Page 1 of The Major's Mistake
One
APRIL, 1813
The bramble caught on the hem of Miranda’s gown. As she bent to release it she noted with some consternation that a thorn had caused a tiny tear in the worn fabric. Her lips compressed.Another bit of darning.Pretty soon there would be precious little of the original dress left, but it couldn’t be helped. She couldn’t afford a new one.
With a small sigh, she picked up a basket filled with assorted herbs and roots and picked her way back to the narrow dirt cart path. “Justin,” she called. “Come, love, it’s time to return home.”
“Yes, Mama.” A shock of tousled dark hair appeared at the edge of an overgrown field, barely visible above the tall grasses. As the little boy hurried towards her, it was evident that he was cradling something very carefully in his chubby hands.
“Look!” he cried, as soon as he was close enough to reveal his treasure. A rather large toad was struggling to escape from the boy’s grasp. “Isn’t he grand?”
She smiled. “Oh, indeed he is,” as she regarded the multitude of warts and the wide mouth gaping at her. “Pray, what do you plan to do with him?”
“I’m sure Angus will help me build a box so that I may keep him along with the others.”
She made a mental inventory of the current residents of her son’s room—four field mice, a baby sparrow with a broken wing, a jar of tadpoles and a praying mantis—and wondered just how many more creatures the household could tolerate. Given the toad’s appearance, he would not be the most welcome addition. But on taking in the boy’s eager expression, she hadn’t the heart to say no.
“Very well, love. But do remember, we cannot turn Aunt Sophia’s house into a menagerie. Mr. Toad will have be the last addition for a time.” As if indignant over the lukewarm reaction to his presence, the creature made another lunge for freedom. “Oh, do be careful not to squeeze him too hard,” she added.
“I know that, Mama,” answered Justin with just a touch of impatience, and to be sure, he was handling the toad with great care for his age. “But you see, I have an even better way to carry him home.” With that, he undid the top button of his shirt and slid the toad inside.
Miranda repressed a laugh and took her son’s hand. “Very clever young man, but let us make sure that Miss MacKenzie is well out of your room before you make ready for your bath.” The woman who served the role of both governess and nursemaid in their small household, though extremely tolerant in every other area, had shown herself to be more than squeamish when it came to Justin’s pets—Miranda wasn’t sure this latest one wouldn’t bring on a fit of vapors if it simply popped out of her son’s shirt without warning.
“A bath?” cried Justin with dismay.
She looked at the dark smudges on his cheeks, the bits of hay and leaves sticking out of his dark hair and the mud encrusted on the knees of his pantaloons and merely raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, very well,” he sighed. Then his expression brightened. “Perhaps the toad would like to come in too.”
“It is atoad, not a frog,” she reminded him. “And no, he may not. Soap would not be as agreeable to his skin as it is to that of little boys.”
Justin made a face, but he spirits were not long dampened by the prospects of immersion in a tub of hot, sudsy water. In a moment or two, he was back to telling her about the different sorts of butterflies he had seen near a clump of heather. For the rest of the short walk back to their home, Miranda was content to listen to his enthusiastic chattering. Once again, she gave thanks that her son was of a naturally cheerful disposition. He didn’t seem to be suffering from the dearth of playmates his own age or the lack of expensive toys or ponies or ….
Her jaw tightened and her blue eyes clouded for a moment. Money didn’t guarantee happiness, she reminded herself.
The path curled out of the woods and brought them to a stretch of weathered stone fence, overgrown with climbing vines. On the other side, a large flock of sheep grazed amid a patchwork of thistles and rough grass. The northern light dappled their shaggy coats with shadows as gray clouds scudded in front of the setting sun. Rain was likely before long, thought Miranda, shifting her basket to the other arm. It was well that they would reach home before the chilling drops caught them out.
In the distance, an elderly shepherd raised his arm in greeting, waving it vigorously to catch her attention. “Gud day te ye, Mrs. Ransford,” he called. Moving more quickly than might have been imagined possible, he caught up with them where a rickety wooden gate gave access onto the cartpath.
“I be wanting te thank you for the poultice you fixed, Did wonders fer me aching leg as you can see.”
“I am glad to hear it, Mr. Calhoun. I shall be happy to leave another batch at your cottage.”
“You’re a kind soul, you are, to give a care about an old goat like me. Now best step lively.” He pointed his crook to the sky. “Before you and the wee bairn get wet.”
Thanking him for the warning, she took Justin’s hand and hurried their steps down the rutted path.
Rose Cottage sat in a small dell, protected on one side from the winds whistling down from the moors by a stand of ancient live oak. In front of it was a small, well-tended garden , the soft colors from the climbing roses just beginning to peek out from the new buds. Miranda pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the welcoming warmth.
Though not a large abode, it radiated a comforting coziness. The furniture and drapes, though simple, were done in a cheerful mix of muted floral chintzes and stripes.
The pine paneling throughout the rooms, mellowed to a rich honey shade over the years, was redolent of beeswax and lemon oil, and a generous fire crackled in each of the hearths. Earthenware crocks filled with fresh cut greens and fragrant herbs graced both the dining table and the sideboard of the parlor. From the kitchen, the aroma of fresh baked bread wafted through the air.
“Shall I take your basket into Cook?” asked Justin with an eagerness that indicated his hope that scones or shortbread might also be emerging from the ovens.
Repressing the twitch of her lips, she handed it over. “I should be very grateful.”
He grasped it in his small hands and struggled to conceal the effort it took to lift it
