CHAPTER 5
Rebecca carefully stitched together a sleeve by the light of the front window. Eva worked on the bodice so that she might fit it today.
“Have you heard from Sarah yet?” Rebecca asked without raising her head from her work.
“I only wrote two days ago. I do not expect an answer right away.”
“Do you think she will allow us to stay with her? I would so love to spend several days in Birmingham, and not just the odd day.”
“I think that she will.”
Sarah was the daughter of her mother’s sister, and older than Eva.
That side of the family had never been close, probably because her father’s family had not approved of his marrying the daughter of a merchant.
A wealthy merchant, to hear it, who could have bought and sold Papa three times over even in the best of times.
She kept up a sporadic exchange of letters with Sarah, so that all connection would not be lost. That did not mean Sarah would look kindly on her cousins asking to impose on her hospitality.
If Sarah begged off as expected, the rest of that stash of coins would have to be badly depleted to pay for an inn or a hotel, and they could only stay one night instead of two or three.
Eva shook out the bodice and admired the fabric. She had chosen well. It appeared fresh, but not too girlish. Rebecca would have objected if she were made to appear a schoolgirl in this new dress.
“Who is that?” Rebecca said.
Eva looked over to see her sister staring out the window. Rebecca stood and opened it so she could see clearly.
“Is it another of those strangers who have been about too much the last month?” Eva had seen another one crossing the field beyond their garden four days ago.
He could have been a neighbor’s friend, of course.
He was far enough away that perhaps he was not a stranger at all.
Yet unease had prickled through her, much as it did with some of the unknown faces and figures dotting her world these days.
“He looks to be a gentleman, or a very wealthy man, and he is riding a big black horse and is quite dashing. Goodness, he is coming right to our door, I think!”
Eva walked over and peered out. She drew back quickly and shut the window, then looked around the library. “He is a new acquaintance of mine. I never expected him to call, however. Clear the fabric and notions off the divan. Quickly.”
Rebecca hurriedly scooped up her work and dumped it into the sewing basket.
Eva tried to make the table where she sat more presentable, then turned the one chair to face the divan.
She was thanking God that protective cloths draped the borrowed painting and her work in progress when the rap on the door echoed through the house.
She pointed to the divan. “Sit. We will give him the chair.”
“Who is he? How did you meet him? Why did you not tell me you had a new friend?” The questions tumbled out in a low voice.
Eva had no time to explain. She went to the door and opened it.
Mr. Fitzallen stood there in all his compelling splendor. She had convinced herself that she exaggerated his appearance in her mind, but no, she had not. At least she did not gawk or fluster this time.
“Mr. Fitzallen, how kind of you to visit. Please join us, and tell me what I can do for you.”
He entered and followed her into the library. “I have not come to impose on your helpfulness, Miss Russell. I was riding by and thought I would pay a social call.” He made a bow to her, then one to Rebecca, but he did not give her sister any special attention.
The same could not be said of Rebecca. Eyes wide and face slack, Rebecca appeared struck dumb. Just as I did several times now, Eva reminded herself.
“How generous of you, sir.” She introduced Rebecca, took a place on the divan, and invited Mr. Fitzallen to use the chair.
“Do your efforts progress well at the lodge?” she asked.
“Ever well, thank you. I hired two of the townsmen. One is proving skilled at repairs. The other was a batman in the army, and has begun organizing the household and serving as valet.”
“That must be Harold. He is an honest man.”
“As are many of Langdon End’s residents, I am learning. I now have three more chairs and two tables. They appeared outside the door yesterday morning, along with a basket of cutlery and several copper pails. I have you to thank for that, I believe.”
“I am relieved to hear some of the borrowed items were returned. I think more will be. Then you will not have to furnish the house completely.”
Rebecca’s big eyes turned on her at mention of borrowed items. Eva ignored her.
“I welcome that. Mr. Trevor visited and drew up a list of major repairs. Today I rode the property, to see what was what there.”
“If you have been riding long, you must need refreshment. I can only offer water, but it is from a good spring.” She stood. “I will go and bring some for you.”
He was on his feet as soon as she. “Allow me. The day is fair. Do you have a garden?”
“Yes, a very nice one.”
As he turned to walk around the table, Mr. Fitzallen saw the paint box. His gaze went to the walls, and two of her paintings that decorated them. He paced over to one, casting a distressingly interested glance at the shrouded canvas on the easel. He squinted at the landscape on the wall.
“Which of you is the artist?”
“I dabble,” Eva said. “They are just an amateur’s whimsy.” No one ever bought her own paintings. Several had been in Mr. Stevenson’s shop for years.
“A very good amateur,” he said.
“How kind. Thank you.” Eva led the way toward the back of the house. “Come along, Rebecca.”
“Do you mind if I do not?” Rebecca responded. “I will read my book here, if it will not be thought rude.”
“You have been reading for hours,” Eva said pointedly, locking her gaze on her sister’s. “The day is fair and fresh air will do you good.”
“Too fair, I fear,” Rebecca said, all innocence. Her big eyes kept shifting subtly to Gareth, and she barely kept a smile from breaking. “This wool I am wearing will be uncomfortable.”
“For your health’s sake, I must insist that you—” Eva broke off. Rebecca had looked in Gareth’s direction with something akin to alarm.
Eva looked over to see Gareth’s fingers reaching toward the edge of the cloth covering the borrowed painting.
“Mr. Fitzallen, let us leave and enjoy the garden even if my sister will not,” Eva hastened to say.
The fingers halted their path. Mr. Fitzallen agreeably followed her toward the back of the house.
She brought her guest out to the garden, then returned to the kitchen to fetch a crockery tumbler. By the time she returned, Mr. Fitzallen was carrying a pail of water up the path from the springhouse.
There were only benches back here. She sat on one with him, and he dipped the tumbler into the cold water. The breeze blew cool but the sun shone warmly. Tiny leaves speckled the branches of trees and shrubbery, and the tips of plants poked up from the earth.
“It is a very nice garden. Your gardener maintains it very well.”
“I am the gardener. I have found that I enjoy growing things, and moving plants and such. Rather like painting, since it is all about color and light and forms.”
“Have you been the gardener since your brother became ill?”
“You were told about him? I suppose there is little privacy in a town like ours. I was ignorant of my family’s finances until he came home with that pistol ball in his side.
His infirmity meant I became aware of how dire our situation had become.
I let the servants go at once. So, yes, I have been the gardener since then. ”
“Yet you discovered a new joy, so you triumphed over adversity.”
“Yes. I am proud of this garden. It is my creation now. I like that.”
She also liked saying that out loud. There were those who pitied her and Rebecca, as if all that mattered were money. Mr. Fitzallen did not seem to, and that impressed her. She experienced a companionable intimacy with the man listening.
He sat two handsbreadths away from her, so close that her side felt his warmth. His masculine presence affected her in confusing ways. Both comforting and enlivening, his aura promised novelty, fascination, and care.
Perhaps he had not been teasing about being friends. It would be nice to have one.
“It is a nice property.” He held up his tumbler, gesturing to the land within the walls, and beyond. “That spring alone makes it valuable, and it is well situated. You could sell, and have an easier future than what you have known recently.”
They stood and began strolling on the garden path.
“This house and spot of land are all we have. When Rebecca marries, I will give my share to her, so she is not without some sort of fortune. But . . .” She gazed around the garden, then back at the house.
“It is also who we are. If I sell, who will we be?” She laughed lightly at her own words.
“That sounds stupid. Of course, we will be the same people, just . . .”
“I understand completely.”
She could see it in his eyes that he did.
“It was a tragedy that your brother became ill,” he said. “I do not think you have enjoyed life much these past years, while holding things together, for all your pleasure in creating this garden.”
“Yes, a tragedy, in several ways.” Your tragic love. “But . . . had I not been required to hold it all together, I fear we would have lost everything. He expected a gentleman’s life that we could not afford.”
He stopped walking and turned to her. They stood in the little orchard at the back of the garden, beneath branches dotted with first growth. “I understand that completely too. We will have to make sure you have some fun now, however. I will make it my mission.”
“It will be an easy one. I intend to have a good deal of fun in the future. I have spent the last months during our period of mourning planning just how to do it.”
He laughed. “Is Langdon’s End prepared for Miss Russell determined to have fun? Is the world?”
“Possibly not. The world will have to adapt. You are still welcome to join me, even if it need not be your mission to help.”
“Perhaps it is I who will need help. I am a stranger here, remember? Unfortunately, I fear you will be well on your way before I return from a journey I must make.”
“I think you have no trouble catching up on fun, when you want to.”
He smiled nicely. His stance altered in the subtle ways that spoke of someone preparing to leave. Something stopped him. “Ah, I almost forgot. I brought you this.” He reached into his coat.
The gift was a long length of ribbon. She recognized it from Mrs. Fleming’s shop. An elegant strip of satin, its deep lavender color spoke of spring.
The gesture touched her. “Thank you. It is beautiful.”
“It will look pretty with that muslin you bought. The purple will bring out the primrose in the fabric, and also the blue in your eyes when you wear it.”
She carefully wound the ribbon around her hand. “The muslin is not for me. I am making a new dress for my sister.”
“Ah. Of course, you are. Well, you can use some of it for the dress, but promise me you will keep enough to wear in your hair.”
He left her speechless for a long count, while she gazed down at the ribbon. “You are too kind. I am ashamed that I misjudged you initially. You are not dangerous, as you appear to be.”
“Call me Gareth, please. In turn, I would like to address you in private as Eva, if you will permit it.”
“Gareth,” she said lowly, trying out the informality. “Yes, Eva will do when no one is about.”
“I am honored. Now, since we are friends, I am obligated to say something. I must warn that your judgment is actually very sound, Eva. I am indeed dangerous. Especially to lovely, mature women like yourself.”
Astonished, she looked up at him. A mistake, that. The gaze that met hers belonged to the dangerous man he warned of. She stared, captivated by that face. His vague smile stirred her.
Was he going to kiss her? Was he that bold? It appeared so. The very notion had her pulse quickening.
What to do? She must not allow it, yet—she could not bring herself to move away, or utter some arch reply. She just waited, and the waiting itself affected the air and the garden and the space between them. She experienced a most shocking excitement.
It seemed a long time they stood there, gazes locked, until the waiting turned almost painful. An outrageous idea entered her mind—to stretch up and kiss him first.
He stepped back. His gaze shifted to the garden, away from her. When he looked at her again he was just the charming new friend once more, although the smallest thoughtful frown creased his brow.
He bowed. “I must take my leave now. I will be back within the month. Perhaps as early as a fortnight. I will call on you when I return.”
Then he was gone, striding through the garden to the side portal.