardonic laugh, he clicked up his horse.
Glynis Louise Robinson is from Portsmouth in southern England but has lived in the USA for over forty years with her American husband. Her romances are written in memory of her dear sister Francine, who died unexpectedly in 2018. You can find her online at romancenovelsbyglrobinson.com.