A Bloom in Winter (7 page)

No one showed up to help her off her horse, nor to put her horse away. The moment she dismounted, butterflies fluttered in her stomach and her confidence vanished. She shouldn’t be
here. What if he was angry that she had come? But surely a man didn’t kiss a woman and ask her to fly with him if he planned on disappearing soon after.

And, after all, she was a
New Woman
, not a mouse.

Gathering her courage, she tied her horse to a nearby tree. He snorted at such treatment, far preferring to be stabled and rubbed down, especially on such a cold day. She knew she couldn’t leave him unattended for long.

She laid her riding crop on the ground and took a moment to wrap her riding skirt around one side, hooking it into place so she would be able to walk comfortably. Then she stepped quietly to the front door. Hesitating only for a moment, she closed her eyes and knocked, knowing she was breaching about a thousand rules of etiquette. She hoped that his mother, a woman who had lost her husband to suicide, wouldn’t care about such things.

At the thought of Jon’s parents she almost lost her nerve and ran back to her animal. What was she doing here?

The door opened and a young girl of about sixteen appeared in the doorway. Her eyes widened when she took in Rowena’s severely cut riding habit of dark Irish linen and the hat tilted just so on Rowena’s head.

The girl’s brown hair fell untidily down her back and the hem of her ill-fitting dress showed damp stains. “Mother!” the girl yelled. The two of them stared at each other for a moment and Rowena noted the girl had a basket of eggs slung over one arm. Then she slammed the door in Rowena’s face.

Moments later an older woman opened the door. Her faded hair must have once been as red as Jon’s, and her eyes were the same compelling blue. But whereas Jon’s face was made of sharp, intelligent planes, this woman’s face had been ravaged by grief, and two permanent wrinkles ran from the corners of
her eyes down her cheeks as if worn there by an ocean of tears. The woman, however, wasn’t crying; she was smiling a tentative smile.

“I apologize for my daughter. We don’t get many visitors back here and she felt she wasn’t dressed well enough to receive anyone.”

The words were mild but Rowena detected enough of a chastisement to be ashamed. They told her that though this woman wasn’t one to stand on ceremony, she knew what was polite, and appearing out of nowhere was just not polite.

“I’m very sorry for not sending word of my visit, but I was just riding by and I thought I would inquire whether Jon was home?”

The woman’s eyebrows rose slightly, but the look on her face softened a bit. “No, he hasn’t been home for the last few weeks. He’s been working in Kent.”

Relief washed over her like cleansing rainwater, rinsing away all her self-doubt. He was with Mr. Dirkes. He wasn’t intentionally avoiding her, he was just doing his job. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Oh, I am sorry to have bothered you. I just hadn’t heard from him and was beginning to worry . . . ” Rowena began moving away, her relief making her babble.

But the woman reached out and caught her arm. “I understand. With a job like his, I worry every day. I don’t know how he can do what he does.”

“Oh, because it’s wonderful,” Rowena burst out.

“You’ve been flying?” the woman asked, her voice rising in surprise.

She nodded, shyness suddenly making her look away. She felt her cheeks heating. “He took me up with him once. He’s going to take me again.”

She heard a little shriek from inside the house and the woman’s lips twitched. “Why don’t you come in and have a hot cup of tea before you start off again? My name is Margaret, and I am Jon’s mother.”

“My name is Rowena.” She didn’t offer her last name, but it wasn’t asked for, and she didn’t want to give the woman a reason to cast her out. Rowena longed to see where Jon lived, where he had grown up. “Are you sure it wouldn’t be too much trouble?” she asked as she was being ushered inside.

“No, of course not. We don’t get many visitors, but the day we can’t offer a cup of hot tea and some sustenance to a young woman out riding on a day like today is the end of the Wells family.”

Rowena detected a slight burr in Margaret’s voice and wondered whether she was Scottish. She took off her riding cloak as she was ushered through a wide entryway down a long hall with wide pocket doors on either side. Some were closed while others were open, showing cheery fires roaring inside. The ceilings were low and timbered, giving the home a warm, cozy feeling that seemed to be missing from most of Summerset. But then again, Aunt Charlotte was not exactly the warm and cozy type.

“I hope you don’t mind if we have our tea in the kitchen; that is where we live most of the time anyway. With five boys and only one daughter, it just doesn’t seem appropriate to make them have tea in the sitting room, where they are apt to spill something or otherwise make a mess.”

The kitchen was a huge room with a fireplace on one wall, a wood stove on another, and a cooker against the back wall. The walls were round river stones put together with mortar, and Rowena could tell it was the oldest part of the house. A
table made of long wooden planks stood in the middle, while a butcher block the size of a small bed stood to one side.

“Do have a seat at the table. I had just put the tea on when I heard Cristobel’s unearthly scream. I am so sorry about that. As I said, we don’t have much company and I’m afraid I’ve let the girl run wild.”

Rowena heard an annoyed yelp from the hallway but said nothing. She took a seat at the end of the long table, worried that Margaret would start asking questions about her family that she wouldn’t be able to answer truthfully.

In spite of Rowena’s assertions that she help, Margaret bade her to stay seated and had a quick tea set on the table in no time. Then she sat firmly next to Rowena and stared at her with her blue eyes.

Rowena squirmed uncomfortably at Jon’s eyes peering out of his mother’s face.

“How long have you known my son?” she asked.

Rowena ducked her head to hide a smile. That certainly didn’t take long. “Not long. Just a couple of months, really.”

“How did you two meet? I was under the impression that he had no time for anything except his aeroplanes.”

This time Rowena didn’t bother to hide her smile. “I think that’s true. He was flying, or crashing, actually, when we met.”

His mother clapped a hand to her mouth. “So you’re the woman on the hill.”

Rowena shifted. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might have told his family about her. She wondered about his older brother, George, whom she’d met at the skating party and who had been none too happy about her surname. Had he said anything to his mother about her?

“You practically saved Jon’s life!” an awed voice said behind her.

She turned to find that the girl at the door had quickly changed her skirt and brushed out her hair. She served herself a cup of tea and joined them at the table.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Rowena said weakly.

“So he took you up in his plane to say thank you,” Cristobel continued. “He said you were a real trouper. You were hardly afraid at all. I love your riding habit. I outgrew mine and we haven’t enough money to replace it yet, but maybe when George comes home from the bank. I, of course, have been up lots of times.”

“If lots of times are exactly twice,” her mother said, smiling. “Slow down, our guest isn’t used to the speed of your tongue.”

Cristobel glowered at her mother.

“I have a younger sister, too,” Rowena assured them. “I’m used to it.”

“Well, that’s a mercy. Did you enjoy flying with Jon?” Margaret asked, turning back to Rowena.

“I loved it,” Rowena said, trying to find the words. “I felt so free, as if nothing that happened down here mattered at all.”

“But it does matter, doesn’t it?” a masculine voice said from the hall. Rowena jumped, her heart leaping, but it wasn’t Jon who stood in the door, watching her with an unreadable expression across his face. It was his brother, George, who had made it very clear the first time they met that he harbored nothing but disdain for the Buxtons, and thus for her.

“George!” Cristobel leapt up and gave her brother a hug. “I didn’t expect you until tomorrow!”

“Business went better than expected.”

“Oh, that’s a relief,” his mother said, getting up to pour her son a cup of tea.

Rowena sat very still, waiting for him to reveal her identity to Margaret and Cristobel, just as Rowena was beginning to like them. He walked into the room and lounged against the butcher block, waiting for his tea. He wasn’t as handsome as Jon—the blue of his eyes was darker and he had grim lines sunk on either side of his mouth. This was a man who had known the bitterness of caring for a family before his time.

“Yes, Mother,” he said, never taking his eyes off Rowena. “If selling off another part of our land can be termed a relief.”

“Not exactly tea talk in front of company,” his mother chided, handing him a cup.

“My apologies. I was just surprised to find Miss . . . ” He paused, waiting for a name.

“You may call me Rowena. And I thank you so much for the tea, but I really must be leaving.”

“But you just got here!” Cristobel wailed. “We haven’t gotten to talk about anything yet!”

Margaret smiled as Rowena rose from her chair. “As I said, my daughter has been left alone for far too long. She needs the company of girls her own age, and though I can see you are much older, I would love to have you back here for a real visit. Perhaps you could have supper with us? It’s the least we can do, considering how you practically saved Jon’s life.”

Rowena just wanted to escape George’s mocking eyes. She wished she had never come here. What would Jon say when he found out she had ingratiated herself with his family before he had even made clear any intentions toward her? And yet, wasn’t a kiss the same as declaring intentions? Or was she being
impossibly old-fashioned? “I’d like that very much,” she said weakly, reaching for her cloak.

The entire family saw her to the door. Rowena was sure the two holes burning in her back were from George’s glaring. The two women said their good-byes at the door, then George walked her to her horse and held the reins as she mounted. He didn’t mince words.

“I have a message for you and a message for your uncle, Miss Buxton. Tell your uncle to keep his spy at home. He already has all he is going to get from us.”

Rowena’s mouth fell open in shock and she snatched the reins out his hands.

“And quit confusing Jon. His loyalty lies with his family.” Before she could respond he slapped his hand down on the rump of her horse and her horse leapt away in a gallop.

T
he rhythmic rocking of the train might have left the other passengers tired and yawning, but Victoria and a toddler in a navy sailor suit were wide awake. One by one the others shut their eyes against the glare of the morning sun streaming in the windows and relaxed, knowing their next stop would be Cambridge and then London.

Victoria and the blue-eyed boy stared at each other for a moment, but each was too preoccupied to pay the other much attention. The little boy had fingers to count and spit bubbles to blow, and Victoria had a whole list of things that could go wrong if she neglected to give each item considerable thought.

Knowing this, she counted off all of the items on her fingers. Her aunt believed she was going to visit the Kingslys and had even sent a note of thanks that had been deftly plucked up by Susie before it made its way down to Cairns. Before leaving, Victoria had warned Susie to be on the alert for other missives.

Rowena, knowing she wouldn’t ever stay with Priscilla Kingsly, who was a bit of a pill, thought she was going to visit Prudence and her new husband. The guilt Victoria felt over this lie sat heavy in her stomach. Rowena’s beautiful eyes had filled with hurt, but she had only hugged Vic and told her to give Pru her best. She also had given her twenty pounds in case Prudence
should need it. Vic had no idea what she would do with the money, because Susie hadn’t told her where Prudence lived. To be fair, Victoria hadn’t asked, still ashamed that she’d never received a reply to the letter she had added to Susie’s.

Kit had insisted on meeting her at the train station, and though Victoria asserted that it wasn’t necessary, she was relieved that he would be waiting. He would escort her first to the offices of
The Botanist’s Quarterly
, which were located on Lexington Place. She had sent a letter to Hairy Herbert, informing him of her arrival, and arranged to meet with him just before noon. She leaned back against the seat, a pleased sigh escaping her lips. She imagined him being so impressed with her knowledge that he would invite her to lunch, someplace sophisticated, where serious people went to lunch.

But if not, Kit would take her to Coleridge’s for lunch and she would treat herself to an enormous napoleon before he escorted her to Katie’s house in . . . She frowned and checked her reticule to make sure the paper with Katie’s address was still on it. Camden Town. Yes. That was it. He would escort her to Camden Town.