Chapter 39
Elizabeth ran her finger over the strands of her ring, her attention arrested by the token Fitzwilliam had made her over the scenery her father constantly pointed out to her, Alexandra, and Emily through the carriage glass.
“It takes a lot of effort to make something as fine as that. Braidin’ and splicin’ twine with blistered, calloused fingers be no simple task,” Alexandra commented.
Emily turned away from the rolling pastures to admire Elizabeth’s ring. “I think it is romantic.”
Papa chuckled and rolled his eyes at the simpering females surrounding him. “I am pleased to know my daughter is engaged to a thoughtful gentleman. You know, I tried being thoughtful once with your mother?”
Elizabeth guffawed. “Only once?”
He wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Perhaps I should give it another go?”
All three ladies replied in unison, “Yes!”
Alexandra, who was less inhibited than her two friends, asked, “What’d ye do for yer missus?”
“I gave her a handful of wildflowers,” Papa answered proudly, as he ought to. Elizabeth was rather partial to wildflowers.
“That is lovely,” Emily said with a sigh.
“I am relieved to know it. All these years, I thought my gesture insufficient,” Papa said, his tone sad. Summoning greater sarcasm, he added with a sardonic smile, “Mrs. Bennet told me she prefers hothouse flowers. They are more exotic. More costly.”
Emily furrowed her brow, looking uncomfortably at Elizabeth. “Perhaps your wife equates your willingness to spend money on her with love.”
Papa chuckled in earnest. “How unfortunate for my purse. I do believe you are right, young lady, and I shall advise you to have pity on your poor future husband by appreciating the small gestures as well as the grand ones.”
She shook her head firmly. “Forgive me for speaking so plainly on the subject, but I have a great deal of money, and while it undeniably makes my life more comfortable, it has never made me happy. True happiness, I have come to believe, comes from the friendships we make and the people we are generous to. I could never attach myself to a gentleman who did not feel the same.” She closed her mouth and looked down at her clasped hands, her cheeks in high color.
Elizabeth leaned forward and rested her hand on top of Emily’s. She had spoken with so much passion, her voice shook, and Elizabeth wondered how long Emily had held her admission inside her without anyone in whom to confide.
Alexandra wrapped her arm around Emily’s and rested her head against her shoulder.
“I think it’s more about knowin’ that a gentleman was thinkin’ of his lady than the flowers.
” She sighed, her eyes staring off into the distance.
“When I’m away from land for ages, I love the sight of flowers.
They’re one of the few things I miss. Nick, too. He’s partial to roses.”
Emily unclenched her hands and relaxed into Alexandra’s side in the same way Elizabeth did with her sisters. “My French maid has been teaching me the language of flowers. Did you know that every flower has a meaning ascribed to it?”
Papa groaned. “You ladies have too many secret languages as it is. Handkerchiefs, fans, parasols … now flowers! Mrs. Bennet tried to teach me the language of the fan, but I never caught on. When she signaled me to flirt or ask her to dance, I thought she wished for me to send for the carriage.”
“If yer missus knows these Frenchie languages, ye might’ve offended her with yer choice of blooms.”
“What flowers did you give her?” Elizabeth asked.
“Daffodils and daisies. It was spring.”
Alexandra turned to face Emily. “What’s their meanin’?”
“They are both excellent choices. Daffodils symbolize regard and unequaled love.”
Elizabeth poked her father’s arm. “Not bad, Papa.”
“And daisies are associated with innocence and loyal love.” Emily twisted her lips to the side. “Were you to make another attempt at thoughtfulness, perhaps she would prefer roses. Red or pink blossoms. Or any color really—with the exception of yellow. That implies jealousy or infidelity.”
The carriage jolted to a halt, and they piled out of the conveyance, their minds full of flowers and hidden meanings. Lord Matlock, Fitzwilliam, Richard, and Nick waited nearby.
“This is Mrs. Brown’s final resting place?” Lord Matlock asked.
Emily nodded. “According to my detective, it is.”
“Then, let us go inside and see what we find,” he said.
With a wink, Papa left Elizabeth at Fitzwilliam’s side to join the earl at the head of their retinue.
Ahead of Elizabeth and Darcy walked Nick and Alexandra, and behind them, the colonel and Emily. The latter made a handsome couple, in Elizabeth’s estimation.
She squeezed closer to Fitzwilliam, tugging his arm so he would lean down for her whisper.
“Far be it from me to interfere, but if the colonel wishes to please Emily, I have it on good authority that she likes flowers and thoughtful gestures. She is also aware of the language of flowers, so he ought to take care which bloom he presents to her.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled. “You wish for me to relay this information to Richard? Without interfering?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I trust you to find a way.”
He straightened to his full height with a cackle. “You trust me more than I do myself.”
“Ah, but you are not too proud to fix your mistakes or to overlook mine. A beneficial trait to have in a marriage, do you not agree?” she teased.
“So long as you continue to minimize my errors with your humor, I shall continue to humble myself.”
Lord Matlock stopped beside two men digging a grave. They pointed down a tidy row of grave markers, and Elizabeth’s mood grew more somber as they walked deeper inside the cemetery’s grounds.
They came to a stop, and their group circled around the grave at a respectful distance. Martha Brown read the stone. There were flowers covering the dates of her existence. Richard moved them aside, confirming they had the correct Mrs. Brown.
After their conversation in the carriage, Elizabeth could not help but fix on the blue violets and pink carnations. They were wilted and dry, several days old. Looking at Emily, Elizabeth asked, “What do those mean?”
“Blue violets represent faithfulness.” Softer, Emily added, “I shall never forget you. That is the meaning of the pink carnation.” Her gaze met Elizabeth’s. It was a clue. A significant one if the giver knew the significance of his choice.
“A relative?” Elizabeth wondered aloud.
“More likely, a lover,” Alexandra suggested. “Yer detectives uncovered nobody significant in Mrs. Brown’s life?”
Emily’s brows furrowed. “She had no family, and though she was called Mrs. Brown, she was never married.” Such a disparity in address was common enough.
Many spinsters preferred to allow others to believe them widowed than unwanted.
One would be hard pressed to find a companion or governess who did not claim to be a missus rather than a miss.
“Somebody cared enough about her to tend to her grave,” Fitzwilliam observed, taking off down the row until he joined the two gravediggers. Clever man. If anyone could tell them anything about the flowers, it was them.
One of the men took off his cap, and Elizabeth was close enough to hear his reply by the time she caught up. “I’m happy to see the flowers again.”
“Again?” Fitzwilliam prompted.
“Aye.” The man scratched his head, saying, “I thought the man had fallen ill or gone traveling. It must be two, maybe three months he didn’t show when it was his custom to leave a new bunch every Sunday.”
Sunday. That was tomorrow.
His companion added, “‘Tis sorrowful work, ours is. It’s nice to have something pretty to look at in this place.”
“I imagine so,” Fitzwilliam acknowledged with a bow of his head. Elizabeth loved how he sympathized with the gravediggers.
“Every Sunday, you say?” Lord Matlock asked.
The man wiped his cap over his brow. “Like a clock. He shows up between ten in the morning and a quarter after the hour.”
They thanked the men and walked a short distance to confer in privacy. It was a quick counsel, as they all agreed to return at the appointed hour the following day to meet the man who maintained Mrs. Brown’s grave.
They spent the rest of the day together, easy in each other’s company, sharing stories and laughing.
Elizabeth felt so comfortable with Fitzwilliam and his family, Emily, and Alexandra, she wondered how it was possible that they had not known each other all of their lives.
She held every minute close to her heart, cherishing it along with her favorite memories.
But with her happiness, a trickle of melancholy crept in.
Today they were together, united in their purpose.
But what about when they discovered the truth?
Elizabeth did not allow herself to doubt they would reveal who was behind Fitzwilliam and Nick’s separation, as well as Emily’s.
Would they continue to be friends? Would it ever be safe for Nick and Alexandra in England?
If Fitzwilliam had to choose between his family and the status into which he was raised, would he prove as steady as Elizabeth had always witnessed him to be?
Furthermore, how could he be loyal to one without forsaking the other?
It was not a decision she wished him to ever have to make.