CHAPTER THREE
Esther Martindale sat in the small orchard on a wooden bench that ringed an ancient apple tree. She leaned back feeling the roughness of the old bark through the thin muslin of her morning dress.
It was a warm day but the branches provided ample shade. She was deep in thought, pencil and paper on her lap. She watched the dappled sunlight on the grass and marvelled at the intricate beauty of a small clump of daisies near her feet.
She waited, listening to the twittering of the birds and the rustle of the leaves; waiting for the Muse to touch her imagination; waiting for inspiration. It would come. It always did.
‘Working at your poetry again, my dear?’
Her father’s words, though softly spoken, startled her.
‘Father! How good of you to join me,’ Esther exclaimed with delight.
Her father rarely intruded on her solitude. Now he sat down beside her and Esther knew he was there for a purpose.
‘I hesitate to disturb you, my dear,’ he said. ‘But I have something to discuss with you.’
Esther smiled knowingly. She guessed that their nearest neighbour, Mrs Peacock had not made an unfashionable morning call for nothing.
‘I should not be surprised if the subject of our discussion had something to do with a visit from Mrs Peacock.’
Edward Martindale returned his daughter’s smile rather ruefully.
‘Esther you appear always to be far away in another world but in reality you miss nothing.’
Esther laughed. ‘You know me well, Father.’
He nodded. ‘The matter does indeed concern Mrs Peacock. She has made a most generous offer to act as your sponsor and chaperone during the forthcoming London Season.’ He glanced at her uncertainly. ‘I have taken the liberty of accepting on your behalf.’
‘Ah!’ Esther laid aside her pencil and paper.
‘Did I do wrong, my dear Esther?’
‘Father, you can do no wrong in my eyes,’ Esther said gently.
She knew that he acted solely for her benefit. With her mother long dead, he did his best to be father and mother to her. She did not blame him that he did not really understand her needs, and she would never hurt him by telling him so.
‘Mrs Peacock is very kind,’ she said carefully. ‘But I believe I will decline her generous offer.’
YOU ARE READING
THE MISTRESS OF CASTLE CRAGGE
Historical FictionThe relatives of Septimus Cragge are furious to learn on his death that he has left Castle Cragge and his entire fortune to his illegitimate offspring. How far will they go to prevent his heir from gaining the inheritance?
