KATHRYN WADED THROUGH the knee-high wild grasses of Cucklett Delf, alternately humming and singing a simple song and verse of her own composition. Earlier that day, when she had been out gallivanting with Paul, the late August sun had been uncomfortably hot. Now that the sun had fallen to the horizon, its long rays had lost their intensity. A northeast breeze kissed her cheeks and flowed in and around the V-shaped neckline of her dress, cooling her skin. She felt emboldened, and for the first time in her life, she was a woman in control of her own destiny.
She did not care if her father was worried or angry. She was angry with him. Furious, in fact. She would do whatever was necessary to escape Ethan Cromwell, even if that meant running away. With or without her father’s blessing, she would marry Paul Foster.
Eventually, she grew tired of traipsing through the tall, scratchy grass and decided to sit and wait for Paul. Cucklett Delf was a natural bowl-shaped amphitheater formed by the intersection of a meadow and a semicircular tree-lined ridge. She marched up the western sloping hill and settled in under the stout branches of an ancient English elm where she and Paul would regularly come to kiss and cuddle. She doffed her improvised knapsack and set it on the grass beside her. She sighed. Where was Paul? The sun was setting, and in thirty minutes it would be dark. In her haste to run away, she had forgotten to bring a lantern. Her stomach growled. She had forgotten food as well! Not to worry, Paul would arrive soon and that was all that mattered. Together, they could face any obstacle.
Her thoughts meandered from Paul in the present, to the future they would make together. She subconsciously laid a hand on her belly. How many children would they have? She contemplated baby names. For a daughter, she favored Elizabeth, and also Francine. For a boy, William was her first choice. Maybe George. Both were proud and kingly names. Papa would be so honored to have a namesake! A sudden and surprising pang of guilt washed over her. Since her mother died, not a day had passed without a kiss goodnight from her Papa. This night would be the first of many, and the thought suddenly made her sad. She loved her father, and despite his clumsy attempts to express himself, it was obvious his love for her was unconditional. She knew that in his heart, he believed that arranging her marriage to Cromwell was his duty. It was a father’s way to elevate and safeguard his only child. This was the cool and pragmatic logic of a middle-aged tailor, long since widowed, with no dowry to speak of. The more she thought on the matter, the more she began to understand his point of view. Nonetheless, Kathryn was not in the same place as her father. She was young, and vibrant, and hopelessly romantic. Like a cold metal candlesnuffer lowered onto a glowing flame, marriage to Cromwell would extinguish her spirit. She would wither and die inside. She would miss her Papa. Terribly. But she knew what she must do.
Hugging her knees tightly, she began to cry.
A warm, heavy arm enveloped her upper back and shoulders, and she heard the grass shift as Paul settled in beside her. She looked up at him, and met his gaze. He flashed her an easy, confident smile. With his other hand, he wiped the tears from her cheeks. Her composure returned in his presence, and she wondered how she could manage a life without him.
“Did you miss me so much, Lady Kathryn?” he teased.
“Oh Paul,” she gushed, and then kissed his mouth fiercely.
After their embrace, he nudged her makeshift knapsack with his foot. “What is this?”
“All my worldly possessions.”
He took both her hands in his. “Kathryn, what’s going on?”
“I’m running away.”
“Running away? What are you talking about, Kathryn?” For an instant, Paul looked at her bewildered and confused, before the obvious dawned on him. “It’s Cromwell … isn’t it?”
“Yes. The rumors are true. It’s been arranged; I am to wed Mr. Cromwell. Papa said Mr. Cromwell intends to propose to me in three days, when he returns from London. So, I must leave now.”
“Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. But … I was hoping you would come with me.”
“Of course I’m coming with you.”
She blushed, but he could not see this because the sun had dipped below the horizon, and the gloaming had taken them.
“Oh, Paul. I knew you’d say yes.”
Then, epiphany struck him. “Wait a minute. We don’t need to run away. You can stay with me, at the farm. We have plenty of room.”
Her brow furrowed. “No, Paul. Papa and Mr. Cromwell are not stupid. The first place they’ll look for me is at your house. I must altogether leave Eyam.”
“You’re right,” he said, rubbing his chin. “So we leave Eyam tonight?”
She nodded.
She had been thinking about running away for hours, but Paul had just begun to consider the implications. She knew that in the passion of the moment, he was forgetting something, something so important that he might resent her later if she did not mention it to him now. She did not want to do it, but if they were going to be together, then they needed to trust and support each other.
“What about the harvest? You’ve been talking about it for weeks,” she said, tentatively. “Are you sure you can leave?”
His mind raced. The harvest! He had completely forgotten about that. Paul was the eldest son in a family of seven. The mantra of duty and responsibility had been pounded into his head by his father from the time he was six years old. If he ran away with Kathryn, he would feel like a traitor to his family. On the other hand, if he abandoned her, he would feel like a traitor to love. His heart pounded. His feelings for Kathryn were ferocious. All-consuming. He knew the answer before the question was even posed.
“I will die if you marry Cromwell,” he said, his voice cracking, “and I will die if you leave Eyam without me. Father will be angry at my leaving, but my brothers will help him bring in the harvest. My duty is to you now.”
“And my devotion is to you.”
He dropped down on one knee. He plucked a wildflower from the grass and stripped off the leaves. With care, he bent the taut stem into a loop, and then wove the remainder repeatedly around itself, creating a rope-like twist. When he was finished, a violet flower sat atop an impromptu engagement ring.
Taking her by the hand, he said, “Kathryn Vicars, I love you, and I want to be your husband. Will you marry me?”
“Yes. Most positively, definitely yes!”
He slipped the wildflower ring onto her finger. She lifted his hand, motioning him to stand. They kissed in the twilight, held each other tight, and then kissed some more. It was Kathryn who broke away first.
“What do we do next?”
“We leave tonight, and we don’t look back. You wait here. I’m going back to the farm to fetch some clothes and ‘borrow’ one of father’s mares. We’ll take the road to Chesterfield; I know it well enough to travel in the dark. I have kin there, a bachelor uncle on my mother’s side who has no love for my father. Hopefully, he will let us stay a couple of days and not report our elopement to my mother. If we’re lucky, I can work for him in his tavern. If not, I can travel to Sheffield and look for an apprenticeship there. The rector in Sheffield can make our union legal, as well.”
She buried her face in his chest and squeezed him hard.
“Hurry, my love. Don’t make me wait one second extra to start our life together.”
“Not one extra second,” he replied, blowing her a kiss.
“Don’t forget to bring a lantern,” she called after him as he set off. “It’s dark.”
“I will.”
“And some food. I’m famished.”
“Yes, I’ll bring food.”
“Money, Paul. Don’t forget money,” she added, giggling.
And shoes, and britches, and a saddle for the horse … Not to worry. I’ll pack everything we need. I love you, my bride.”
“I love you … husband.”