A Meeting in Whyttam

The sun beat down on the hamlet of Whyttam that bright Sunday morning. The winding pathways between the delightful stone cottages were dry and dusty as the lush green hedges basked in the beautiful warmth of the summer sun.

“But Mr. Everdene; you know my father would not approve of such a thing,” she croaked desperately, secretly hoping he’d ignore every word.

She could feel the deep desire grasping, growing on her like the lavish green ivy that scaled the wall of Hunter’s Cottage which stood proudly behind her, the east-facing wall revelling in luscious sunshine.

“Your father need never know, my dear,” he replied — his words sending an irrevocable surge of passion through her body. “Meet me at the Grand Duchy Hotel tonight at 7 o’clock.”

“But whatever for?” she enquired, her heart pounding uncontrollably.

“Ask no questions, my dear, and you’ll receive no unsavoury answers.”

With that, he surmounted his horse and rode off through the trees.

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