Hello everyone, welcome to the world of Rachel Warren - a pretty 19-year old girl who leads a simple yet happy life among people who (somewhat unconventionally) all love her. She may be the daughter of a parson living in a small village in the English countryside during the Regency days, but Rachel was perfectly content with her lot in life and asked for nothing more. So what is there to make a story about? Well, let's find out!

CHAPTER 1

The summer breeze was playing catch with Rachel’s untied bonnet strings as she ran with abandon in the woods, her feet finding the invisible paths with the ease of old familiarity. “Catch me if you can, Goldie!” she shouted at the little mongrel dog yapping merrily behind her, making it jump in an attempt to snag the lilac ribbon she was waving tantalizingly in its face. Sweeping a stray flower that was lodged in a loose curl, Rachel threw it at her follower who snapped at the unexpected offering ecstatically. Her joyful laughter rippled across the peaceful surroundings in tandem with Goldie’s high-pitched bark, forming a harmony resonating with carefree innocence.

Her footfalls fell surely on the uneven paths that snaked between the trees. Born and brought up in the old Parsonage of Little Hanstead, Rachel had been rushing to the woods surrounding her house since she had been able to walk properly. The trees were the witnesses to her rare fits of temper, the creeks confidants of her secret dreams, and the shy forest creatures all the company she required. These woods were the only place where she could let her spirit roam free of constraints which the Regency society imposed upon young unmarried girls of eighteen.

Slowing her pace as she neared a tiny brook gurgling from a rock, Rachel sat down to appreciate her favorite time of the day. Rachel may not be a fairy-tale heroine who regularly socialized with the birds and beasts around her (that is, any beasts other than Goldie, and an occasional rabbit or so) – but living in a small community with sociable parents left a girl with little time to herself. She was the middle child in a family of five children; her sisters Grace and Lucinda were older than her by seven and six years respectively, and her twin brothers Neil and Stanley were unexpected arrivals who came into the world ten years after her.

Though they were a close-knit family, the great disparity in age between her sisters and her on one hand, and her brothers and her on the other, left Rachel rather short of close companions at most times; a child for the elder ones and a substitute parent for the younger. The other village children made for good playmates in childhood, but they simply could not keep up with her quick mind after a point. Her gregarious nature made her many friends, but Rachel’s real solace was in the world of books, music and trees where she could simply be herself without catering to the world’s views.

Rachel Warren was one of the delights of the neighborhood – a pretty young woman with the aquamarine eyes of her grandfather and the waist-length mahogany curls of her mother, balancing her staunch righteousness with a happy disposition. Slender and lithe, her bookish nature belied the hardy physique derived from regular rambles in the wilderness. Her lack of proper education never deterred her and by the age of fourteen years, she had already exhausted all the books available in the parish and had learnt all the musical instruments which the Church organist and the neighborhood boys could teach her. When her elder sister Lucinda married a university professor from London, an adolescent Rachel spent many delightful evenings browsing in the London bookstores and later debating with her brother-in-law about the critical values of their favourite books under Lucy’s benevolent eyes.

Grace may not be considered to be as fortunate as Lucy in her marriage in a strictly worldly sense, but she had married for love and never repented her choice. Her husband Harvey owned a bakery in a neighboring county which they managed together as equal partners. Though they stayed in a cramped lodge with his three brothers and their own two children, though their financial situation was not always what could be desired, though they might wish for some privacy at times, Grace and Harvey’s mutual devotion transformed even such difficult surroundings into their personal slice of heaven.

As for Mr. and Mrs. Warren, they were the sweetest example of married life Rachel had seen in her life. Her mother was a hyperactive little woman whose day started at cock-crow and ended at midnight, and yet seemed to fall short for all the things she wanted to accomplish. She ruled her household with a stern hand and managed to look after her family as well as the multitudes requiring her attention in the parish. The Parson, on the other hand, was a dreamy and abstracted gentleman – a born scholar and a wonderful person, but as helpless as a babe when it came to handling small everyday crises. They both were like the archetypal opposite poles, whose very nature depended on the existence of the other.

Surrounded by such love and joy Rachel reached her nineteenth birthday without any cloud marring her undemanding world, and greeted the day in her usual way – with an early jaunt in her beloved woods before the house woke up.

Xxxxx

The fresh air had whipped bright color into her cheeks when she returned to her room in order to remove her outdoor clothes and get ready for breakfast. Ever since Grace and Lucy got married, she had had the bedroom to herself and now, it boasted of her individuality. A large oil painting in crimson and violet hues lent startling color to an austere white wall, and a crisp royal-blue curtain embroidered with sprigs of white heather fluttered in the gentle wind from the bow window on the opposite wall. Her collection of wild bird feathers were treasured under a glass case near the window, and her modest wardrobe nestled in the closet beside the walnut rocking-chair bequeathed to her by an aunt.

The one note of feminine vanity present in this cheerful room was struck by the intricately wrought wooden mirror which stood six feet tall and was lovingly polished every fortnight– not merely for its intrinsic beauty, but also because it was a gift from her father to her mother in their days of courtship, and Rachel’s romantic soul could never forget the fact. Her single bed, covered with a cheerful blue-and-pink counterpane, was cramped in a corner with the double bed awaiting her sisters’ occasional visits to the Parsonage and completed the sparse furnishings of the room.

Humming to herself lightly, Rachel entered the library to call her father for breakfast. She knew his habit of locking himself away from the world while working on one of his sermons, and having to be gently reminded of his surroundings and the passing time when occasions demanded his presence – occasions like breakfast, tea and dinner, she thought whimsically. Knocking lightly, she peeked into the room. “Papa, are you done? It’s time for breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” The Parson looked up with a harassed, mildly quizzical expression – an expression which Rachel was familiar with from her childhood. “Is it time for breakfast already? Oh dear, I was hoping to finish this last paragraph before …ah well, never mind. Thank you for reminding me, my dear.”

He stood up with a fond look on his face. He always loved to see his youngest daughter’s face first thing in the morning, since the boys were still at the unfortunate stage of childhood which is too loud for a retiring gentleman; and his wife, good lady that she was, was always too busy in the kitchen and gardens to greet him with the calm cheer which Rachel exuded. He got up amicably and was on his way out, when he suddenly stopped and turned back with a puzzled look on his face.

“Er, Rachel? Please jog my memory for me, isn’t today special for some reason? I can’t seem to recall…” he trailed off at the sound of his daughter’s ill-concealed giggle. “Well,” he said somewhat testily, “what is there to smile about? I asked you a simple enough question, didn’t I? It’s just that yesterday I had told myself firmly over and over to remember something, but now it seems to have slipped my mind…”

“Don’t worry too much about it Papa, I’m sure that it will come back to you in time,” she soothed him, while inwardly laughing at the idea of informing him herself that it was her birthday. She wasn’t that forward, at least not yet!

They were intercepted on their way downstairs by the loud whoops of two nine-year olds, whose main aim at the moment was to first race into the kitchen, and then to attack the victuals on the dining table with all the gusto of healthy youth.

“Good morning Neil, Stan,” Rachel said evenly, with a warning glance at their father who was currently trailing behind her distractedly, trying to remember the ‘important event’. Though he was very mild-tempered on the whole, Mr. Warren disliked displays of unruliness and would be angry with the boys if he noticed their rambunctious actions. The boys took their sister’s hint immediately; they had learnt to tone down their actions in front of their father. They grew quieter and filed decorously into the room, but perked up again on remembering something else to legitimately shout about.

“Happy birthday Rachie!” they shrieked simultaneously. “Many, many happy returns of the day! We’ve got a present for you – it’s a penny-whistle, made by the blacksmith’s boy himself. Now you have your own musical instrument!” they simultaneously beamed at their elder sister with benevolence unsuited for their tender years.

The Parson brightened up on hearing the first part of their exclamation. “So that was it – today is your birthday, Rachel! A very lovely day for it too my dear, a lovely day indeed. I hope you will have a beautiful and interesting year ahead.”

Rachel thanked him earnestly, savoring his unadorned yet heartfelt wish. She loved her family dearly, but her absent-minded father occupied a very special place in her heart. Soon she was engulfed in her mother’s arms; and between that, the good wishes of their maid Cassie and the boys’ lovely present, Rachel thought that her birthday had got off to a very good start indeed.

Though her sisters couldn’t make it to the Parsonage on her birthday, they both managed to convey their love for her in their own ways. Grace managed to make time from her busy schedule and sent in a lovely birthday cake to the Parsonage through her youngest brother-in-law. It was small in size, but exquisitely decorated with candied orange peel, chocolate cream and almonds, which Grace well knew was her darling sister’s favorite kind of nut. The lad arrived in good time to not only wish Rachel, but also sample some of the desert himself before returning home.

Lucy, in collaboration with her husband Paul, managed to get hold of a book which Rachel had been secretly longing for since many months and posted it so accurately that the parcel arrived the day after Rachel’s birthday, evoking many squeal of pleasure and gratitude from the young lady. Her friends in the neighborhood dropped in at all times of the day to wish her, and nature also rewarded her with a clear and sunny day, just like her father had predicted. Life seemed to be a fragrant bed of roses for her – and she had no inkling that Fate was waiting to strike soon.