Agnes loved whoever had come up with the idea to have a picnic with all of her heart. The sun was shining, the people were laughing, and all she could smell was flowers and food. Of course, it meant no work at the farm for the day, which was also lovely.

She managed to sneak away from her family’s stall to explore a bit. She wouldn’t be missed. Her mother was deep in conversation with Mrs. Martin from down the road about apples and hair ribbons, so it was just a matter of stepping away when she wasn’t looking. 

The only problem with sneaking away when no one was looking meant that Agnes herself wasn’t looking where she was going. As she was just getting out of earshot of her mother, she bumped right into someone.

“I’m sorry! I should have been paying more attention.”

         To be fair Simon had not been paying much attention to his surroundings either. The only thing at the picnic which held his gaze for a decent amount of time was his sister, making sure she was okay wherever she was and whatever she was doing, so it was safe to say he did not see her coming either. 

“Better for this than jumping into rivers,” said Rachel with a coquettish smile, before she caught herself, blinked, and smoothed her expression into a somberness more becoming a woman her age and position. She turned to the man behind the counter. “Oh, ah. May I have a pitcher of juice for the stall, please?”

She handed over some coins and received a clay pitcher in return. She should turn and leave, but lingered, her fingers resting upon the cool clay. “I admit it does not seem like your kind of entertainment, Mr Blackwell. Was it Miss Blackwell who insisted you come?”

         “ Indeed, I think it might be better for all if no one almost falls into any rivers today. Though I doubt there would be a shortage of those ready to jump to a lady’s aid, ” he spoke with a gesture of his hand, the one which held his drink before he swirled the beverage around as if trying to see if he actually liked it or not. “ No no, I LOVE all of this... The pomp of it all gives me a thrill. ” His tone was DRIPPING with sarcasm however he quickly reined it in and offered a more genuine smile in it’s place.

“I…” How could she admit she had hopped and kicked at the bridge in a deliberate attempt to make it give? Her inquiring mind had got the better of her common sense. She cast about for an excuse, but found none. “I wanted to see if it was safe for the children to play near,” she admitted in a defeated tone, but smiled at her own folly, shaking her head. “It was very foolish of me.”

She took his arm gratefully and limped forward a step. If she kept her foot just so, the pain was quite bearable. Not broken, then, thank goodness. “Yes, let’s. Do heroes always sell themselves so short?” she teased. “You have even refrained from making fun of me so far, despite how well I deserve mockery. You are a true gentleman, Mr Blackwell.”

A pleasurable chill coursed through Rachel at the stroke of his hand. Her lips parted and she turned her face up to him, a protest dying on her lips.

It had been a simple, thoughtless caress, signifying nothing. She would very much have liked to chalk her reaction down to the excitement of her predicament and rescue, but it was not the first time Simon Blackwell had awakened something like it in her. The embarrassing truth was she responded to his physicality like some thoughtless rutting harlot. Him, more than anyone, for some reason she could not account for.

But she was not thoughtless! She cast her eyes down and gently pushed on his chest to part them. “I would appreciate that. I think…” She tested her injured ankle and winced in pain. “I may need some support. I do not think it is twisted, only pulled,” she hurried to add. “I will be all right soon enough.”

She hoped so, at any rate. A substitute teacher might be difficult to find, and that would make another deficit in her account book. “I am sorry for the trouble, Mr Blackwell. I will not forget the kindness.”

Massey raised his eyebrows at the use of his name. He and Simon Blackwell had been boys together, though four years apart and never friends, but since Connor Massey had become a man he had not permitted anyone outside his wife and brothers to call him by his first name. He suspected most people in Chedworth had already forgotten what it was. He was Mr Massey of Massey & Sons, almost a hereditary post, though it had only been held by two generations so far. It added an interesting touch of intimacy to Blackwell’s insult, in addition to being in line with his condescending tone. “You may not like hypocricy, Simon, but it is a currency of society. I appease hypocrisy and am, I think, well-thought-of by the other hypocrites. You cling to your pride and speak filthy facts boldly, and a den of thieves like this becomes your kingdom, and your profession at twenty-eight remains barely worth the name.”

He rolled his drink in its glass and grinned. It was not a nice smile, and one he was not in the habit of showing anyone, but Blackwell was challenging him with his blasphemy and he had to admit it was so far tremendous fun. “Who says Mary didn’t receive the ire of her community just the same? A hasty marriage to Joseph is all that saved her. From a theological point of view, however, I believe the difference is that God impregnated Mary without actually fucking her.”

—–  Simon spoke with a wisdom that Beatrice only wished she could share. One that she hoped, in time, would come easily to her. She had been through much in the past few months, but in comparison to Simon’s life, she had nothing to complain about. She glanced at him, an odd sort of smile forming on her features as she processed just what he was saying. “I hope you ar right, Simon. On all accounts. Our world is changing, and while I would like to think that by the time that Patrick is our age he would have more freedom, and there be less judgement, one can’t truly know that for certain. I do hope though, that you’re right. Nothing would please me more.” Beatrice bit down on her bottom lip and let out a small sigh, as she shifted the few things that were in her arms. 

“You yourself just told me about how the world is changing, and that in a few years time people’s opinions may change. I cannot say much in way of my parents or brother, but I do know that Mildred and I would be happy to have the both of you. If it would make you more comfortable though, you and I can have tea in the garden, and the other ladies could have tea in the sitting room? Once Cora has seen Patrick of course. I’d hate to put you in such an awkward situation, but I would hate for you to think that you were unwelcome, because so long as you and I are friends, you will be welcome to visit anytime you like.” She paused, giving him a stern look. “Besides, my brother may have his opinion of you, but mine is much different and in time… I’m sure he could change his mind - Just as I am sure the world will about many a different sort of thing.” 

There was a tone of playfulness to her voice, and she let out a small chuckle. it was optimistic, to say the least, to think that things could be different, and while she wanted nothing more than for that to happen, it wouldn’t for some time, unless she herself tried to change things for the better. 

        Reaching over without even so much as an offer, Simon lifted some of the things from her and added them to his own pile while listening to her speak, a smile playing havoc on his lips since it wasn’t usual that someone of her standing would agree with him. ❝ It’s people like yourself who will bring about that change, you know that? Your son is part of the next generation and if we want to see a change it begins with yourself, don’t let him grow up seeing their judgement as a way to tear him down; teach him that it’s one way of separating the people who don’t deserve the time of day from those who do. ❞ It sounded almost too easy to be true but it could happen, that’s what happened with Simon himself. If he took anything from his father it was that he should never apologize for who he is, right or wrong, he didn’t care for anyone who didn’t make the effort to know him. 

“I suppose me protesting that I have nothing to hide would do little to alleviate your suspicions then?” She countered with a bit of a playful smirk. Mildred could understand his point; there were plenty of pretty lies about her. Some of which were her own invention while others she allowed to circulate. Her reputation was nearly cemented and she could do little wrong now. She supposed that her younger sister’s faults worked as both an advantage and disadvantage. In comparison, she was both untouchable (most likely due to her paradoxical fiery and cold heart), and chaste. Yet others would question her merely by association.

If the two were closer, she would have snapped at him. There was a bit of anger that rose up within her at his pity for her sister. Mildred could see the genuine care, but cared little for speaking of her sister in any context. “Others do not appreciate you enough, Mr. Blackwell. And you do not merely bend to my opinions as others do. I should be quite irritated, but I cannot help being intrigued. Do you truly think me so cruel?”

         ❝ I don’t have any suspicions, not really. You see I don’t sit around wondering why people as they are, trying to guess if Miss Holland might really be as stubborn as she seems or she’s only trying to keep weak minded people out, I take people as I see them just as they do me. ❞ When he was younger perhaps he would have but not these days. Once he thought he might be able to grow a reputation different to that of his parents, show that the apple can grow quite far from the tree, but he wasn’t given the best start in life and surely it was too late for that.