3. Chapter 3
Lavender exited the back of the house and into the light drizzle that so often accompanied the month of April.
She took the dozen or so steps to Henry’s cottage and knocked.
If anyone could help her make sense of her thoughts, it would be Henry—the family groundskeeper was a fantastic listener.
She was tired of being the only soul who knew about Mr. Lanscombe’s actions.
It was long past time to talk to someone.
She heard movement from inside the cottage, and she stepped back just as the door swung open.
“Lady Lavender,” Henry greeted her with a crooked smile. “What can I do for you?”
The smell of fresh-cut wood wafted out the door. “Am I interrupting anything?”
Henry set aside a stick he’d been whittling and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “Not at all. I am at your disposal.”
Lavender smiled a little. “I am in need of a walk. Would you accompany me so that I am not alone?”
“Most certainly.” Henry retrieved a coat and then joined her on the sodden path.
He was getting older, Lavender noticed. He was at least ten years her father’s senior, but his health had never faltered.
What a blessing to the entire Gardner family.
Henry played a large part in the children’s upbringing.
Under the earl’s instruction, it was Henry who spent time teaching them to shoot a bow or a pistol.
But that was not where his value lay. Every one of her siblings had a unique relationship with their groundskeeper.
As for Lavender, she’d always been able to talk to him without fear of judgement. He lent a kind, listening ear and shared a wealth of solid advice. Even more, he was like her—a background character in the story that was the Gardner family. They were the unnoticed, but they saw each other.
After sauntering around the garden paths for a time, Lavender felt she was composed enough to ask for his advice.
“Henry, I have a confession of sorts to make.” She swallowed hard.
“You might be surprised to know that I had always thought I would marry Mr. Lanscombe.” The words reopened the wound in her heart, but she pressed on.
“But he is searching for a wife in London.”
Henry mumbled something under his breath that Lavender pretended not to hear.
Then he cleared his throat. “I wondered why he didn’t come around anymore.
If Mr. Lanscombe has chosen a life without you, then I believe it’s better he never shows his face here again.
If I had my way, he would not leave looking the same. ”
Lavender smiled a little at the thought of her elderly groundskeeper giving Mr. Lanscombe a solid punch to the nose. He’d do it, too. She had no doubts. “He would deserve it, I’m sure.”
“He has always been a fool. Courting you in private the way he did . . . it wasn’t right.”
“How did you know he was courting me in secret?”
Henry shook his head. “I have windows on this cottage, my lady. And I wanted to keep an eye on you when no one else seemed to notice you’d disappeared.”
Lavender felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. “You must think me a fool.”
Henry laughed at that. “I’ve had no such thoughts. I remember what it was like to be young and in love. Your head doesn’t always choose what is best for your heart.”
She nodded in silent agreement. Her head had allowed her to make all sorts of excuses for Mr. Lanscombe’s lack of commitment over the years.
She’d relied almost solely on her heart to make decisions.
That was a mistake she refused to make again.
“I feel stuck. At this rate, I’ll be an old maid.
I don’t feel particularly fond of the idea of marriage right now, but without it, I don’t progress at all.
” And I would continue inevitably to be at the mercy of my mother’s whims. She thought with a grimace.
They walked in silence for a time. She never worried that Henry wasn’t going to answer; he took his time with his words. He always had.
“I think you ought to talk to your parents.”
Lavender’s shoulders fell. “I was afraid you were going to say that. You know how difficult it is for me to talk to them. I’ve been brushed aside so often.
Besides, I don’t want to be a burden while father is ill.
” Even thinking about how easily her concerns were dismissed or forgotten by her family made her embarrassed.
“I know. But, I think you ought to try. I’m afraid your father . . .” his voice trailed off.
Henry didn’t need to finish his sentence. Lavender knew his worries. Despite continual visits from the doctor, her father was only getting more sick as time went on. She sniffed. “I believe you are correct. I don’t know what on earth to say to them, but I ought to at least make an effort.”
“You have the blessing of being with your father, for now. When a person is brought low, they tend to focus more on the important things in their life. And you, Lavender Gardner, are more important to them than you realize.”
She doubted this; it might have been the first time she’d questioned his advice. But she would take it nonetheless. “Thank you, Henry.” She squared her shoulders as he deposited her outside the back door. “Wish me luck.”
“Good luck, Lady Lavender.” He turned to go, but then turned back around. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m going to say it anyway. You’re better off without Mr. Lanscombe. He wasn’t good enough for you.”
Tears pricked the backs of Lavender’s eyes.
She gave him a watery smile and went into the house.
The sound of a door slamming upstairs was followed by footsteps thumping down the staircase.
Lavender stepped out into the corridor just as her father’s doctor came into view.
“Good day, Mr. Marshall.” Lavender tipped her head to the man who so dutifully cared for the earl.
Mr. Marshall opened his mouth, closed it again, and then shook his head before he continued down the corridor and let himself out the front door.
Lavender watched him go in astonishment.
Nothing good could come from such an expression.
It was not like him to ignore her. Mr. Marshall had the bedside manners of a saint.
He put up with Lavender’s mother’s demands without complaint month after month and always left with a smile and words of encouragement. What had happened upstairs?
She listened for her father’s cough. It came, just as she’d expected it to.
Unable to quell her growing anxiety, she ascended the stairs to her father’s chamber. She knocked on the door, and her father invited her in. Mother was there, looking out the window with her back to Lavender.
“Father, how are you?” Lavender approached his bedside and squeezed his hand. His skin was thin and sagging, a far cry from the athletic build he’d claimed just a year ago.
He squeezed back. “I have had better days.”
Lavender nodded her understanding. “Me as well.”
Concern flickered in his eyes.
“Lavender,” her mother spat. “Your petty concerns do not compare with your father’s illness. He . . .” she turned to face Lavender. She was surprised to see her mother’s face streaked with tears, her cheeks a mottled red. Her mother turned back toward the window.
All the air left Lavender’s lungs. She’d known her father was ill, knew that he was likely not going to recover fully, but she’d never in all her life seen her mother lose her composure.
The gravity of the situation settled upon her, and she sat on the edge of her father’s bed.
Her throat constricted. She couldn’t tell them about Mr. Lanscombe now, perhaps not ever.
The last thing her father needed was another worry.
“It’s consumption, my dear,” Lavender’s father said. “It is the way of things.”
Consumption. It was a cruel illness. One that there was no remedy for once you hit a certain stage. Lavender had suspected as much, having read about his symptoms in their vast library, but she’d prayed she was incorrect.
“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” Lavender wiped tears from her cheeks.
Her mother laughed, but it was an unhinged sound—completely out of character for the most terrifying member of the ton. “No one will like it. But whether we like it or not, we need to act now in your best interest. I will not have you end up in the poor house.”
Her father coughed into an already blood-stained handkerchief. “My dear, she will never be relegated to the poor house. Her brother will take care of her, and her sisters as well.”
Lavender’s mother came over to stand beside his bed, a measure of dignity pulled tight around her like a shield in battle.
“You’re right, of course. Ash is all that is good in the world.
He’ll not let her suffer. But we have agreed upon our course of action.
The sooner we get her married, the better. ”
Married?
Her father took a rattling breath. “It would make things easier for Ash to have all his sisters happily settled before he needs to take on the responsibilities of the estate.”
Her mother nodded. “We can take her to town when we take Ash back to school next week. I believe Rose can convince the Duchess of Gilfordshire to sponsor Lavender, since we cannot go. Why Rose chose the Season to be expecting a child is the most ridiculous decision she has made since marrying.”
Lavender opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words.
Although she was in the room, her parents spoke to one another as if she were somewhere else entirely.
So, Lavender did as she’d been taught: she faded into the background, listening to her parents' plan for her in completely shocked silence.
“I’ll have Mary begin packing Lavender’s belongings today. I leave to take Ash to Cambridge in just one week. Then we’ll stop in London to drop off Lavender in Mayfair,” her mother said. “I’ll write to Rose and the duchess directly.”
“I have no doubt in your abilities to have everything settled,” her father said. “Would you like me to send the request? I have been wanting to write to Rose in any case.”
“If you can have the letter written in the next hour, that will be acceptable. Thank goodness we’ve kept up on Lavender’s wardrobe.
Of course, she will need a few new things, but I trust the duchess’s taste.
The duchess simply needs to know that Lavender’s arm ought to be covered at all times. ” Her mother left the room in a flurry.
Apparently, Lavender was leaving in a week.
She would be staying—they presumed—with the Duke and Duchess of Gilfordshire.
Lavender knew the duchess, but they were not close by any stretch of the imagination.
How awkward to be dropped off on the doorstep of a near stranger.
But she would do it for her father. A bit of discomfort was worth bearing to see him happy.
Besides, if anyone could help Lavender make the right connections to help along a hasty marriage, she supposed a duchess would know precisely the right way to go about it.
“Lavender, come here,” her father motioned for her.
She sniffed as she came back to his bedside. “Yes, father?”
“I know this is all sudden. But it would give me no small amount of peace knowing you are happily settled before I die.”
“Don’t say that.” Lavender’s voice shook.
“I must. It is the way of things, and I don’t intend to pretend otherwise. Now,” he coughed for a few seconds. “You have a large dowry and the beauty of an angel. Go find someone to share your life with before you must enter into the mourning period.”
Lavender leaned over and kissed her father on his forehead.
He said it like it would be as easy as going to the market, but she knew better.
“I’ll do my best.” She hated that he lied to her: she knew she was no beauty, especially with her extensive scarring.
But then, she hated everything about her father’s illness.
Who was to be the buffer for her mother’s intense demands if he was gone?
He caught her hand again. “You’ll have to venture further than the library to find someone to marry. There is only so much of life you can learn in a book. I have months yet. Don’t worry about me, but claim your happiness while you can.”
She nodded. He knew her so well. And yet, she’d kept so much from him over the past few years.
The last thing she wanted to do was burden him further by admitting how foolish she’d been in love.
She may be required to marry, but she was wiser now.
She knew more about the selfishness of men.
Knowledge was powerful, and she would benefit from applying it in her search for happiness.
So long as she kept her heart out of the marriage, all would be well.
She’d been raised her entire life for moments like this. When turmoil raged all around, it was her job to bring peace. Who was she to fight against her fate?