Edenbrooke (14 page)

Marianne’s List of Improvements

• Stop twirling.

• Wear a bonnet outside.

• Learn to sing at least one song for company.

• Learn to flirt with gentlemen.

That seemed like enough to work on for now, and I did not want to overwhelm myself. Heaven knew the last one on the list might be impossible. But I knew there was one more item I should add, although it was more general than specific in nature.

• Follow the example of other elegant young ladies.

I knew this would mean having to sit at tea with them and talk about the things they were interested in, like bonnets and lace and such. But if doing so meant bringing my father home, I would try. If it meant avoiding my return to Bath, then I would try.

After finishing my list, I took my letter downstairs and found Mrs. Clumpett, who had mentioned wanting to walk to Lamdon, the nearest village. She agreed to accompany me to mail my letter. I felt proud of myself that I remembered to wear a bonnet.

“This is fortuitous timing,” she said. “Mr. Clumpett has just asked me to join him in a search for a certain species of beetle. And although I enjoy exploring the woods, I do not like insects.”

I welcomed her company. There was something odd but at the same time pleasant about her. She did not prattle on about inconsequential things like bonnets and fashion. She knew about things I had never considered, and she seemed to be an equal to her husband in terms of her quest for knowledge. I liked how she had been able to hold her own in their debate over dinner about the Jungle Bush-Quail. But I doubted she was what my grandmother had in mind when she told me to make myself into an elegant young lady.

As we walked into town together, it occurred to me that she looked nothing like her sister, Lady Caroline. Mrs. Clumpett stood no taller than I, and although there was no real fault to find in her nose, or her chin, or her eyes, there was also no real asset to any of those features. Except for her upturned lips, it was a forgettable face.

Lady Caroline, though, was a true beauty, from her rich brown hair to her dark blue eyes, from her statuesque figure to her high cheekbones and aquiline nose. Noticing the differences between them made me like Mrs. Clumpett even more. We had something in common, the two of us; we had both been cursed with beautiful sisters.

After mailing my letter, I found a shop where I bought a sketchbook, pencils, paper, and paint supplies, along with a satchel to carry everything. The idea of painting had taken such a hold of me that I felt the need to do something about it. Besides, I would like something of Edenbrooke to take away with me when I left. It was the closest thing to paradise I had ever known, and I wanted to remember it always.

“Are you an artist?” Mrs. Clumpett asked as she helped me carry my purchases.

“No, not at all,” I said with a laugh. “But I do enjoy it, and I hope to improve myself. It is one of the socially acceptable talents for a young lady to possess, you know.”

“Hmm.” She slanted a glance at me. “I hope you are not offended by my saying this, Miss Marianne, but I think there are more important things to consider than what talents are
socially acceptable.
”

I smiled to myself. It was all very well for Mrs. Clumpett to be a little odd and something of a Bluestocking—she was married and appeared to be well-matched. I, on the other hand, still had to secure my future happiness, and I knew that my future depended entirely on my becoming socially acceptable.

“I’m not sure my grandmother would agree,” I murmured.

Mrs. Clumpett laughed. “Neither would mine. But I hope you do not let anyone else’s expectations direct the course of your life.” She gently touched my arm, stopping me in the path. I turned toward her. “I have discovered happiness in being true to who I am. I hope you will give that idea some consideration.”

I nodded, touched that she seemed to care enough about me to offer such heartfelt advice. “I will consider it. Thank you.”

A cart coming down the path called me to attention, and I stepped aside to let it pass.

Riding in the cart was a plump woman. She was holding onto her hat with one hand and gripping the side of the cart with the other as she was jostled about on her seat. She looked up just as the cart was passing us and suddenly grabbed the arm of the driver.

“Please, stop here!”

“Why, it’s Mrs. Nutley!” I said, hurrying toward her. I had not heard anything from her about James, so I had assumed everything was going well with his recovery.

Mrs. Nutley clambered down gingerly from the cart and walked to us with small, quick steps. “I was just on my way to Edenbrooke to see you.”

She grasped my hand and I noticed a wrinkled handkerchief clutched in her other hand. I wondered why she was not at the inn taking care of James.

“I do not know what to think,” Mrs. Nutley said, dabbing at her eyes. “I only meant to stretch my legs—I walked down the path only a little way—but when I returned to the inn, James was gone!”

Chapter 12

I sat on the edge of my chair and watched Mrs. Nutley sip her tea. She seemed calmer now that we had her settled in the comfortable drawing room at Edenbrooke. But I felt sorry that she had spent the entire walk here worrying about James and whether it was her fault he had disappeared. Lady Caroline joined us in the drawing room and gently posed questions to Mrs. Nutley.

“He was returning to good health?”

“Yes, I was taking excellent care of him. In fact, the doctor had visited early yesterday and said James looked healed enough to go home in the next few days.”

“Has anything unusual happened that may explain his disappearance?” Lady Caroline asked.

“No, not today.” She set down her teacup. “But now that I think of it, something unusual did happen yesterday. I came downstairs while James was resting and saw a gentleman speaking with the innkeeper. The gentleman asked if a young lady had recently stayed the night. The innkeeper told him that, yes, there had been. Then the gentleman asked if she had had a companion with her. The innkeeper told him, yes, her maid. I thought, of course, of you, Miss Daventry.”

“What did this gentleman look like?” I asked.

“Rather dashing, I thought. I noticed he carried a walking cane.”

Mrs. Nutley could have been describing any number of young gentlemen in the area. And a walking cane was certainly not an unusual accessory.

“What else did the innkeeper tell him?” Lady Caroline asked.

“Why, he told him that you had left the inn and were on your way to Edenbrooke.” She turned worried brown eyes to me.

I chewed on my lip as I wondered who might be looking for me, and why. A run-of-the-mill highwayman wouldn’t come looking for his latest victim. But who else would guess that I had stayed at that inn? And who would care?

That afternoon I met Philip in the library with the intention of finally playing that game of chess. But it was a beautiful day, and when he suggested an excursion instead, I could not resist the temptation. He had the horses saddled while I fetched my sketchbook, and then we rode to the top of the knoll. It was the same spot he had led me to the first morning we rode together.

The same groom accompanied us, and when we reached the top of the knoll, he led the horses to graze nearby while Philip and I chose a shady spot beneath the large tree. From where I sat, I could look around and see almost all of Edenbrooke below me. We talked while I sketched, and sometimes Philip just watched me in silence. It was a comfortable stretch of moments together.

We had been silent for some time when Philip suddenly asked, “Where is your father?”

“A little village in France.” I felt sad saying the words.

“Have you any idea if he is coming home soon?”

I studied him before answering, surprised by his question. But he didn’t look at me, and I could read nothing from his profile. “No, I have no idea what his plans are.”

And then Philip did turn to me, in time to see the flare of sadness I felt at the thought of my father’s absence. His eyebrows contracted in an expression of concern. “Do you want him to come home?”

I sighed and plucked a blade of grass. “Of course I do.”

I hoped that would be the end of his line of questioning, but Philip said, “Does he know how you feel?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never told him, in so many words. I haven’t wanted to. If he is happier there, then that is where he should be.”

“You spend so much time thinking about other people’s feelings,” he said quietly. “I wonder how much thought you give to your own. Is your father more deserving of happiness than you are?”

I took a deep breath, struggling to push my emotions back down to their normal level. Philip, somehow, in the hours I had spent with him, had developed a special ability to unravel my defenses and access secrets that I didn’t share with anyone. Today his words plucked at the sore parts of my heart, tearing off raw bits of sadness.

Philip was waiting for a response, his serious blue eyes on me.

“Perhaps,” I said, striving to sound light, when inside I felt like weeping.

He shook his head. “I disagree.”

I didn’t want to discuss this anymore. “Let’s not talk about that. Not when the day has been so pleasant.” I forced a smile and waved the piece of grass at the view before us. “Look at all of this beauty before you. Wouldn’t you rather just enjoy it?”

“I am looking at it,” he said, never taking his eyes off of me. “And I am enjoying it,” he added with a smile and a wink.

My face grew hot even as his smile grew. He had only said that about my supposed beauty to make me blush. I hated that he could affect me with just a look or some pretty words. And I hated that he wanted to affect me, as if I were a plaything to him.

I frowned and threw the piece of grass at him. “Can you never be serious for more than two minutes?”

“What makes you think I’m not serious?” he asked, looking up at me through his lashes.

I shook my head, utterly exasperated. I had done everything in my power to discourage Philip from flirting with me, from scowling at him to ignoring him to scolding him. But nothing worked. He still insisted on trying to flirt with me every time we were together.

Didn’t he know that if I ever attempted to flirt back with him, it would change everything? Ruin everything? Because then we would not simply be friends. We would be friends who flirted, and I would be a dismal failure at it.

I felt he should not treat our friendship with so little care. But perhaps it didn’t mean to him what it meant to me. Perhaps he could afford to lose me as a friend. I stood up, suddenly very upset, and took a step away from him.

Philip grabbed the hem of my gown. “Wait,” he said, laughing.

I looked down at him, my hands clenched into fists.

“Please don’t leave,” he said, a cajoling smile turning his lips up charmingly. “I won’t do it again.”

Well, at least he knew why I was upset. But the idea of him not doing it again? Hah! I raised an eyebrow in deep skepticism.

“In the next five minutes,” he added with a chuckle.

I tried to stay angry with him, but he looked so endearing, smiling up at me, holding onto the hem of my gown as a child might cling to his mother. Right then I could imagine him as a little boy, with his soulful blue eyes and chestnut curls. He must have been adorable. My heart thawed. It would have to be made out of stone not to.

I felt a smile twitch at my lips, and at that instant I knew that Philip would always be able to charm me out of a bad mood.

I sat down again and looked at the view, fighting against a smile. I finally said, “You’re very good at that, you know.”

“At what?” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Charming me into a good humor.”

“Just like you’re good at making me laugh?”

“Am I?” I turned to him in real curiosity. I hadn’t realized that I had sat down closer to him than I had been before, so when I turned to him, suddenly, leaning toward him in my curiosity, I discovered Philip’s face just inches from my own. He grew absolutely still—I could have sworn he was holding his breath—and I was reminded of that day in the library. How still he had been then, too, as if he was waiting for me to discover something within him.

Philip drew in his breath as if he were going to say something. But he paused, and for the first time since I had met him, I saw uncertainty in his expression, like a wash over a painting, clouding his clear, confident look. It surprised me. I thought Philip was unfailingly confident.

He looked away and said quietly, “Yes, you are.”

I sat back, feeling something new and intense buzzing inside of me. I didn’t have a name to put to it. I just knew that it was unsettling.

The silence between us stretched longer and longer, until it lost its tension and became a part of the scene we were enjoying together. I felt no desire to break it. I set my sketchbook aside and leaned back on my hands. The afternoon heat settled over me like a blanket, and I felt drowsy and content sitting in the shade of the tree.

Philip stretched out on the ground, his arm folded under his head. I felt jealous. I wished I wasn’t a lady in a gown, or I could have done the same. Instead I had to sit modestly, trying to make sure my ankles were covered. The heat was making me sleepier than I realized, and my eyelids became heavy.

Philip glanced at me. “You look like you’re about to fall asleep.”

“I am,” I yawned.

He stood up and shrugged out of his jacket, then folded it into a square and set it on the grass. “If you’re going to have a nap outside you may as well lie down and enjoy it.”

“I shouldn’t,” I said, looking at the tempting pillow he had made out of his jacket. “I’m sure it’s breaking one of the rules of being ladylike.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said with a perfectly polite smile, not teasing or mischievous.