Chapter Four
THE DAY FOLLOWING Ross’s return of the key, Shaw discovered an enormous bouquet of flowers left on the front porch.
After a maid delivered the flowers to her room, Regina sat at her vanity and opened the card to find nothing more than a heart sketched onto the paper.
The romance of it tugged at her emotions, even more when she recognized wildflowers from the meadows around the tower ruin where she and Ross had often met.
Regina dropped her elbows to her knees and her head into her hands, overwhelmed with old memories and new insecurities.
She stayed thus for some time until the housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, knocked to ask if Regina still wanted to discuss the day’s menu.
They were supposed to have met in the library at nine o’clock.
Regina dressed quickly and met with Mrs. Williams as though this were any other day.
When they finished discussing the menu, Regina gave the flowers to Mrs. Williams and asked that she display them below stairs for the enjoyment of the staff.
Regina slid the note into a drawer of her desk next to the music box key.
She tried all day not to think of the flowers or the note or the key, but, of course, she could think of little else.
At the end of the day, after Regina’s maid had finished readying her for bed, there was a knock at the bedchamber door.
Regina put on her dressing gown and bade the person to come in.
Timothy entered with a vase holding a portion of that morning’s bouquet.
Regina scowled at the flowers, then at him before dismissing her maid so as to have a private discussion.
When they were alone, she turned to face him. “I sent the flowers below stairs,” she said.
“Mrs. Williams asked if you might like some of them in your room, and I thought it a splendid idea. They are yours, after all.”
“It is not a splendid idea.” Regina moved toward her bed, which had been turned down. “And I am quite tired, so I would ask that you leave me and return the flowers to Mrs. Williams.”
He ignored her instruction and put the vase on her dressing table. Regina stared at it from across the room, feeling a softening that she could not afford to feel.
“Will you not let him explain himself?” Timothy asked.
She looked from the flowers to his face, speaking with the same level of sincerity he had used.
“I do not need an explanation. I am quite content with my situation.” A worrisome thought seized her, and she lifted her chin.
“Unless you are tired of me and are now intent on pushing me toward Mr. Martin.”
“Of course not.” Timothy sounded offended. “I simply want you to find the greatest happiness you can—”
“A man who is responsible for so much pain in my life— whether or not I should have put such stock in him in the first place— is not someone who will bring me the greatest happiness.”
Timothy looked as though he wanted to press the issue, but instead, he wished her goodnight and quit the room.
Regina went to bed feeling a bit disappointed that he hadn’t argued the point a bit more, but then convinced herself that it was for the best. She did not want Mr. Martin’s attention. She didn’t!
On Thursday, Shaw found a poem on the doorstep— her favorite, “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time,” by Robert Herrick.
She read the first few lines then spent a great deal of time looking out the window and trying not to remember telling Ross that while she loved all of Herrick’s poetry, “To the Virgins” was her very favorite piece.
How could he have remembered that all these years?
The message of the poem was to seize the day— carpe diem— and to not let opportunity pass by unexplored.
“You are playing with me,” she said to no one at all.
“But you shall not win.” She put the poem in the drawer next to yesterday’s note.
Julia had returned, and the women had much to do to get ready for the wedding.
Regina had no time to spare for thoughts of Ross.
Or so she kept telling herself whenever she found herself thinking of him, which was far too often.
On Friday, a purple scarf was left for her on the doorstep— he remembered her favorite color? She acted irritated by the gift, as she had with the others, but alone in her room; she draped it across her arms and looked at her reflection in the mirror, conflicted on every side.
He was wooing her, seducing her, in a sense. Did she dare to open her heart again? A few trinkets did not make up for fifteen years of heartache.
She thought back to Timothy’s advice that she ask Ross for an accounting of his silence.
Entertaining the idea of meeting with him face to face was quite terrifying, however.
In the hallway during the ball, she had felt the most discomfiting— attraction toward him, even when she’d screamed like a demon.
He’d sent her emotions into a jumble, and she’d lost all dignity.
What if that attraction overrode her sensibilities and put her in a position where she would have her heart broken again? She’d told Timothy that she was not convinced she had ever loved Ross.
Now, she fingered the fine silk of the shawl and knew that she’d been lying, no matter how much she wished it were the truth.
Still, having loved him in the past was not the same as loving him now, or trusting him to love her back.
She took the shawl from her shoulders and put it in the same drawer in which she’d stowed the other items. She felt more raw every day, more afraid and yet... more curious, too.
On Saturday, there was a linen-lined basket with strawberry tarts inside— another favorite. Ross used to steal tarts from the cook at his Uncle’s house and bring them when they met.
On Sunday, Regina was up at dawn and wondering what was waiting for her on the porch.
She refused to act on her eagerness, of course, and instead called her maid to help her get ready for church.
Last week— just two days after the ball— Ross had sat in a back pew and she’d successfully ignored him through the whole service.
Would he come to church again today? Had he left a gift on the porch again, or would he skip the Sabbath?
When she came down to the main level, Shaw handed her a letter.
She tried to act casual as she went to the library and closed the door.
Dear Miss Weathers,
I hope that by now, you know my intentions are real and that I wish more than anything to be reconciled with you. I have never stopped loving you. Please meet me at Hanson’s wall tonight at midnight and let me tell you a story of hardship, toil, lost love, and, I hope, redemption.
Only you can decide how my tale ends. I shall wait for one hour, and if you do not come, I shall not bother you further. But please come. It is my greatest wish to see you in the moonlight once again.
Love,
Ross
Regina read the letter twice through, then folded it and set it in her lap. Would she go? Should she go? Did she dare?