Chapter Four #2
“You grew up with him as well,” Nathaniel pointed out.
“Yes, but I’m her favourite.” James smiled smugly in a teasing manner.
Rebecca rolled her eyes and assured Nathaniel she had no favourites, but she still followed James when he took her arm and insisted he had a friend she must meet.
“It is a treat to see the Suttons out in numbers.” Lady Rochefort approached Nathaniel after he escaped a lengthy conversation with a slew of husband-hunters. She was his grandmother’s age, but an imposing figure, nonetheless.
“We do occasionally participate in society.”
“You haven’t. Not in ages,” she argued. “Have you changed your mind about marriage then?”
“No, just escorting Rebecca.”
She looked at him and sighed. “Let’s explore the gardens.”
“I…” Nathaniel searched for an excuse, but his eyes landed on another group of young ladies – and their mothers – approaching. “I would be delighted.”
“Yes, I thought you might be.” She didn’t even attempt to hide her smile.
“How are you enjoying the party, Lady Rochefort?” he asked.
“As well as can be expected, given the lack of seating or quality conversations. Although I am told we may have dancing and more refreshments to look forward to.”
“Outside?”
“The weather is precarious, and Lady Williams is determined to usher everyone inside at the first sign of rain, before anyone escapes.”
“Spoken as though you are also here against your will,” he pointed out.
“Of course not. But many eligible bachelors are attempting to flee. Conversation isn’t their strong suit, but dancing might be.”
“Men don’t flee. We retreat gracefully when the odds are stacked against us.”
“Of course.” She placated him with a pat on his hand. “And you merely took my arm because you are a kind and gallant young man.”
“I should hope so.”
“One of the few who could claim it. Apples and trees and all. How are your grandparents?”
“They’re well. I’m sure Lady Wiltshire would be delighted to have you for tea.”
“Is she back in the city, then?”
“Arrived last week,” he agreed. “Even the dowager countess is making an appearance.”
“I’ll need better papers if I’m missing out on all the important gossip.”
“We hardly qualify.”
“You’re much too smart to believe that,” she warned. “Perhaps not Lady Wiltshire, but Lady Lotham, certainly.”
“My sister is still in mourning,” Nathaniel reminded her. It was past the customary year, but Lizzie’s position was only secure until her brother-in-law was old enough to marry. Even then, she need never find another husband if she didn’t want to.
“I wish she weren’t, but I can’t say I blame her. If one already has children, widowhood is our only opportunity to live as men,” Lady Rochefort said bluntly.
They were in a quiet part of the garden where tall bushes hid a rather large statue, surrounded by early bursts of color.
His sisters would know the names of most the flowers, he presumed, but other than roses and sunflowers, Nathaniel was far from knowledgeable on the subject.
His mother had been an avid gardener, but every time she’d needed help, his father had volunteered, reminding her they didn’t want the boys to think they could cover themselves head to toe in mud.
“And yet you do,” she would shoot back, rolling her eyes, but she always had that smile, like she was only pretending to be cross.
The gardener often looked miserable when they tended to things, but his parents were always laughing when they returned, both covered in dirt.
“Did you know my Christian name is Rose?” Lady Rochefort asked, drawing him from his memories.
“I did not,” he admitted. She had many nicknames, but none were as simple – or as kind – as Rose.
“My mother’s favorite flower. I hated them as a child, since they had the name first, but I must say they’ve grown on me. Especially the different colored ones.”
“Ah, Lady Rochefort!” a woman exclaimed as soon as she found them in the secluded area, her daughter in tow.
The older woman looked annoyed by her surroundings, stepping away from anything resembling nature in her haste to reach them, while her daughter, whom Nathaniel would bet any money was unattached, practically had to be dragged away from the shrubbery.
“Mrs. Plimpton.” Lady Rochefort gave Nathaniel a look that confirmed his worst suspicions, but he recognized the name.
“I’m sure you’ve met my eldest unwed daughter, Frances.”
It was the girl from the Sampson ball, who’d befriended Rebecca and Elizabeth through hair adornments and sweets.
“Of course. Miss Plimpton.” Lady Rochefort tilted her head in greeting before returning to the mother. “Have you met the Earl of Lark?” she asked.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the honor,” Mrs. Plimpton said quickly.
“A pleasure,” Nathaniel said through gritted teeth before turning to the daughter, who was now politely following the exchange. “Lovely to see you again, Miss Plimpton. You must be quite in your element here.”
“It is kind of you to remember, my lord,” she said with a bow that masked her faint blush at being discovered. “I could spend hours in this corner alone.”
“Miss Plimpton is very fond of plants,” he felt the need to tell Lady Rochefort, whose eyebrows showed her surprise. “My sisters were quite envious of her…”
“Chicory,” Frances filled in for him. “Though these blooms are infinitely more spectacular.”
“Fascinating.” Lady Rochefort was not talking about the flowers, and Nathaniel would have rolled his eyes with a reproachful smile if this were over tea in his grandmother’s sitting room, but as it was, he merely smiled as if he too found the foliage amusing.
“I saw a black rose once,” Frances said out of the blue, though it also continued his earlier conversation with Lady Rochefort.
It would have been more polite to pretend she hadn’t overheard, but she looked like she couldn’t contain her excitement.
“It was breathtaking. Such beauty in such a dark color…”
“I can only imagine the sheer elegance such a flower would inspire. Yellow is my personal favorite,” Lady Rochefort shared. “One can’t be blue when surrounded by yellow roses.”
“It would be like sunshine in your sitting room. Or even in your garden, on both sunny and cloudy days.”
“My thoughts precisely. You should come see my gardens, Miss Plimpton. I am quite proud of them, though I have nothing to do with the actual planting.” She gave Nathaniel a look, implying he wasn’t the only one to remember his parents’ antics, but there was also more to it.
“Oh, I would love that immeasurably.” Miss Plimpton’s eyes, which today reflected the skies and looked nearly grey rather than blue, grew wide as if she’d been granted an audience with the queen.
“That’s too kind of you, Lady Rochefort,” Mrs. Plimpton said with a stern look to her daughter, though Nathaniel didn’t see the harm in showing one’s enthusiasm. Life was too short not to enjoy as much of it while you still could.
Mrs. Plimpton inquired about mutual acquaintances, and Nathaniel tried to follow along, out of politeness, but the women made no effort to include him.
He was debating whether it would be ill-mannered of him to leave without giving his regards to the woman he’d ventured out with when he saw that Miss Plimpton had removed herself to smell a nearby plant, her eyes closed, savoring it.
“Snow crocuses,” she told him when she opened her eyes on his approach. “My mother says she is allergic, so we never get to have any, but I’ve always found they smell like the first beautiful day of spring, when the air is cris, and the birds come alive.”
“That’s a tall order for a single flower.”
“I would be inclined to agree with you if I hadn’t smelled it myself. Although I suppose it depends on personal experiences. My governess when I was little kept a bouquet in the nursery. Smells are powerful stimulants for memory.”
Nathaniel could tell she was battling with herself, equal parts passionate about the subject and nervous, like she had been told too many times not to bother others with her interests.
“Floral scents remind me of this perfume store on Jermyn. My brother once spilled a bottle on himself, and we couldn’t get the smell out for days.”
“Oh, perfumes are nothing like the actual flower,” she argued, bringing the plant closer to his face so he could smell the difference.
It was clearly done as a reflex, because the instant she realized what she had done, her eyes grew wide and she went to pull back, but he decided to humor her and bent down to breathe it in.
She was right. The flower reminded him of the picnics they’d have at Lark Estate when it was still too cold, but everyone was so excited to be out-of-doors after a long winter.
There was another smell he couldn’t place, something calming that he wanted to investigate more, until he realized it was coming from Miss Plimpton herself, not the flower.
“Perhaps if he’d rolled around in these, we wouldn’t have been so turned off.”
Miss Plimpton smiled, then stepped away from the crocuses in favor of an orange and pink flower that placed a large plant between them.
“Is that why you use flowers instead? In your hair?” he asked, though she wasn’t currently wearing any.
“I enjoy smelling them,” she agreed, as he felt the first drops of rain Lady Rochefort had predicted. “But when I catch a glimpse of the flowers in a mirror, or even in the corner of my eye, it makes me happy.” She bit her bottom lip, as if she’d shared too much, then shrugged her shoulders.
He wanted to tell her not to be so dismissive of things that make her happy, for he knew all too well how quickly they could be ripped away, but he’d found himself staring at her lips, which gave the wrong impression.
Luckily, Miss Plimpton didn’t seem to notice as she looked up at the sky, which was attacking them with raindrops.
“We should head inside,” he declared, stiffening at the coolness in the air. “Lady Rochefort?” he called, walking around the statue to find the two older women were no longer there.
“Mama?” Miss Plimpton called.
“They must have already headed back.” Nathaniel smiled to reassure her, but he had an uneasy feeling.
The rain was coming down progressively harder, so he could hardly see a few feet in front of him, and Frances looked even more lost, no doubt unfamiliar with these gardens.
This annual party, when the weather cooperated, was known in some circles for being dreadfully boring, but in others for the nooks and crannies one could get lost in, preferably with company.
As it was, Miss Plimpton’s dress was soaked, and a cold sweat mingled with the rain on his back as Nathaniel worried she might freeze to death.
“Here, take this.” He removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, not sure if it would help, or simply weigh her down, but he couldn’t do nothing.
“Thank you, my lord. My shawl was better suited for Daisy’s dress, so I let her wear it.”
She was slipping on the wet grass, so he offered her his arm.
“Thank you,” she repeated, sounding more embarrassed and annoyed than relieved. “I usually have a sure footing with my boots, but…” She motioned to her slippers, which were entirely covered in grass stains and mud.
“Do you often garden in the rain then?”
“No, of course not. I meant when walking through the park, after the rain has stopped.”
She shivered, so he pulled her a touch closer, though he wasn’t sure how much body heat he had to spare.
“It’s just a little further. You’ll be warmed up in no time.” He hoped he wasn’t lying. It was ridiculous to hold a garden party in March. Even without the rain, it was much too cold to be out-of-doors for an extended period of time. Who cared about the first bloody bloom of a silly flower?
The answer came to him as he looked over and saw Miss Plimpton was more focused on the beauty of the garden surrounding them than the chill of the rain, or finding their way back.
She cared.
Nathaniel sighed with relief as they rounded the final hedge, putting the Williamses’ house into view.
He quickened the pace, anxious to be indoors and with other people, but didn’t notice a divot in the ground until he slid into it.
Which would have been fine, as he was quickly able to steady himself, but Miss Plimpton hadn’t had time to avoid it either.
He caught her before she fell backwards, but lost his own footing in the process.
Miss Plimpton tried to steady him, but instead fell with him, so they both landed on the ground, in what felt to Nathaniel like a giant puddle of ice.
“Are you hurt?” he asked with concern, though his body had broken her fall.
He made no effort to move, mostly because he’d had the air knocked out of him, but there was also something comforting about Miss Plimpton’s weight on him, the smell he now recognized as lavender in her hair, the warmth of her blocking out the wind, even as his back was submerged in a puddle.
“No. I’m so sorry I fumbled. And landed on you.”
“You do seem to keep falling for me,” he said, though Miss Plimpton was too flustered to notice.
“Are you injured?” She nearly jumped off him and got to her knees, visually assessing him for injuries.
“Only my pride, as I believe the fault was mine.” He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. She returned it, looking relieved, and for a moment, he just sat there in the puddle, infinitely aware of the warmth from her hand on his arm to make sure he was well.
“What have you done to my daughter?” A voice boomed from Nathaniel’s left, spurring him into action as he quickly got to his feet and helped Miss Plimpton do the same.
He turned and saw a man who must be Mr. Plimpton glaring at him.
He would have calmly explained himself and strongly suggested they return to the party before Miss Plimpton froze to death, but then he noticed half a dozen guests who took in their position, his state of undress, and his reputation, then made their decision, regardless of anything Nathaniel could say to assure them it wasn’t what it looked like.
“He has to marry her,” one of the women said.
A cold chill that had nothing to do with the weather ran down his spine.