Page 192 of Feathers in the Wind
‘Are you in the habit of taking strolls along the banks of the Nene?’ I asked
‘Maybe once or twice, and always in the company of a pretty maid.’
‘I think you may find it changed,’ I warned.
The River Nene flows through Chesham but downstream where it flows through Northampton it is not a pretty river. Modern buildings crowd the riverbanks and although the canal boats pulled up to the quays relieve the drabness it is not my favorite place to walk. I steered us in the direction of Becket’s Park, a patch of greenery among the dull modern buildings.
He took my hand. Strong, calloused fingers tightened on mine and I shivered, thinking of the contrast with Mark’s almost delicate surgeon’s hands. Mark took better care of his hands than I did.
‘And where do you end up?’ I laughed as I extricated my hand.
He turned wide, guileless eyes on me. ‘Mistress Shepherd, I am a gentleman. May I not be permitted to hold your hand?’
‘It depends on your intentions, good sir,’ I said with a laugh and held out my right hand as I imagined a seventeenth-century lady of quality would have done.
He took it in his fingers and regarded it for a moment. ‘I see you are no gentlewoman. This hand has seen rough work.’
‘What it has seen is too much hospital disinfectant.’
He turned it over and raised it to his lips, kissed each finger in turn. My knees weakened and my breathing became ragged.
He looked up at me and I saw the now familiar twinkle in his eye. ‘You have never been courted?’
‘Not like this,’ I conceded. ‘Video and a takeaway curry was Mark’s idea of romance.’
‘Then I am pleased there are some things I can teach you,’
He enclosed my hand in his and we resumed our stroll along the willow-lined path.
‘Have you ever been in love?’ I asked.
He paused before answering. ‘Many times. My first love was the stable hand’s daughter.’
‘Hardly suitable for the son of the house.’
‘Hardly,’ he agreed. ‘My mother sent her away.’
‘Your second love?’
His face softened. ‘In Italy. I lived there for nearly a year.’
‘What happened?’
He shrugged. ‘I knew I had to marry Anne, so at the end of my time I came home, but I think of her often.’
‘And Anne?’
The corners of his mouth tightened. ‘I’ve told you. Ours was not a love match. I liked her well enough, and perhaps in time we would have come to love each other, but God took her before her time.’
What a contradiction this man was, I thought--the soldier and scientist with the heart of a poet. If I had met him at a party in an ordinary course of my life, I could quite easily let myself fall for him.
What did I mean?
I had already set myself on that slippery slope. I was strolling along the river bank on a beautiful summer’s day with my hand in his. I could forget that he would die in a few short days...that he was already dead and had been for over three hundred years.
I released my hand and stopped.
‘Did I say something to offend you?’ he inquired.
