Love Is A Flower That Grows In Any Soil… Blooming Fair And Fragrant All The Year
“You’re crabby again, Verity.”
“And peevish.”
Verity could do naught but nod and agree as the full complement of Scandalous Scarlet Spinsters bowled along in Mrs Tait’s open barouche, which comfortably seated four. “And it’s solely been a sennight since Miles left.”
Sephi patted her hand, her touch warm even through the thick woollen blanket. “Soon you’ll never be apart again, I’m sure.”
With a chew of lip, Verity stared to the sky as the cold of dusk briskly descended. Sephi surely spoke the truth, but there had been no definitive avowal as yet between Miles and herself, just snatched conversation, duty, obligation and now distance.
Martin Chambers had been committed to Newgate by the magistrate to await trial, but there’d been depositions to be given and evidence to be provided by them all. Then Miles had come to her with news that a wing of his country manor had suffered a fire, which demanded the earl’s immediate attention.
This morning, her relatives had declared there would be no more irritable mubble-fubbles and, since the weather had turned mild – that’s to say, only a single pelisse was required – Mrs Tait had arranged a visit to the tea gardens on the corner of Buckingham Palace Road.
They’d spent a charming day just chatting and walking, and now they trundled their way home in the gathering dark of eve.
“You’d be welcome to come for tea tomorrow,” said their neighbour. “Juliet and Jeremy will be there also.”
Verity smiled but knew it did not quite reach her eyes. The abrupt separation from Miles pressing upon her.
For at night, in that hour when lucidness and reveries weaved, erstwhile doubts that appeared illogical by day took on a semblance of reason, shadows of the past making themselves known once more.
What was required was belief. And trust. Trust in Miles.
So with a deep breath, she broadened her smile, at her thoughtful relatives and the kind Mrs Tait, who would all no doubt prefer to be in a warm closed carriage rather than a barouche with the canopy down.
Sephi rubbed her hands together as the coachman brought them to a halt outside their homes, lamps in the doorways bright with welcome. “Phew!” she puffed as the steps were lowered, breath misting in the dark. “I can’t feel my ears anymore.”
Verity winced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be a goose,” Sephi teased, linking her arm through Verity’s once they’d stepped down onto the pavement. “For now there’s nothing better than thawing out in your conservatory.”
“You don’t like my conservatory. You say it makes your skirts wilt and your hair curl.”
Aunt Theo linked her other arm, a smile tugging at her lips. “I agree with Persephone, darling. A hot toddy in your conservatory is just the elixir one needs to defrost.”
Mrs Tait waggled a glove. “Can I join you?”
Verity frowned but with her relatives gripping her like stakes to a sapling and her neighbour to the rear, Verity had no choice but to be dragged through the door, down the hallway, pelisse and all, and out to the dark garden.
The conservatory door was swung open by a grinning Jenkins and…
Oh my.
For a moment, she simply stared, breath catching.
Then she twisted. “You sneaky, kind, lying, adorable, underhand…”
“We love you, Verity.” Sephi patted her arm. “Enjoy!”
Aunt bussed her forehead. “My brave girl.”
Mrs Tait beamed. “Let’s have that hot toddy at mine, shall we?” And the three of them linked arms to depart, leaving Verity within her conservatory.
One that had been transformed whilst she’d been hoodwinked into attending the tea gardens.
Ornamental urns now intermingled with her beloved plants, filled with exotic blooms that she’d only seen in books, while high above, a series of bracket shelves had been fixed to the wall of the house.
Upon them, porcelain vases were crammed with hothouse flowers, enriching the conservatory with their vibrant shades, shapes and rich scent.
A myriad of lanterns hung from hooks in the roof struts, their candles casting a soft drifting glow upon leaf and flower.
Her gaze flicked down – to a path of petals spread before her and she hastened along it to her central haven.
For all of this could only mean…
Here, the wrought-iron table had been set with crystal wineglasses and fine plates of repast while the chaise had a cosy blanket and cushions laid upon it and…and…she stared up, mouth agape.
Two divided glass windows had been set in the roof. Installed in just a day, for surely they’d not been there this morning.
Then she spied movement through the fig leaves.
Miles could not have felt more elated at Verity’s wide-eyed wonder.
Hell, how he’d missed her: those eyes deep with autumn hues and her lips glistening like dew-laden raspberries.
He yearned to stride from the figs, but first he swivelled and–
Banged his head on a lantern hanging from a strut.
“Sorry, C’tain,” came a whisper. “Hung it too low.”
Miles clapped Lynch on the shoulder. “Thank you for all your work today.”
“Pleasure. We’ll all be at the Wellington. Although…” He winked. “I’m sure yer won’t need us.”
Miles nodded and turned to Alasdair, seized him and hugged him hard. “Thank you, Cousin.”
“Don’t go all sentimental on me,” Dair grumbled but still hugged him back. “I only popped some flowers in a vase.”
“You did more than that. And I didn’t just mean for tonight.”
Dair’s lips curved, and with Lynch close behind, they endeavoured to extricate themselves from the greenery, ducking leaves and striving not to stand on trailing blooms. After winks to Verity, they followed the petal path to the door until…
“Coming Jeremy?”
From somewhere in the undergrowth, the elder Firth could be heard tinkering with his newfangled Swiss musical box. “O-one moment…” A key was wound.
Delicate chimes filled the conservatory.
With a grin, Jeremy emerged at Miles’s side, vigorously shook his hand, escaped the vegetation, gave a flourishing bow to Verity, and followed on to the door.
Miles parted the fig leaves and stepped forth into Verity’s sanctuary. “Alone at last.”
Whilst twirling and admiring the conservatory, his beloved had unbuttoned her pelisse – never a bad start – and so he marched over to aid with the sleeves.
“Oh, Miles, it’s all so beautiful. Thank you. And how on earth were the roof windows done in less than a day?”
He kissed her nape; her breath hitched.
“Regiment friends. Do you like them?”
“I adore them. I can see the first stars.” She stared around with eyes wide as pennies while the delicate chimes of the music box gradually slowed, each note stretching longer than the last, until the tune faltered and ended. “When did you get back from your estate? Was there much damage?”
Miles shuffled his boots. “Ah.” And looked to the roof struts. “I didn’t actually…go to the estate.”
“But the fire?”
“Forgive the deception, my Amaranth. But…there was no fire.”
A frown ruffled her brow. “Where did you go then?”
Miles placed hands to her shoulders, kissed her forehead. “Kent.”
“Kent? What’s in Kent?”
“Maidstone is.”
“Who do you know in…” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t…”
He stepped from her and bent to a holdall aside a pot of pelargoniums. There he drew out a folder of papers.
Returning to Verity’s side, he was aware he needed to choose his words with care and so paused.
“I myself don’t care one bloody whit that you spent time in an asylum.
You could have spent years there and it would not matter to me.
But I know it matters to you, Verity, and I will not have that.
You fear the past might have consequences for an earl, that if it were to become known, it would invite scandal and slander.
I want to allay those fears as best I can, wherever I can, so, yes, I rode to the asylum in Maidstone.
I persuaded the director there to relinquish your folder and to allow me to tear your name from their registers.
With a large donation, I hasten to add, and nothing untoward.
” And he placed the folder within her hands.
“Do with these papers what you will.” Her eyes became saturated with tears and Miles fretted he’d blundered.
“I couldn’t tell you as I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get them, and I didn’t want to raise false hope.
But I had to try. Your aunt gave me the location and, hell, don’t cry, I only wanted to– Have I acted in error? ”
She flung herself into his arms. “Oh, Miles,” was garbled into his coat with a frantic shake of head
Thank hell.
“There might, I suppose, be someone who remembers you one day but…” He caressed her cheek. “It matters not to me. And whatever comes, we will deal with it together.”
Verity drew away, darted to the stove in the corner and opened the small door. A low fire crackled but it soon leaped as she consigned all the papers to the flames.
Not one by one, but the whole lot at once.
Corners curled. Blackened. Withered to ash.
The records of her past now bringing warmth and light to his Verity and her beloved plants.
Then she turned and her eyes glittered. Unafraid. Bright. Resolute. All he wished to do was kiss her until neither of them could breathe but a soldier knew duty came before desire and there was still the issue of…logistics to discuss. Words to be said.
“Come, sit on the chaise,” he said rather gruffly.
” She complied with a slight frown yet Miles remained standing.
Needed to march as he spoke. “On my ride home, I thought much on the matters you spoke of after Kew.” He enacted a swift turn on his heel and paced back.
“And as I said, I won’t just dismiss them and say all will be solved in some fanciful manner, that there will be no grey clouds or times of difficulty, for I was a soldier and life does not work in such a way. ”
His beloved blinked. And he thought maybe he was bungling it.
“So we will address them as best we can. Each and every day. Together. You mentioned the responsibilities of being a countess, yet…” He paused, kneeled before her and held her hand.
“Verity, you have established a most capable and loyal household here. You have managed it all within your own bounds, sustained it and seen it flourish. An earldom is just the same but…bigger.”
Her lip quirked. “As in two hundred servants bigger?”
“Nearer three but…” He squeezed her hand. “We will adjust as you have done here. Knock out walls, build conservatories, put in a hundred windows, have barouches and get drenched. Together.” He kissed her palm.
“I–”
“And as for voyages. Do…do you yourself still wish to?”
“Yes! With all my heart but–”
“Then we will attempt them. I cannot promise it will all go smoothly but we will try, take it step by step. Just a voyage to the nearest meadow to begin with. It would still be an adventure, a glorious adventure. And if it fails, then we will think of something else, for…” He swallowed.
“Most importantly, and perhaps I should have started with this, I lov–”
Her palm pressed to his mouth.
Dread filled the pit of his guts.
“It is my turn.” She drew her hand back and seized his.
“With you, Miles, at my side, I feel…free. Unbound. For you listen to my worries and instead of dismissing them, you set about solving them.” Her voice caught.
“I have been so wary of life since I was that young girl but you instil such…such a confidence within me…that together we can meet and deal with whatever comes.” Her gaze held his.
“I want more than to live that wary life now, Miles. I want you. And I will not fear the change it brings but welcome it. Welcome the wonderful adventures with you.” A pause.
“For I love you, Miles. I have always loved you.”
Miles extended a hand to the curls of hair that brushed her cheeks, his guts now filled with a deep abiding contentment. “I always adored your hair – black as cannon tar.”
“Erm, thank you.”
“Should I filch from Bryon or Shelley? They have better words than I.”
“Your own words are perfect.”
“Then my words are just this… I love you, Verity. But it is not the love of an Ipomoea alba that blooms for a day and then withers. It was and always will be of the Amaranth, I named you – everlasting.”
Miles gently cupped her cheek and drew her near.
And then their lips met, her hands sliding across his chest and shoulders, shudders wracking him as she tangled fingers within his hair.
“You, my Amaranth, are the flower above all others. The most precious. The most treasured. The one I wish to keep safe, care for, and yet conversely display to the world. You are all that matters. All that has ever mattered, in truth.”
Verity cleared her throat, a tear seeping. “And you say you’re not good with words.”
He shook his head. “This I shall keep simple, Verity.” And kissed away the tear. “Marry me? Be my wife, my countess?”
Her lips curved. “Yes. Yes, Miles, I would be honoured to marry you.”
Well, what else could a soldier do?
But kiss her – a rough and eternal pledge of love.
While all of their past and their present melded into one inevitable path.
A golden summer daydream made real forever.