Like a Flower in Bloom (30 page)

“Yes. I’m . . . I’m absolutely delighted!”

“I wish I could say the same.”

I could not wait to tell Miss Templeton what I had discovered, and so I went in haste to Dodsley Manor and asked if she might see me. Once shown to her room, I could not bear to keep the news to myself. “I’ve found the perfect suitor for you.”

“You’ve found the perfect suitor?
You’ve
found the perfect suitor for
me
? Where?”

“Here.”

“Here? Here in Cheshire?”

“Right here in Overwich.”

“Is there someone new come to town?”

“No.”

“Then do I know him?”

“Quite intimately.”

“I must protest. I know no man in that manner!”

“It’s someone quite perfect for—”

“But I’ve already told you, I shall only marry someone who adores me—someone who shall be enraptured with me for the rest of my abbreviated life.”

“What if I told you that you might marry and live as long as God allows, without fear that you will ever die in childbirth?”

“Don’t tease, Miss Withersby. It isn’t kind.”

“I’m not teasing.”

“You do understand that I’m not interested in marrying Mr. Carew.”

“Mr. Carew?” He was ninety years old, if he was a day.

“And I’m not interested in marrying Mr. Robinson, because I’ve become quite convinced he has consumption, even if he won’t admit it. I wouldn’t want it said that I married only because I was anticipating my husband’s certain death. That would be too much like cheating, don’t you think?”

“That thought had never occurred to me.”

“I won’t have less just because I might not live long enough to enjoy it. I have made that clear, haven’t I? I will marry my handsome prince.”

“On that point you’ve been quite clear.”

“Then I confess that I have no idea who you’ve found for me.”

“Mr. Stansbury.”

“Mr. . . .
Stansbury
?” She blinked. “But he’s not . . . he’s . . . He proposed to you. He doesn’t want me. And my one condition is that—”

“Yes, I know. Your one condition is that your groom be absolutely, madly, in love with you.”

“Exactly. I know you’re very clever, quite a bit more clever than I am, so I hope you won’t take offense when I say I don’t see how Mr. Stansbury meets that condition.”

“He doesn’t love me. He loves you.”

“And still, he made his proposal of marriage to
you
.”

“Only because he can’t have children, and he thought, my being rather older than the normal debutante, that I wouldn’t mind.”

“He can’t . . . ? What do you mean he
can’t
have children?”

“I mean to say he’s incapable of it.”

“Incapable . . . ?” Her brow furrowed, and then she gasped as her features rearranged themselves. “Oh. Oh! He’s
incapable
. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. I see. And he thought it wouldn’t bother you, being so old, but . . . where do I come in again?”

“You come in because he would never have considered that you would want him, if you knew about his condition.”

“That’s ridiculous! Of course when he first came here, I thought him uncouth, just like everyone said, but now I’ve come to know him.”

“And his condition makes him perfect for you. That’s what I’ve been trying to say.”

“There’s only one problem.”

“But there can’t be. It’s too perfect.”

“I think, in fact, there is.”

“What is it?”

“I think, perhaps . . . I’ve become besotted by
him
! Oh, dear. What shall I do? It’s all well and good to be adored, but to love someone in return? I don’t . . . I haven’t . . . That requires no little work!” Her chin began to tremble.

“Are you going to . . . Don’t cry.” I didn’t have a handkerchief to offer her. “Please don’t. I thought to make you happy, not to cause you sadness.”

“But he would want to love me, wouldn’t he? He’s that kind of man. Oh! I can just see it now. The horror!”

Horror?

“What have you done?”

“I only wanted to help.”

“Now I can’t be brave and noble and be done with things before I’ve messed them up. Don’t you understand? I’d have to . . . I’d have to
love him back
.”

“But I truly think that he loves you.”

“And I truly think that I love him! And it’s all just too terrible for words.”

“I don’t quite understand—”

“You don’t have to tell me I ought to be deliriously happy. I know I should be, but I just can’t find it in my heart to be so just now. I hope you won’t take offense if I ask you to leave.”

“Of course not. You know I would never—”

“Then, please. Leave.”

I walked back home in a sort of daze. I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. Hadn’t Miss Templeton’s fear been that she would die in childbirth? And hadn’t I just given her a way in which to avoid it, and by marrying a man she claimed to love?

Why then wasn’t she happy?

I
puzzled over Miss Templeton that evening and through the next morning, but I came no nearer an answer. And then, that afternoon, she paid me a call. She was wearing what I had come to know was her favorite gown, of rosy orange silk with a lace-lined bodice and sleeves. She wanted to know would I come with her to Overwich Hall.

“I sent a note to ask Mr. Stansbury if we might come see his newest acquisitions and he’s invited us to tea.”

“But . . . but . . . I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again after what you said yesterday.”

“Don’t be foolish. Of course I’d want to see you again. I apologize for my hysterics. I was just frightened. You see, all my life I’d planned on dying, not on living. So to imagine that possibility presenting itself so suddenly and with a man I’ve come to . . .” A blush swept her cheeks. “In any case, you can see how it would be quite disconcerting. And how many things would have to be rethought. I’ll have to convince my father and . . .”

“I hadn’t really considered—”

She patted my hand. “Of course you hadn’t. Because you are my dearest friend. You’ve offered me a gift I could never have imagined, and I didn’t even have the courtesy to thank you for it. So thank you. And don’t worry about Papa. I can talk him into anything.” She leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. “Now then. Shall we go? Have you your gloves?”

We were in the carriage and very nearly to Overwich Hall when I realized that, though I had told Miss Templeton everything about Mr. Stansbury, I had never said anything about her to him. I gasped. “He doesn’t know!”

“Who? Who doesn’t know what?”

“Mr. Stansbury. He doesn’t know about you. You know everything about . . . about
him
 . . . and about how he’s in love with you, but he doesn’t . . . I didn’t tell him about
you
. I’m so sorry. I’ve ruined everything.”

“No. No, don’t be sorry.” She clasped my hand in hers. “You’ve done wonderfully. You’ve done perfectly. There would be no fun in it if you hadn’t left something for me to do.”

The carriage turned off the road and as it made its way up the drive, Miss Templeton drew a deep breath. “Is my hat straight? Are my cheeks too pale?”

“They’re—”

“Oh, don’t answer. But would you do me the favor of speaking to the butler? I don’t know that I can do it just now. I’ve been dreading a betrothal for so long that I hardly know how to enjoy it. But I can. I must.” She closed her eyes. “I
will
.”

“You are.”

She blinked as if in surprise, and then she broke out in a radiant smile. “I am, aren’t I?”

The butler took us down the hall into the glasshouse and announced our presence. Mr. Stansbury appeared at the end of the building, from a grove of ferns. Miss Templeton nearly
swooned beside me. As we stood watching him approach, she reached out and clutched at my arm. Then she whispered a word to me. “Adah.”

“Adah?”

“That’s it. That’s my name.”

“Your name is Adah?”

She nodded though she did not take her eyes off him. “I must claim it now, mustn’t I, since I’ll have to live with it.” She lifted her chin, though it trembled.

“Adah is a lovely name, Miss Templeton.”

“I never thought so before, but . . . do you think it will do?” She tore her eyes from him and looked at me beseechingly.

“I think it will do just fine.”

As Mr. Stansbury reached us, she released her grip on my arm and extended her hand toward him.

He took it into his own, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. “Are you well, Miss Templeton?”

“Oh, yes. I’m quite the happiest I’ve ever been, Mr. Stansbury.” Her smile was tremulous, but wonder lit her eyes. “Thank you
ever so much
for asking.”

Neither of them moved, and still he kept hold of her hand.

She glanced up at him. “And you?”

“Me?”

Her smile burst forth like the sun, and she threaded her arm through his. “Yes
you
, dear man.”

I felt quite extraneous as they proceeded up the aisle leaving me to investigate his new palm quite on my own.

February plodded past with its long, dreary days. I was hoping to hear about a paper I had decided to submit to one of the journals. I told our publisher I would not be doing a book on
wax flowers. They mailed back, asking if I would do one on knitted flowers instead. Seeing as how I did not knit and did not plan to learn, I declined that offer as well.

Mr. Trimble’s spider orchid finally bloomed. As I knelt on the floor beside the Wardian case, I discovered that he had been right. It looked nothing like the illustration of its type. It was both more and less than I had anticipated. As he had predicted, the flower had bloomed below the leaves, and the petals did, in fact, droop. I spent a few moments admiring its form, and then I moved it into indirect sunlight, where it would be happiest, and went on about the day’s work.

Though I continued to receive many invitations to dinner parties and dances, with Mr. Trimble’s departure, work had quickly consumed me, and I found myself venturing forth less and less, which suited me just fine.

One morning in mid-March, while I was working on an illustration, the bell sounded at the door.

Miss Hansford was out doing the marketing, and I was not at all happy to have my work interrupted as I went to the door and pulled the latch. “Yes? What is it?” My annoyance died away when I saw it was not the morning post. It was Mr. Trimble.

He bowed. “Miss Withersby.”

I nodded.

He looked more refined than when he had lived with us. He was wearing a grey top hat with an impeccably turned-out frock coat and a wide cravat tied up in a knot beneath his chin. “May I come in?”

I stepped aside, let him through the door, and gestured toward the parlor.

He took off his hat with a nod. Stepping into the room, he surveyed it as if he’d somehow missed its tight, drafty quarters.
Papers and journals were once again piled haphazardly about the room.

“You can see we’re back to our old habits.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile.

I now realized that, as hostess, the burden of conversation fell upon me. “Are you well, Mr. Trimble?”

“I am, thank you.”

Wasn’t that just like him, to lecture me about speaking in questions and then not follow his own advice? “It’s rather fine weather for this time of year, isn’t it?”

“It is. Although I’ve been told rain is much more preferable to a botanist than fair weather.”

“In the summer.”

He blinked, as if startled. “Pardon me?”

“Rain in the summer is much more preferable. In the winter it’s only depressing.”

“Forgive me. I must have misremembered how you—”

“You must be anxious to speak to my father. I’ll go get him for you.” I turned in the direction of the study, but he grabbed hold of my elbow.

“
Please
, Miss Withersby. I would much rather speak honestly about—”

“It was you, if
I
remember correctly, Mr. Trimble, who taught me that people generally never say what it is that they’re really feeling and that no one expects to be told the truth. I don’t see why you should apologize for following that social convention.”

“It was deplorable of me to leave you without saying one word on . . . Well, I could hardly say anything on my behalf, could I? But if I could have . . . I would have said something. I would have told you how very sorry I was to leave. How very sorry I was to leave
you
.” He paused as he swallowed. “I was so sorry.”

I glanced from his face down toward his hand, which had fixed itself to my sleeve.

He let go. “Will you say nothing?”

I looked him in the eyes, willing myself to remain immune to the pull of their deep blue depths. “Again, I must remind you of your own advice that conversations feed on questions prompted by those things the conversants wish to know. I can truthfully tell you there is nothing I wish to discover about you or anything you have said. I will say, however, that I never had the chance to congratulate you on your engagement, my lord.”

He winced. “Please don’t think you must do so now. I’m afraid I’ve gone and botched it.”

“On the matter of botched engagements, I feel I might be able to offer you the benefit of my own unfortunate experience.”

“I do not think you can help me, Miss Withersby. While I have made clear my intentions to return to the colony, Lady Caroline seems to feel that marriage to a sheep farmer from New Zealand is quite beneath her.”

“I always said it was a preposterous line of work.”

“Perhaps. But it generates a decent income. If my memory serves correctly,
you
once said those in polite society were rather rude, and I have to say I agree.”

“That’s an extraordinary thing to say, considering that you
are
one of them, Mr. Trimble.”

“By birth, Miss Withersby, but not by inclination. Through my bloodline runs a tendency to spend rather more than our income allows. If you will not think me too free for saying so, the first Earl of Cardington left us with an enviable fortune that later generations quickly depleted. My elder brother, it appears, will be the last to be able to do so and even he will insist upon doing it in poor taste. He gambles and several years ago was rather slow in paying off his debts. When he was ac
cused of being a cheat, he challenged the man to a duel. I could not see the situation ending well for either man, so I contrived to keep him from that meeting, believing the taking of some young man’s life, or the end of his, would reflect poorly on the family’s name.”

“That may explain your deplorable family, but it has nothing to do with your engagement.”

“
Former
engagement. Lady Caroline is a longtime family friend. Several years ago, while she was away on the Continent with her mother, her father died. I was the one dispatched to bring them back, and at that time I made the careless promise that she was not to worry, that I would personally see to it that she was always taken care of.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And what else did you say?”

“That’s it. That’s all I said.”

“And from that she inferred that you were to be married?”

“She did.”

“And you could not retract it? Say you did not mean it?”

“I did mean it. I did take care of her. I saw to it that her father’s estate was honestly settled.”

“That did not require you to marry her.”

“It did not, but what is a gentleman to do? It did not matter to me at the time, since I assumed I would one day marry anyway. How was I to know that I would one day also fall in love?”

I could not stop a blush from suffusing my face.

“In any event, after thwarting my brother’s attempt at a duel, I was shipped off to New Zealand and told to make something of myself.”

“Which you seem to have done quite admirably.”

Again his lips lifted in the promise of a smile. “I find the colony well suited to an honest life.”

“But Lady Caroline did not share your opinion?”

“She did not. And to remedy the social humiliation of letting her not-inconsiderable fortune slip through my family’s fingers, I have considered that I might have to get myself banished again.”

Get
himself banished? “How?”

He sighed as he turned his hat over in his hands. “I suppose the best thing, the quickest route, would be to take up with an unsuitable woman.” His gaze darted toward mine.

“I have been told that people of your class do so all the time. And without any apparent shame.”

He sent me a piercing glance. “Upon reflection, I would have to agree with you. But I was thinking . . . if I
married
the woman in question I might actually be ordered to go far away. Expected to even. I would have to consider it my duty as an honorable man.”

He seemed to expect some sort of reply, but I had already conversed with him more than I had meant to.

Just as I decided to get my father, the echo of his words stopped me in my step. “Did you just ask me to marry you, Mr. Trimble?”

“I might have. Why? Would you accept such a ridiculous proposal from a preposterous sheep farmer?”

“I might. If I were given the courtesy of a proper proposal.”

“Good heavens, Charlotte. I don’t like games any more than you do. Marry me!”

“Though I have to say that I do not disapprove of your expression of ardor, that was an imperative statement, Edward, not a question. How can you do me the honor of asking for my hand when you do me a dishonor by assuming that—”

He took me by the shoulders, pulled me to himself, and kissed me. Rather thoroughly. Quite beyond what might be considered the bounds of appropriate displays of affection. Fortunately, there were none present to observe us. At length he released me. Or tried to, but I wound my arms about his neck when he would have let me go.

He put a hand to my cheek. “Will you?”

“Will I what?”

“Will you, for heaven’s sake, marry me?”

“For heaven’s sake? I hardly think so.” Although I did rather wish to kiss him again.