A Perceived Indiscretion

Chapter One

Southern New Jersey, 1878

You are a murderess destined to burn in perdition!

Be gone with you! a second shrill voice screamed at the young woman’s back. We are decent folk, not wanting the likes of you living in our village.

The slender woman slowly turned to face her accusers, a wry smile upon her youthful face. The insult and accusation stung but she could not let the two women sense her hurt. She needed to maintain control. Does my presence so offend your Christian sensibilities, ladies? Am I not worthy of more charitable thoughts and words?

We do not condone mortal sin and murder is the gravest of all sins! A woman, plain of face and garb, spit onto the ground to emphasize her point. The spittle landed near the young woman’s feet shod in laced work boots caked with dried mud.

Her sense of humor always served as a protective cloak of defense and would serve her well now. So, the accused woman laughed melodiously before sarcastically retorting, "And here I thought that the inability to forgive was the gravest of mortal sins. How foolish of me. Of course, murdering an abusive, low life like Richard would appear to be a most severe sin in your condemning eyes."

My nephew was not a low life but he married you, one so low that you can easily crawl beneath a rock with your bastard in tow, an elderly woman with wisps of white hair, peeking out from beneath the red scarf she wore covering her head, screeched as she pointed a boney forefinger at the object of her contempt.

Ethan Webb stood a short distance away from the heated exchange, bracing his left shoulder against the thick trunk of an old oak tree. His arms were crossed against his broad chest while one booted foot was crossed over the other at his ankles. His stance appeared casual but his senses were alert. He observed the young woman’s eyes suddenly turn dark at the elder woman’s mention of ‘your bastard’. He intuitively sensed that the maiden’s control of the situation and her temper were fast slipping.

Her heart was pounding against her chest as she flexed her two hands into fists at her side. Her son was not a bastard! And she would not allow the other woman’s viperous tongue to speak ill of her child. Speaking quietly, she slowly enunciated every word, And you, of all people, would know what lies hidden beneath rocks. That is where you generally find your drunken husband carousing with the scum of the earth.

The white-haired woman’s eyes widened in outrage, revealing bloodshot eyes impaired with blurry vision. She stooped, grasping wet mud in her veined hand. Murderess, be gone! She flung the mud at the younger woman, hitting her target above the left breast.

Her companion likewise retrieved a fistful of mud, flinging it at the young woman’s dark hair hanging loosely down her back which was now turned away from the slings of mud.

Stop this instant! Ethan shouted as he stepped between the two assailants and their victim. He heard a splat, felt a thud and looked down to see his once pristine frock coat now soiled with oozing mud. He closed his eyes in a physical effort to control his rising temper.

The plain woman paled when she realized her error. She had struck an obvious gentleman with her muddied missile. He was an Englishman as evidenced by his speech and he did not look too pleased. "Beg pardon, sir. I did not intend to hit you. I was aiming at her." She pointed at her quarry now bent over in uncontrollable laughter.

The accused woman could not contain her mirth. The Englishman’s facial reaction had looked so comical. She realized that her laughter was a rude reaction to his chivalrous intention but she did not need a man to ‘save’ her from verbal slings. She was perfectly capable of defending herself.

Indeed. Ethan flicked the mud off his jacket with the tips of his manicured fingers. A ruby ring on his right ring finger glinted in the sunlight. Is there not something in the Bible referring to ‘one who is without sin cast the first stone’?

The elderly woman stammered as she slowly backed away from the assaulted gentleman whose low voice and calm manner were deceptive, disguising a smoldering anger. "Yes…yes…, my Lord, but we did not throw stones…only slung mud…to frighten her away. She is a murderess! We do not want the likes of her here in Smithville."

The ‘murderess’ was now holding a stitch in her side, produced by her uncontainable mirth. Her out-of-control laughter was further fueled by the sight of the muddy frock coat and the indignant look on the ‘Lord’s’ handsome face. She blinked her eyelids several times as she thought it odd that she considered him to be handsome. She had sworn off men as creatures not to be trusted and never took notice of their attractiveness. Not since the day of her…violation.

Annoyed with the woman’s cavalier attitude toward his efforts to rescue her, Ethan glared at her as he grumbled, I am Mr. Ethan Webb. My father was and my brother now is a lord of the peerage in England but I am a second son. Therefore, a lord I am not, thank God.

The white-haired woman crossed her arms beneath her sagging breasts before declaring, "I intend to speak to Mr. Smith when he returns from the House of Representatives. He will run her out of his village."

Ah, do you refer to Mr. Hezekiah Smith who founded this industrial village? Ethan smirked. "He happens to be a good friend of mine. Perhaps I shall have a talk with him upon his return. He is a just man who will not condone vigilante behavior."

The two women both walked backward, away from the obviously disgruntled gentlemen, repeating their apologies. Ethan waved them away with a flick of his wrist as he continued to stare at his ‘damsel’ in distress who appeared highly amused at his expense.

In immediate response to his silent dismissal, the two women turned and ran down the dirt road as quickly as their aging legs could transport them.

Ethan’s eyes narrowed as he calmly demanded, What is so amusing, madam? Pray tell, what is the joke?

The entertained woman, who looked to be perhaps twenty years of age, wiped her teary eyes with the back of her long sleeve. She giggled each time she spied the dark smudge blotting Ethan’s tailored garment. You looked so surprised and then, so indignant when the mud splat, marring your appearance. I have not laughed so heartily in months.

Ethan grew more irritated and annoyed with her lack of appreciation for his chivalrous intervention. After all, he had stepped forward to her rescue and she mocked him! Arrogantly, he explained, I thought perhaps you needed my assistance against flinging mud and hurtful words.

She suddenly stopped laughing. Ethan observed a slow scowl darkening her beautiful features. He thought it odd that he should consider her beautiful especially as she was dressed so poorly in soiled garments suited for the fields which stretched on both sides of the dirt road upon which they stood.

She was insulted by his portentous attitude. "I do not need nor want the assistance of any man especially one as pompous and condescending as you appear to be." She bent to retrieve a wicker basket perched precariously on a large rock positioned along the rutted roadway. She was breathing heavily as angry thoughts crossed her mind. Men were such loathsome creatures!

You are quite the ungrateful wench.

She whirled around before crossing the few steps to stand directly in front of the offending man. Looking up and stretching her neck, to increase her height of five feet four inches to better match his six-foot height, she countered, Do not insult me by calling me a wench! Again, her defensive wit emerged as she abruptly smiled an impish grin. I am not paid for my labors nor do I sell my favors. Therefore, a wench I am not. Thank God.

Ethan did not miss the rephrasing of his own earlier statement correcting the other woman who had mistakenly referred to him as ‘lord’. His serious mien faded and was immediately replaced with a crooked half-grin as he tapped the brim of his beaver with his right forefinger as if to offer a silent touché.

She was taken aback by his smile, unexpected and strangely appealing. When his lips tilted upward in a slight grin, his eyes squinted into narrow slits, intensifying their violet color. His crinkling eyes almost resembled those of the china man who laundered clothes in the village. Warmth spread like splayed fingers throughout her body.

She did not like the reaction she was experiencing to his innate charm. Taking a step backward, she sarcastically commented, So the man does know how to smile.

Ethan’s smile disappeared and he scowled at the mocking woman. He does on occasion. But this is not one. You, madam, are incorrigible. And have wasted too much of my time as it is. But perhaps you can guide me in the right direction. I seek the farm where Keri Mallory James resides.

Panic gripped her heart. Again, she took a small step backward as an anxious expression contorted her face. Her chocolate-colored eyes appeared to deepen in their brown hue. And her fingers gripped the handle of the basket she held close to her chest, effectively hiding her firm breasts. Stammering, she softly inquired, What…what business do you have with… Keri?

Ah, so I am in luck. You know the person whom I am seeking. My business with her is my affair. Where might I find her?

The man did not have the look of a policeman. So, she thought that there was no need to panic. She had done nothing wrong…at least in her eyes. She glanced in the direction to where her two accusers had traversed, heading toward the center of Smithville situated in view of the Rancocas Creek. She grimaced. But there were others who believed that she had done wrong.

There were others who openly accused her of murder.

Chapter Two

Keri swayed slightly on her feet, feeling light-headed and somewhat off kilter.

Ethan instantly clasped the woman’s elbow, steadying her. Madam, are you alright? You look pale and unsteady.

Yes…yes, I am fine. It must be the heat, nothing more to be sure. She quickly pulled her elbow from his comforting grasp as if his touch burned her.

Ethan did not find it exceptionally hot. There was a gentle summer breeze easing the humidity of the overcast day. But he accepted her feeble excuse, nonetheless. He needed to be about his business and not worry about the woman’s health. Again, I ask, where might I find Mrs. Keri Mallory James?

She sighed as she reluctantly accepted the fact that the moment of truth had arrived. She smiled thinly, looking almost childlike with a spot of mud painted on the tip of her pert nose. You might find her here. I am Keri Mallory… James.

"You are Keri Mallory James?" A stunned Ethan swept his eyes from her head to her mud caked ankle boots, shamelessly examining the woman before him. Her brunette hair highlighted with streaks of auburn hung long and unkempt with errant curls plastered to her high forehead as they escaped the confines of her plaid kerchief. Her neck and face were lightly tanned with a dusting of freckles appearing across the bridge of her small nose, no doubt due to excessive sun exposure. She was obviously no fair English maiden protecting her creamy complexion under a fancy parasol. Yet, he could not deny that her beauty rivaled any English lady of Ethan’s acquaintance back in England. The two dimples indented on her smooth cheeks when she smiled were most beguiling. And although her gown was dirty and disheveled, it could not hide the shapely form beneath.

Keri chuckled to see the comical expression on the man’s animated face. Yes, I am she. You seem taken aback. Do I detect disappointment? Perhaps you were expecting a proper lady reminiscent of the coquettish English ladies you reluctantly left behind in England. She shrugged. I am who I am without artifice or apology. She turned. in the opposite direction to where her accusers had travelled north into the small village, and began walking in determined strides. I must get back to the farm. If you wish to converse, then talk while we walk.

Ethan caught up with Keri, walking beside her as he honestly admitted, "I was not expecting you. When I was asked to escort you to Cape May City, I assumed that you would be a lady displaying proper decorum and dressed in a stylish manner suitable for the seaside resort."

Keri abruptly halted. She curtsied with exaggerated graciousness. You do not think me presentable for the scrutinizing eyes of the summer residents of Cape May City? She clucked her tongue as she shook her head feigning disappointment. Pity, that I shall not receive everyone’s judgmental endorsement.

Ethan started to concur when Keri lifted her hand to halt his next words. As if something he had said earlier finally sunk in, grabbing her attention. "Did you say that you were asked to escort me to Cape May City?"

Yes, indeed, I indicated as much.

Keri’s eyes widened as a look of sheer panic appeared in their depths. Panicked thoughts whirled about her mind. Was there a sizable prison near Cape May City? She did not know. Had this man come to escort her there? Was he indeed a policeman in the guise of gentleman? Mustering tenuous courage, she haltingly asked, Who asked you to escort me to Cape May City?

My friend made the request of me on his wife’s behalf.

Your friend asked you to escort me to Cape May City on his wife’s behalf? Keri’s heart was thudding against her chest as fear robbed her of her breath and seemed to paralyze her every limb. Her mind was silently screeching… What ploy was this?

From what I understand, you are a dear friend of Mrs. Carson.

I am a dear friend of Mrs. C…Penelope! Penelope’s husband Howard sent you to escort me to Cape May City! A wave of sheer relief washed over her as her breathing returned to normal.

Yes, Penelope’s husband sent me. Did you not receive Penelope’s correspondence informing you of my arrival?

No, I never received a letter. But then mail delivery has been unpredictable of late. Keri averted her eyes not wishing Ethan to sense her dissembling. She imagined that the proprietor of the inn at the stagecoach stop, where the mail pouch was dropped, had probably discarded the letter deeming it beneath him to deliver a correspondence to a suspected murderess.

That is unfortunate never to have received Mrs. Carson’s message. But she is expecting me to accompany you to Cape May City, posthaste. I will not disappoint her. My chariot awaits you. Ethan gestured toward a black two-seater runabout parked beneath the oak tree where he had earlier witnessed the altercation. Sheepishly, he added, I had thought to bring a maid to serve as chaperon but Mrs. Carson…Penelope…did not feel that it was necessary.

Keri laughed, heartily. I am no English debutante preparing for the marriage mart. I am a country widow, Mr. Webb. The mention of ‘widow’ sobered Keri as she recalled the embarrassing scene Ethan had witnessed when the two accusing women addressed her as a ‘murderess’.

Ethan noticed her sudden mood change but did not comment upon it. Yes, you are a widow but still I thought to protect your reputation.

Cynically, Keri responded, My reputation is as tarnished as it can get, I am afraid. Perhaps, you feared damage to your own repute. She altered her direction and slowly walked toward the parked vehicle, deciding that a ride was preferable to walking the several miles to her farm.

Confused and somewhat insulted by her cynicism, Ethan quickly changed the direction of the conversation as he trailed behind Keri by querying, How far are we from your horse farm?

Horse farm, did you say? Keri smirked as she tossed her question over her left shoulder.

Yes. Ethan was growing both annoyed and impatient with the woman. How far are we from your horse farm?

Keri chuckled. I do not own a horse farm.

No horse farm…?

She stopped and turned to face Ethan. My recently departed husband left me a dairy farm, much to my chagrin, with cows and pigs. Holding her skirt in ladylike fashion, she sneered, Thus, I wear appropriate garments for the role I now play as a dairy farmer.

Once again, the shocked look on the proper gentleman’s face tickled Keri’s funny bone. She laughed aloud, amused with the man’s appropriate but comical reaction. There was something quite enjoyable about breaking through his correct and dignified demeanor.

You own a dairy farm? Ethan had never set foot on a dairy farm. But it did explain the slight lingering odor emanating from Keri’s person.

Yes, I own a dairy farm or rather my late husband’s creditors do. If I sell it, which is my intention, I will be lucky to walk away with one solitary coin as profit. But at least, I will be debt free. A pleasant thought teased her mind. She would be free from financial debt and marital indebtedness. Richard’s fortuitous death had produced the latter. But, although I plan to sell my cows and pigs, I will continue to count ‘this little piggy and that little piggy’ much to Matthew’s delight. She laughed gaily knowing her cryptic remark would further perplex the Englishman.

Ethan had no idea to what she was referring and why it delighted Matthew, whoever he was. But everything seemed to amuse this woman. Do you laugh at everything, woman?

She looked at him with mischievous eyes and an alluring grin upon her face. "I laugh as often as the situation dictates." She did not voice further explanation. It eases the pain of reality and soothes my aching heart. "You, sir, are far too serious. It must be your English upbringing. You ought to learn to laugh more often."

I laugh when it is appropriate to laugh. You, however, wallow in laughter whether appropriate or otherwise.

Much like a pig might wallow in mud. What an apropos choice of words, Mr. Webb, when describing my penchant for mirth. Being that I am a dairy farmer who owns pigs, that is.

Ethan was growing exceedingly impatient and the sun, hidden behind clouds, was well past its zenith in the sky. They needed to depart for Cape May City, posthaste. Ethan had a stop to make along the way before catching the train. Again, he gestured toward the carriage, silently suggesting that the ‘lady’ precede him to the vehicle. May we be on our way and collect your things, Mrs. James.

Keri’s radiant smile slowly faded. Do not address me as Mrs. James…ever. You may call me by my forename. Her voice was cold, stripped of all previous gaiety.

Ethan was perplexed by the sudden flat tone in her voice. He cocked his head slightly as he wondered. Was her controlled reaction to being addressed ‘Mrs. James’ an indication that she did, in fact, mourn the loss of her husband and the mere mention of his surname disturbed her? Or, had she detested the man and renounced his name, posthumously. Her previous references to him lacked any semblance of sorrow.

Sympathizing with her recent loss, regardless, he gently cooed, Very well, I shall call you ‘Keri’. Let me help you into the carriage and we will stop at the farm so that you might pack a traveling bag.

Keri did not move but admonished, You are a very presumptuous man, Mr. Webb. I have not agreed to accompany you to Cape May City and therefore have no need to pack my portmanteau. She haughtily lifted her chin as she sashayed toward the two-seater. I do, however, accept your offer of a ride to my farm.

Ethan’s mouth gaped. He threaded the long fingers of his right hand through his wavy sandy-blonde hair, producing a tousled effect appealingly boyish in appearance. He had promised that he would bring Keri back to Cape May City to assuage Penelope’s concern about her friend’s welfare. Ethan did not wish to disappoint his friend, Howard, and Howard’s lovely wife.

Keri reached the side of the carriage and looked back at the obviously frustrated man. She chortled as she inched forward toward the patiently waiting horse, patting the animal’s velvety nose. You are far too gullible and too easily provoked. Your facial expressions are so animated and so comically funny. I do hope that it is your habit to refrain from playing poker. You would most certainly lose excessive amounts of money.

Ethan’s violet eyes narrowed into slits as his nostrils flared. His square jaw clenched, "I am generally the master of my emotions and never convey sentiments on my face."

Keri shrugged as she innocently commented, Perhaps you dropped your guard with me because I am but a lowly dairy farmer. And therefore, you unconsciously allowed your facial control to slip.

The violet color of Ethan’s eyes intensified. Are you insulting me by calling me a snob, Keri?

Keri shrugged again with an impish grin on her muddied face. Your superior and condescending attitude defines you as a snob not I.

Ethan paused as he truthfully admitted to himself that he had been a mite condescending. Beg pardon, madam. He smiled his crooked half-smile in self-criticism. Going forth, I shall monitor my attitude, solicitously showing you only respect. Now where is your dairy farm?

Once again, his grin affected Keri. She shuddered as a shiver danced up her spine. Hoping Ethan had not noticed her physical reaction to him, Keri succinctly indicated the directions and distance to her farm. She then lifted her long skirts and gracefully climbed into the two-seater vehicle without Ethan’s assistance. And will you also monitor your facial expressions as well?

Ethan scowled as he realized that she was mocking him again. I shall endeavor to do so, he growled as he stomped to the carriage and climbed aboard, taking his seat next to Keri who inched away from him to avoid bodily contact. He flicked the reins, guiding the horse forward.

When we reach my farm, I must first instruct the hired boy to feed the livestock, in my absence, before I bathe, dress, pack and ready Matthew.

Who is this Matthew of whom you have mentioned twice now?

Keri proudly grinned. Matthew is my son. He is six months old.

Ethan nearly groaned aloud. He had been remiss in not offering his condolences earlier, but the moment now seemed right to convey his sympathies. I am very sorry for the loss of your child’s father.

Keri looked straight ahead, purposely avoiding eye contact with the sympathizing Ethan. "Thank you for your condolences. But my late husband was not the father of my child."

Chapter Three

Her deceased husband was not the father of her baby. Then, who was? Ethan had repeatedly asked this question, mentally, over the past hour as he impatiently waited for Keri to make the necessary preparations for their journey. He sat on a wooden bench beneath a canopy of tree branches laden with green, shading leaves.

They had arrived within minutes to the dilapidated looking farm with its broken fences corralling pathetically emaciated livestock. The pungent odor of manure assailed Ethan’s senses long before the carriage halted before a rundown farmhouse in desperate need of multiple repairs.

Upon their arrival, he had promptly jumped to the ground, offering Keri his hand for assistance. She ignored his proffered hand, preferring to alight without help.

A young lad, perhaps in his early teens, ran to greet the visitors, gawking at the polished black buggy with its plush velvet seats and convertible top rolled down, shiny in the afternoon sunlight. He grinned at Ethan but blinked when he saw Keri descend from the expensive vehicle.

Keri smiled at the boy, waving him forward to receive the instructions she had intended to issue, orders to be followed in her temporary absence. He looked up at her with adoring eyes as if she were the most beautiful woman in creation.

A plump woman, fast approaching middle age, ventured onto the covered porch extending the full length of the house, with a smiling pudgy baby perched on her cushiony hip. Keri spied her and quickly ran to accept the babe, placing her wicker basket onto the planked floor of the porch as she cooed lovingly at the child.

Well, lass, you go to the village on foot and return like a grand lady in a shiny buggy. What magic do these weary eyes behold?

No magic, Mrs. Farley, only a fortuitous encounter. My friend, in Cape May City, has sent the run-about to convey me to the train bound for the seaside town. Keri turned to Ethan who stood patiently awaiting an introduction while holding a white handkerchief beneath his nose. "Mrs. Farley, may I present my escort Mr. Ethan Webb, an Englishman."

She had said Englishman with such disdain that Ethan was momentarily taken aback.

Ethan doffed his hat with one hand while still warding off offensive smells with the well-placed handkerchief covering his nostrils and wishing that it had been scented with perfume. Madam, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.

Have you a sniffle, sir. I can brew you a cup of tea, right quickly. The woman’s toothless smile was genuine, puffing her red cheeks beneath sparkling blue eyes.

Ethan instantly liked the woman who was obviously Irish from her charming brogue.

Keri laughed while cradling the laughing baby in her swinging arms. I do not believe that Mr. Webb is accustomed to the alluring scents of a dairy farm.

Ah, that would explain the handkerchief stuck to his nose. But a wee bit of tea is still good for the constitution. Come inside, sir, while I brew a cup.

Ethan glared at Keri for her repeated mocking of his actions as he followed the two women into the ramshackle structure. He was beginning to immensely dislike Keri and her propensity toward mockery, as he was the object of her constant teasing. Granted, her lilting laughter was