On reaching the bridge she glanced back to be sure he was equal in haste to be safe from the fast-rising waters of the creek, but he had not moved one inch. She waved, and knew him safe for she spied the rowboat and men paddling upstream toward him. If her buccaneer had happened to be Lord Moorby, she would have no hesitation in accepting his offer of marriage. Sadly he was not, but had nonetheless stirred a kind of rebellion within her. No matter what, she would never cave to Ned’s insistence she marry a pompous, be-wigged, fat old man.” She trod most careful on the slime covered stone steps, for although she had come to the creek for one reason only, something about her buccaneer had set her on a new path of discovery, one of excitement and expectation. Upon her return to the house she noticed farm hands with picks and shovels, one man with rope coil slung over his shoulder and standing by the meadow gate. She hurried toward the men and spied fresh soil on their boots: their rolled up smock sleeves and reddened faces indicative of much hard labour not long ceased.
