A Sister's Courage

by Catherine King

Genres: Historical Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Sacrifice When her mother passed away, Meg Parker was forced to sacrifice her chance at love for the sake of her family. She hopes she will be able to live a full life once again after her father remarries - until tragedy strikes a second time. Suddenly, Meg is facing a darker future altogether. Struggles Lady Alice Langton is travelling the Yorkshire Dales, spreading the suffragette message. Florence Brookes, the daughter of a prosperous grocer, accompanies her, impassioned by the cause but seeking distraction from her own troubles. Appalled by their lack of domestic skills, Meg decides to flee her old life and joins the two women as their maidservant as they make their way to London. Strength When Meg is reunited with her old flame, she is hesitant about her feelings for him - not least because of the rift this causes between her and Lady Alice. It's not until Florence's actions land them in jeopardy that Meg realises she must find the courage to make a heartbreaking choice.

Release date: August 1, 2013

Publisher: Sphere

Print pages: 448

Sample

Bright sunlight streamed into the warm kitchen and Meg felt her excitement bubbling. She hoped Jacob would be at the Mission today and she looked forward to spending time on her appearance before she went out. She could hardly wait to see him again.

‘My, that was a grand dinner, Meg.’ Her father scraped back his chair and stretched out his legs.

‘Thank you, Father.’ Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding with fresh greens from the garden was his favourite Sunday dinner and she hoped it had put him in a good mood. He wouldn’t be happy when she told him she was going out. She stood up and said, ‘I’ll get on with the washing-up now. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘We’ll have it later, love. My roly-poly pudding hasn’t gone down yet.’

That meant tea in the middle of the afternoon at half past three and Meg wanted to be at the Mission Hall by then. Meg loved her father. He had been a faithful husband to her late mother and was a good parent to all of his three children, even though her brothers had long since left home. As youngsters, the boys never went short of school uniform or shoes and Father still worked hard at the quarry all week so he always had ‘something for a rainy day’ when they needed it. But, as the only girl and the baby of the family, Meg had found that her brothers’ night-school fees came first. She had grown used to her mother’s gentle excuses when it came to her schooling.

The boys, in turn, had done well to pass their exams and gain positions as shipping clerks for the White Star Line in Liverpool. Father was proud of their achievements and set them up in decent lodgings with a good suit of clothes each. He had, Mother explained, to do the same for each of his sons. It was only fair. As a consequence, Meg’s mother had taken a job at the local textile mill to help out with the housekeeping. Then she had put in a good word for Meg as soon as she was old enough to leave school and they had worked together in the checking room as well as at home. This had made it much harder for Meg when Mother was taken from them a couple of years ago. But Meg had been strong for all of them and kept the household going during those dark days. She had been seventeen at the time. Mother’s loss had been a great shock to all of them but especially to her father and Meg worked hard to run things exactly as Mother had for him.

Father was wedded to his routine. Meg thought she had done the right thing by trying not to change any of it when Mother died. But she had noticed lately that he was becoming more set in his ways and dependent on her and she began to worry that she might grow old as a spinster daughter looking after her ageing father. She was already nineteen. Her friend Sally, who was the same age, was engaged to be married.

Meg cleared the table and washed up in the scullery while Father enjoyed a pipe of tobacco in his easy chair by the kitchen fire. The casement clock in the hall chimed. She dried her hands and said, ‘Well, that’s all done for today. I said I’d meet Sally to help out at the Mission Hall this afternoon.’

‘Don’t you want to give me a hand in the garden?’ Father sounded hurt. ‘Your mother used like sowing seeds on a sunny day.’

I’m not Mother, Meg answered silently. She felt disloyal because she knew how much he had loved her mother. She had loved her just the same and, even two years after her loss, whenever she thought about her a tear threatened. Meg made an effort to pull herself together. Why don’t I tell him about Jacob? she thought. She knew the answer. Because there’s nothing to say yet, and there never will be if I can’t get out and meet him on a Sunday.

‘Isn’t Sally walking out with a young man?’ Father queried.

‘She is. Robert’s a clerk in the municipal offices.’

Father nodded with approval. ‘She’s done well for herself.’

Meg cheered up at this comment. At least Father would approve of Jacob. He’d been at the grammar school with Robert and now he worked in a lawyer’s office in Leeds. But in the summer he came out to this part of the Dales on the railway train every Sunday, even when it rained.

‘They won’t want you tagging along, will they?’ Father added.

‘Robert will be cycling with the Clarion Club until teatime.’ So will Jacob, she thought and dreamed for a moment about seeing his smiling tanned face and bright blue eyes later in the day.

‘There’ll be a Clarion Club in every town soon,’ Father commented.

‘Well, so many folk have bicycles nowadays. Sally and I have been asked to help with the teas at the Mission Hall. They’re busy on a Sunday afternoon now the days are longer.’

‘Haven’t you enough to do here, after a week at the mill?’

More than enough, Meg thought. She never grumbled as a rule. Sally had been taken on at the mill at the same time as her, straight after they’d left school. They had to work long hours but the money was good and sometimes they got best-quality cloth cheaper than from the market because the loom had produced a flaw in the bolt and it couldn’t be sold to a warehouse. Meg made most of her own clothes and was looking forward to wearing her new blouse this afternoon.

‘We are raising money for the chapel roof,’ she explained. He couldn’t argue with that, she thought.

But he sounded disgruntled. ‘I see. What time will you be back?’

Meg’s heart sank. She decided to stand her ground. Father would have to get his own tea today. ‘I don’t know. We might go for a walk by the river afterwards.’ With Robert and Jacob, she added silently.

Father made a grunting noise in his throat and Meg hoped he wasn’t going to be difficult. She stifled her mounting impatience and went on, ‘I’ve made your favourite lemon-curd tarts. I’ll leave them on the kitchen table under a teacloth. There’s a full kettle on the range and I’ve put the tea in the pot ready for you.’

‘You’ve made up your mind then.’

‘Don’t be like that, Father. I don’t go out in the week. By the time I’ve walked home from the mill, cooked a meal and tidied round, it’s too late to do anything else.’ Not that there was anywhere exciting to go in their small market town, Meg thought. Her life revolved around working at the mill and looking after Father.

Nonetheless, she felt guilty. Father was lonely without Mother and he suffered more on a Sunday because it had been their family day together for over thirty years. He saw no reason to change the habits of a lifetime, and neither had Meg until Jacob came along.

‘It’ll be Sunday afternoon on my own again,’ he muttered.

Meg didn’t know what to say to cheer him. She stood up before she weakened. ‘I’ll just go and get changed then and I’ll be off.’

She put on her Sunday-best skirt in a lovely maroon colour and shoes with heels, and then piled her long fair hair up under a jaunty little hat adorned with a maroon ribbon, sticking it firmly in place with a couple of her mother’s hatpins. She had wanted to look like a Gibson Girl since she had seen a sketch and article in a journal. It was a popular fashion with all the young women at the mill. Meg had spent her evenings making an intricate white blouse with a high neck, a pleated tailored bodice and full sleeves with deep fitted cuffs. Satisfied with her appearance she went down to the kitchen, picked up a tin box tied with string and called cheerio to her father in the back garden. He didn’t reply.

Sally was waiting for her outside the Mission Hall. Until now, Meg had not been to the Mission Hall as regularly as this since before she started work. When she was little, her parents used to take her and her brothers every Sunday afternoon for an hour’s Sunday school. Father believed strongly in education and was proud that neither of his boys would be a quarryman like he was. Now, her eldest brother, Charley, was married and had gone to work in the Canadian office of the White Star Line. Albert, her other brother had talked of a new India office in his last letter. It suddenly occurred to Meg that Father was not only missing her mother, but also his sons. Another pang of guilt at leaving him on his own tugged at her heart.

Sally wore a Gibson Girl blouse too, but her skirt was dark blue. ‘The hall isn’t open yet. What’s in the tin?’ she asked.

‘I made a few tarts for Robert and – and Jacob, if he’s here.’ He’d said he would be but, even so, Meg was nervous and her stomach was churning.

‘Oh, he will be. Robert says he’s quite taken by you.’

‘Really?’ Meg felt a thrill of anticipation run down her back. Jacob belonged to a different Clarion Club from Robert, but this little market town in the heart of the Yorkshire Dales was popular with cyclists escaping grimy towns and cities in search of fresh air. In summer, the early train from Leeds was packed and the guard’s van full of bicycles.

‘I saw a notice in the post office about setting up a Clarion Club for girls,’ Meg commented. ‘Are you interested?’

‘Not really. I was going to tell you later. I’ll be moving to Leeds. Robert’s landed a job with the Corporation and found us a house to rent so we are definitely getting married this summer.’

‘Oh, how exciting! You are lucky.’ Meg was really pleased for Sally and Robert. But she would miss her friend at the mill. First her family and now her friends were moving away.

‘You should join, though,’ Sally suggested.

‘I haven’t got a bicycle.’

‘I’m sure you can find one languishing in somebody’s wash house.’

Meg warmed to the idea. ‘And I can easily run up a divided skirt with that wool worsted from the market.’

‘Like Mrs Dawson,’ Sally giggled, ‘pedalling along the High Street.’

‘Ssshh, she’ll be here in a minute.’ Meg looked around for the lady in charge of teas at the Mission Hall on Sundays and commented, ‘She’s late with the key this week.’

Sally wandered away, scanning the fells basking in hazy sunshine for a sign of the cyclists on their way back. Meg lapsed into thought and wondered what her father would think. Lady bicyclists were considered, at best, to have independent ideas or, at worst, to be radicals or suffragists. But a bicycle would be really useful to her. She could get home from the mill quickly and be able to carry home end-of-the-day bargains from the market. She wondered how much she would have to pay for one. She caught up with Sally and said, ‘I think I might see if I can find a second-hand bicycle. Will you ask around for me?’

‘Robert might know somebody.’

‘Where have they gone today?’

‘Swallowdale.’

‘Oh, not too far, then. Here’s Mrs Dawson at last. She’s pushing her bicycle; she must have a flat tyre.’

A group of Mrs Dawson’s Mission ladies had gathered and waited patiently while she wheeled her bicycle and its heavily laden handlebar basket around the back. She stowed it safely in the scullery before returning to open the front entrance. Mrs Dawson was limping, Meg realised as she followed the last of the ladies into the hall and placed her tin box on the floor by the small stage. She and Sally set to work arranging trestle tables and wooden benches in long rows ready for the ramblers and cyclists. It was hard work so the older ladies were glad of their help. Besides, Mrs Dawson wouldn’t let ‘young girls’ near the food and drink preparation. Meg heard her giving orders to her helpers. One of the older ladies came over with cleaning cloths to wipe down the tables.

‘It’s not like Mrs Dawson to be late,’ Meg commented.

‘She’s got a bad knee,’ the lady said. ‘She had to push her bicycle all the way here. The doctor says she’s got to ease up a bit.’

‘Do you mean she will give up her Mission work?’ Meg had thought that Mrs Dawson was a permanent fixture on the ladies’ committee.

‘It’s time somebody else had a chance to run things.’ The lady’s tone was critical. ‘We felt sorry for her. She came back home as a widow to look after her ailing sister. When the sister passed away she had empty days to fill so we invited her on to the committee and now she’s taken over. We were glad to have her at first, but you can have too much of a good thing.’

‘I suppose she’s lonely,’ Meg said. ‘Where are her children?’

‘She doesn’t have any.’

‘Oh, that’s a shame.’

Mrs Dawson had taken up her position at a small table by the door to take the money when walkers and cyclists clattered in, hungry and thirsty from their outing. Her selected servers stood behind a wooden counter making up the enamel plates of potted-meat sandwiches, buttered scone and fairy cake or jam tart, baked at home by Mrs Dawson and her chosen helpers.

When the hall was ready, Sally went outside to look for Robert. Meg followed her to the door and asked, ‘What shall I do next, Mrs Dawson?’

‘Go and help with the copper in the back. If the water’s ready you can fill the teapots.’ She stared at her for a moment before adding, ‘You don’t want to be spoiling that nice blouse. You’ll find a clean pinny in my bicycle basket.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Dawson.’

The big enamelled teapots were so heavy when full of water that they had extra handles above the spout for lifting. Meg put coal on the fire underneath the copper and added more water from the pump at the sink. Then she took off her apron and went to stand with the other ladies behind the counter in the hall.

She scanned the benches for Jacob. Sure enough, he was sitting with Robert, enjoying his tea. He noticed her and waved. Meg’s heart somersaulted and she waved back. Sally sidled up beside her and murmured, ‘He’s here, then.’ Meg felt a tingle of pleasure run down her spine. She remembered their first meeting outside this very hall.

Robert had introduced Jacob to his fiancée and her friend and Meg was immediately attracted to Jacob. They had chatted about the villages he’d cycled through, which Meg knew well. Jacob was handsome and sociable with dark hair and bright blue eyes that crinkled at the corners when he smiled. He had told her that he had a position in a legal office but that was all she knew about him, except that she’d taken an instant liking to him. He’d said how much he loved Deepdale and they had discussed whether the railway was a good thing or not for the Dales.

Mrs Dawson distracted Meg from her dreaming as she arrived at the counter with her cash box ready to take money from those who were hungry enough for a second round of tea. Jacob rose to his feet and came over. He handed payment for two more teas to Mrs Dawson and scanned the remaining plates. ‘Any more with lemon-curd tarts?’ he asked.

‘Lemon-curd tarts?’ Mrs Dawson queried. She appeared to be offended. ‘I didn’t ask for lemon-curd tarts. We don’t do them as a rule.’

‘Oh!’ Meg exclaimed. ‘I left them in a tin…’ She looked around quickly for her tin, which she spied under the counter, opened and empty. ‘Oh,’ she repeated, ‘they were mine, Mrs Dawson. I made them for my father’s tea and – and – I brought some with me.’ She looked at Sally, who had put her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles.

Jacob smiled at the row of ladies in front of him and went on, ‘They were very good. We both said so. May we have them again next week?’

‘We’ll see,’ Mrs Dawson replied, handing him two plates with sandwiches, scone and a jam tart.

‘I’ll bring your mugs of tea over,’ Sally volunteered, and went to talk to Robert.

‘The lemon-curd tarts did look very nice,’ one of the Mission ladies commented.

‘I made the lemon curd myself,’ Meg added.

‘I suppose you want paying for them?’ Mrs Dawson answered.

‘Well, no, not really, they were for…’ She stopped.

‘You have to be paid for the ingredients now they’ve been sold,’ Mrs Dawson stated. ‘How many did you bring?’

‘A dozen.’ Jacob was in lodgings and she’d thought he might take them on the train back to Leeds.

Mrs Dawson opened her cash box and began to count out coppers.

‘No, honestly, Mrs Dawson, I don’t want paying for them.’

‘The Mission always pays it way.’

‘Well – er – well…’ Meg’s mind was racing. ‘Actually you could do me a favour instead.’

‘What kind of favour?’ Mrs Dawson sounded defensive.

Meg looked at her expectant face. ‘I’m looking for a second-hand bicycle. Do you know anybody with one for sale?’

‘For you?’ Mrs Dawson asked.

‘Yes. We might be having a girls’ cycling club here.’

‘Indeed?’ Mrs Dawson appeared to approve. ‘I’m thinking of selling mine. The doctor says I have to get rid of it.’

‘Can I have a look at it, Mrs Dawson?’

‘It’s worth more than a dozen lemon-curd tarts, my girl.’

‘Oh yes, of course. I didn’t mean—’ Meg began.

‘You’ll have to wait until I’ve had my committee meeting after we’ve done. Go for a walk or something.’

Oh dear, she would be late home and Father would be wondering where she was. But she wanted a bicycle. ‘All right, Mrs Dawson,’ she replied and went over to join her friends.

Later, Jacob suggested that he and Meg take a different path from Sally and Robert. He leaned his bicycle against a stone wall and turned his face to the sun. ‘You’re lucky to live in these parts.’

‘There’s not much work though,’ Meg commented.

‘I know, but I wish I still lived here.’

‘Are you from round here, then?’

‘My father is gamekeeper up on Ferndale Moor. I used to help him in my school holidays.’

‘Weren’t you at the grammar school with Robert? Ferndale is a long way from the grammar school.’

He smiled at her – she adored his smile – and continued, ‘I had lodgings in the week. I’d won a scholarship, you see.’

‘Good for you.’ Meg had inherited her father’s admiration for learning. ‘They said that I could have gone on to the girl’s high school if I wanted.’

‘Didn’t you want to?’

‘I did actually,’ she said. She remembered her excitement when the headmaster had asked to speak with her father and her disappointment when Mother explained that it would cost too much money. She had accepted Father’s decision at the time but now she experienced an unusual sense of frustration that she was stuck in this town working at the mill for ever. She added, ‘But I have two brothers and they came first.’

‘That’s a pity.’

Yes it is, she thought, and liked him for saying so. She said, ‘Well, if I had gone to the high school I wouldn’t have met Sally in the mill,’ and smiled.

‘Or me,’ he added seriously.

That cheered her and she thought again how much she liked Jacob. ‘I have to go back to the hall before Mrs Dawson locks up,’ she said. ‘She might be selling her bicycle and I want one.’

‘Is that so? Which model is it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, how much does she want for it?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’d better let me take a look at it for you.’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course I would. Although I reckon Mrs Dawson will have bought the best, don’t you?’

‘Probably,’ she agreed with a grin.

‘Come on then, let’s go back.’ Jacob pushed his bicycle with one hand and offered Meg his free arm. She linked hers with his and it felt comfortable.

But Meg stopped suddenly when they approached the Mission Hall as she recognised a familiar figure talking to a couple of the Mission ladies’ husbands. They were waiting for the committee meeting to finish.

‘Oh dear,’ Meg muttered with a sinking heart. Surely he could have spent his Sunday afternoon without her? She hoped he wasn’t going to make a fuss just as she and Jacob were getting on so well. ‘My father’s here,’ she said.

‘Really? Where?’ Jacob’s alert eyes followed Meg’s gaze.

‘Over there with the others.’ Reluctantly she unhooked her arm from Jacob’s and said, ‘Wait here.’

‘Why? I should like to meet him.’

‘He doesn’t know about you yet.’

‘Don’t you think he ought to, then?’

Jacob looked hurt so she rushed on: ‘I don’t want to upset him. Oh, I’m sure he’ll take to you but it’s just that he – he depends on me so much since Mother died and he misses her. He doesn’t want me going out on a Sunday. He’s lonely, you see.’

Jacob didn’t look pleased with her little speech but he appeared to accept it and said, ‘I’ll wait here for you.’

Meg gave him a grateful smile. She didn’t want her father to blame Jacob in any way for keeping her out. It was very important to her that Father approved of him. ‘I’ll see what he wants,’ she said and quickened her step. It wasn’t that she didn’t wish Father to meet him. It’s just that she would like to prepare him first. But there was no sense in avoiding it now, because everyone at the Mission Hall had seen her with Jacob so she had to tell Father about him before anybody else did.

‘Hello, Father.’

Her father turned round. ‘I thought something had happened to you.’

‘Is everything all right?’

‘The house is so empty without you. I wondered where you were.’

Meg suppressed a sigh and raised a smile. ‘I’m on my way home now. I was just waiting to have a word with Mrs Dawson. She’s the lady in charge.’ Meg looked around for her and saw Jacob approaching slowly. He stopped a few yards away, caught her eye and began to examine his bicycle chain.

One or two ladies wandered out of the hall, called cheerio and left. The next one headed straight for her husband and said, ‘Mrs Dawson’s giving up the chair at last.’ They linked arms and walked off with their heads together.

‘Where is this Mrs Dawson, then?’ Father asked.

‘She’ll be locking up. She wants to sell her bicycle and I was thinking of buying it.’

‘What do you want a bicycle for?’

‘Well, for—’ Meg stopped as Mrs Dawson came round the corner of the hall with her bicycle. ‘Here she is now.’

Father frowned in the sunlight. ‘Who did you say she was?’

‘Mrs Dawson.’

‘I know that face.’ Father gazed at Mrs Dawson. ‘She’s Edith Braithwaite that was. Bossy Braithwaite we used to call her. What’s she doing here?’

‘She’s in charge of the ladies’ committee.’

‘Aye, that sounds like her, right enough. Come on, Meg lass, let’s be off before she sees you.’ Father took hold of her arm and propelled her forward.

‘Oh, but I’ve been waiting to have a look at her bicycle,’ Meg protested.

‘You don’t want a bicycle.’

Yes I do, she thought, so I can get home much quicker from the mill to put your tea on.

‘Look sharp, lass.’ Father twisted his head to look back as he propelled her forwards. ‘She’s talking to that big lad who was hanging about. Bicycles are for lads anyway.’

‘It’s a girls’ bicycle,’ Meg commented, turning to look for herself. They were out of earshot but, short of calling out to Jacob and making a show of herself, Meg felt helpless. The last thing she wanted was a scene outside the Mission Hall giving the wrong impression of Jacob to her father.

‘What happened to Sally?’ Father asked.

‘She and Robert went home.’

‘So why didn’t you?’

‘I told you! I wanted a closer look at Mrs Dawson’s bicycle.’

‘I’ll not have you hanging about places like this on your own. Folk’ll get the wrong idea and you never know what types have come out for the day from Leeds.’

‘Mrs Dawson used to live in Leeds,’ Meg said pointedly.

‘Don’t get cheeky with me,’ he replied. ‘You know what I mean.’

Yes she did, and whilst she appreciated that her father cared for her welfare, she felt stifled by his presence. She was nineteen, not nine, and quite capable of taking care of herself. She walked on patiently working out that if she settled Father at home with a cup of tea she could hurry down to the railway station and see Jacob before he went back to Leeds. ‘How do you know Mrs Dawson?’ she asked.

‘We went to the same school when we were nippers, same as everybody else around here.’

‘Is that all?’

Father’s boots crunched on the dry stony ground as he quickened his step. ‘I’m parched. Let’s get home and put the kettle on.’

Meg knew better than to press him further. She’d find out why he was reluctant to answer some other time. Her concern at the moment was to get to the station before Jacob’s train left. Twenty minutes later, she poured Father a second cup of tea and said, ‘I’m just going to run down to the railway station to see if Sally is seeing Robert off.’

‘Doesn’t he bicycle home?’

‘It’s twelve miles, Father, and the Leeds train stops at his station.’

‘Don’t be long.’

‘Oh, I might go back to Sally’s after and say hello to her mother.’

‘What time’s supper then?’

‘Will half past seven be all right?’

‘Aye, I’ll do a bit more in the garden.’

Meg heaved a sigh of relief. Everything was back to normal for Father so he was contented. She went upstairs to tidy her appearance and dab on some scent.

Jacob was waiting for her at the top of Station Hill and she ran to meet him. ‘How did you know I’d get away?’

‘I didn’t. I just hoped but I would have waited until I heard the train whistle at the junction.’

‘I’m sorry about my father. He worries about me when I’m out on my own. Thanks for coping with Mrs Dawson for me.’

‘It’s a good bicycle and it’s worth what she wants for it. I asked her to give you first refusal.’

‘Oh, did you? Thank you, Jacob.’ His broad smile melted her heart and she so much wanted to kiss him that it hurt.

‘I can lend you the money if you like,’ he added.

‘There’s no need for that. I’m well paid at the mill and there is very little to spend it on in Deepdale.’

He put his head on one side and gazed at her. Then he took her arm gently and drew her into the shade of yew hedge. ‘May we say goodbye here? The platform will be crowded today.’

A thrill of anticipation ran through Meg. Did he want to kiss her? She hoped so.

‘I won’t be with the Clarions next Sunday,’ he said. ‘I am overdue a visit to see my parents.’

Meg’s disappointment must have shown on her face because he went on quickly, ‘I can cycle up to Ferndale from here so I’ll be on the early train as usual.’ He looked tense, she thought.

‘Shall I meet you when you arrive?’ she asked.

His face relaxed a little. ‘Please. And will you tell your father about me? I really like being with you, Meg, and I want to talk to my parents about you.’

‘We haven’t known each other very long,’ Meg cautioned.

‘I don’t need any longer to know that you’re the girl for me.’

‘Oh.’ Her heart turned over. She had hardly dared hope that his interest in her might be so deep. ‘I feel the same about you. I haven’t met anyone like you before.’

His smile returned and he let out a light sigh. ‘I thought so. We’re meant to be together. I shall ask my mother to invite you for tea at Ferndale.’

‘I should like that.’ She thought of how she would break her good news to Father and added, ‘We don’t need to rush things though, do we?’

‘Well, no, but I may be moved on from the Leeds office later this year.’

Meg’s eyes rounded. She was unsure of what to think except that this did seem to be rushing things. ‘What do you mean? Where will you go?’

‘Oh heck, I wasn’t going to say anything until I had spoken with my parents about it. It’s not certain yet but it’s an opportunity for me to get on and I want you to be part of it. I love you, Meg.’

His beautiful blue eyes penetrated hers with a longing that she realised matched her own.

‘Jacob, I love you too. You are everything I have ever wished for in a man.’

He glanced around. ‘No one’s about,’ he said. ‘May I kiss you?’

He didn’t wait for an answer and Meg’s knees were in danger of buckling underneath her as he lifted her chin and covered her mouth with his. The fluttering inside her made her legs tremble until she felt his arms encircle her body and hold her close. He had kissed her before, on the station platform amongst a chattering public clamouring with bicycles and haversacks. This was different. This was a deep and passionate capture of her mouth and mind. She was so close to Jacob’s body, so aware of his strength and resilience. Her hands explored the breadth of his shoulders and narrowness of his waist. He pressed her soft and pliant form against his so that she was in no doubt that she aroused his masculine need. Thrilled and frightened at the same time, she knew what this meant and was relieved they were in a public place for she realised that she could never refuse him. She loved him and she wanted him to love her in return.

He was breathing deeply and tracing the shape of her back and waist. His hands found the curve of her breasts and she groaned. He released her suddenly and stepped away. His eyes had darkened and there was a flush on his cheeks. Meg’s face burned so she guessed she looked the same. ‘You want me as much as I want you,’ he murmured.

Meg couldn’t speak. She nodded her head, wide-eyed and breathless.

He grasped her again, holding her head against his chest and nuzzled her hair. ‘How shall I wait until next week before I see you again? My parents must know how much I love you. I shall insist that I take you with me when I visit next month.’

Meg wished she could quell the thumping of her heart and find her voice. She heard