Ashton Park by Murray Pura

doffed their caps.
    “Miss Danforth,” said Todd. “Are you all right?”
    She sprang into the coach, her breath rushing in and out rapidly. “Get me home, please. And let’s not take our time. I need to be back at Ashton Park.”
    “Miss Danforth—”
    “Now, Mr. Turpin. Now, Mr. Harrison.”
    She clutched the case against her chest where her dress had a small tear and there was a pinprick of blood. She scarcely noticed the land they drove through. At the manor she thanked them and walked off into the ash trees carrying the suitcase. When she reached the cliff she glanced down at the sea boiling against its foot. It was high tide. She flung the case as far as she could out into the ocean. It bobbed on the surface a few moments, carried forward by the whitecaps. Then it sank.

    “I thought you said they’d be gone until late,” Charlotte said.
    “It’s only my sister,” Edward replied.
    “Where did she leave the suitcase she was carrying?”
    “It doesn’t matter, does it? It’s her suitcase to do what she wants with.”
    The two were crouching behind a thick ash tree. Once Victoria was well out of sight on her way back to the manor, Charlotte put a hand to her mouth and began to giggle.
    “What is it?” Edward asked.
    “I’m with the lord’s and lady’s son and we’re hiding behind a tree like children up to mischief, afraid of getting a spanking.”
    “Well, we are up to mischief of a sort.”
    She leaned back against the tree trunk, her hair black and gleaming about the shoulders of her maid’s uniform, her lips a deep red from the warmth of the sun, her blue eyes caught up in all the light of the day.
    “It’s mischief, is it?” she teased. “Well, it must be. All we’ve done with our time together is lurk behind trees while your sister goes back and forth in front of us.”
    “She wasn’t supposed to be here.”
    “And all because you were tired of meeting in the hut by night.”
    “Not tired of it. Just tired of not seeing you in the sunlight.”
    “Oh, sure you see me every day, Edward.”
    “But I can’t touch you. I can’t take the pins from your hair. I can’t hold you in my arms and tell you what a beautiful woman you are. Absolutely stunning as the sea.”
    “You and your sailor words. That a girl should be so lucky. Come here.” She stretched out her arms.
    He came to her and she gathered him in, kissing his forehead and face. He did not respond, just closed his eyes and smiled, taking it all in—her arms tight around his back, her hair over his eyes, the heat of her kisses, her scent.
    “What happens to us?” she murmured, kissing his ear. “What happens when you go back to Rosyth next week?”
    “We write. You send me perfumed letters.”
    She drew her head back and her eyebrows arched. “Do I? And will your letters be scented with the North Sea? How do you expect me to get them without your mother noticing?”
    “I have a plan.”
    “Yes? And what is it?”
    “I will speak with Harrison. He can be trusted. I write to you and mail the letters to him. He will bring the letters to you. Discreetly.”
    “Every day?”
    “Yes. Every day.”
    She laughed and laced her arms around his neck, the starched sleeves rubbing against his skin. “Not every day, love. It would be wonderful. But I am sure your mother would notice that too. Why on earth would you be writing Harrison every day? To ask after the ash trees and oak trees and sheep? Once a week will have to be enough.”
    “It won’t be enough.”
    “Then write me every day and send them once a week.” She ran her hand through his hair. “But I will write you every day. Every night. So you don’t forget about me.”
    “No man forgets beauty like yours. No man breathing and likely few men dead.”
    She kissed him on the eyes. “Your silly words. I love them.”

    Victoria was not expecting the coach with her sister and Jeremiah. She was walking her mare Robin through the ash trees later in the day when she