Chapter Three
Edmund was the last to make it into the house, insisting the others go in ahead. He walked evenly and slowly, leaning on his cane. If he maintained a careful, measured gait, no one need ever know his leg was damaged after that fall. His foot turned stiffly, just a fraction outward, meaning he always came down heavily on his good leg. But with slow, deliberate steps, the limp was hidden.
A leisurely pace also gave Edmund time to steady his nerves before watching some simpering young woman fawn all over the gallant, handsome, dashing Bryce, with his dark, curling hair and his wide, square jaw.
How could John Lycombe, a man of intellect and property, not to mention a man of science who had even presented his botanical lectures as a guest at the Royal Society in London and the Royal Horticultural Society, marry his daughter off to a man like that?
The girl might be very dull. Very plain. I’ve never heard the Lycombe girls mentioned but in the most general terms...
Edmund stopped on the short winding path to the front door, ostensibly to look at the well-tended rose bushes and borders, but in reality to flex his hip after riding in the carriage. A servant was standing just inside the open door, waiting to collect his hat and coat, and his host was already inside. He shouldn’t tarry.
Then he saw her. Rose, he assumed, cutting flowers in her long pale green dress, bare arms, and gloveless hands displayed. Her thick brown hair was in a coil on the back of her head, but dozens of curls escaped it, like tendrils on runner beans. Her cheeks were bright pink, probably from the heat of the day—or perhaps because she knew she ought not to be cutting flowers when her suitor had just arrived. In a moment, she went dashing inside on light feet, and Edmund joined her at a far slower pace.
“HOW INTERESTING, CAPTAINBryce.” Rose smiled sweetly and went back to her pudding, wishing she could fling it at the wall instead of eating it politely.
Captain Bryce was very charming and quite handsome—but his eyes lingered on Ivy, her younger sister of only sixteen, obviously smitten with her bright blonde hair and pale, perfect skin. His stories were meant to entertain everyone, but her mother and Ivy laughed the loudest. They encouraged him to tell tale after tale about his regiment. Rose noticed that every story had Bryce as the star, that he never failed to act with courage, and that luck was always on his side.
He’s a braggart. He hasn’t even mentioned the flowers.
Her father and Sir Edmund sat quietly. Sir Edmund’s eyes never left his bowl, and it was obvious that everything Rose had heard about the reclusive nobleman was true. He disliked all society, even something as quiet as a family meal.
“Ivy. Lily. It is quite late.”
Ivy opened her mouth to protest. “Mama—”
“We shall retire to the parlor with our sewing and our prayer books for the present. Perhaps the gentlemen will join us in a little while.” Mrs. Lycombe ushered the younger girls before her and stopped in the doorway of the dining room as if struck by a sudden thought. She turned and barred Rose from passing. “Oh, dear. Rose—”
“Yes, Mama?” Rose cut her mother off, even knowing her rudeness would earn a long lecture later. She was certain her mother was going to slyly suggest some way that Rose should remain near Captain Bryce.
“Mrs. Lycombe.” Sir Edmund’s soft baritone voice stilled everyone, interrupting so smoothly that none would dare reproach him. He’d been almost silent throughout the meal. “Before you and the young ladies retire to the parlor, I wish to compliment your flowers. I’ve never seen such simple yet elegant arrangements. You can tell they were created by someone who not only has artistic skill but passion for nature and its beauties. My compliments to you.”
“Oh, that would be Rose’s doing.” Her father beamed. “I agree with you, Locke. She has an affinity for flowers and botany that would make Theophrastus proud.”
Mrs. Lycombe looked as if she were about to weep. “Mr. Lycombe will have his little joke, Sir Edmund,” she tittered, casting a nervous eye toward Captain Bryce.
Rose risked a sidelong glance at the dashing military man. He was wearing a puzzled frown. Perhaps he’d never heard of Theophrastus, the ancient long considered the father of botany as well as zoology.
Or he’s trying to decide if Theophrastus is a type of plant. Or something contagious, Rose thought.
Or if a woman of my intellect would prove too unmanageable as a wife.
I hope so.
“Really, Mr. Lycombe? Do you jest about Rose’s talents, sir?” Sir Edmund’s eyes swept around the remaining occupants of the room before landing on her.
“Indeed, I do not, sir! I boast, most shamefully.” Her father laughed and smiled at her.
Rose felt her cheeks flush with pride, but it quickly turned to the crimson of embarrassment.
“Strolling in the garden and picking a few flowers is all very well, Mr. Lycombe, but don’t you agree that a woman’s place is in the home, not in the laboratory?” asked Captain Bryce, one eyebrow arched.
“What if a home should contain a laboratory?” Sir Edmund challenged, his voice still soft, but there was a hardness in his features that Rose didn’t like.
There is a very angry man under that quiet exterior.
She could not decide if that was better or worse than being as blatantly arrogant and unaware as Captain Bryce.
“I’d assume that any man who was fit to take a wife would have the sense to keep her from wandering into such places even if they were in his home,” Bryce scoffed, jovial face now showing puzzlement after Locke’s question.
“Is the wife not the mistress of the estate, Bryce? Will you keep your bride confined to her quarters?” This time, Locke’s words were too pointed not to dent the thick skull of the handsome officer. Locke hastily tried to deflect the worst of the blow with a small twitch of his lips that some would have called a smile. “A young man like you, a man with property and a career, must think of these things. You’ll be joining the matrimonial ranks soon, Captain. I’m sure there’s much for you to consider.” Locke made a sudden, stiff bow. “Excuse me. My head. A sudden pain. I’ll just step into the garden to take the evening air.”
“Oh, Rose will show the way through the back of the house, Locke. It’s much shorter than going ‘round the front.” Her father nodded at her, lifting his hand and bidding her to rise.
“Of course, Sir Edmund.” Rose slid away from her mother, ignoring the puzzled frown on Bryce’s face as she swiftly walked past the scowling nobleman leaning on his cane. “This way is shorter, sir.”
“I AM SURPRISED THATa young lady of seventeen—”
“Twenty, pardon me, Sir Edmund,” Rose dropped a swift curtsey as they stepped from the dark hall into the garden.
Locke paused and inhaled the heavy perfume of flowers trapped in the June humidity, light as it was. The sky above was a clear lavender with fading streaks of orange.
A beautiful summer”s night, and here I am, walking alone in a garden with a thoroughly eligible young lady.
What a nonsensical thought.
“Twenty or even thirty, I was surprised to hear that a young lady such as yourself has time and interest in Theophrastus.”
“I far prefer Linneaus, sir.” Rose gave him another one of those short, bobbing curtsies.
“You needn’t stand on ceremony. I dislike the stiffness of society.”
Don’t say that. She’ll think you’re some boorish, “huntin’, shootin’, fishin’” sort of country gent.
To his relief, Rose simply nodded. “I much prefer a garden to garden parties.”
“That was rather quick-witted.”
“Women can be amusing, my lord.” Rose stopped at the boxwood hedge, frowning. “I... I feel as though I shouldn’t have said that. I shall leave you to take the air. Captain Bryce and my father will join you shortly, I’m certain.”
“You meant that women can be as clever and quick with their tongues as they are with their needles and fluttering lashes.” His tone was gruff and bitter, but in the dim light, he was smiling. “You didn’t mean that women are mere amusements.”
Rose stopped in mid-step. “Yes. Precisely that.”
As she hurried back inside, Edmund wondered if Captain Bryce would feel the same.