Gather Ye Rosebuds (22 page)

“It seems we have found a new cousin, Weylin,” I said. “How did your mama take the news?”

“Mama was as nearly happy as I have ever seen her. Also Bubbums. He is broadening his snacks to include paintbrushes. Mama was not so surprised as you may think. She always thought there was some mystery to Margaret’s hasty marriage to Macintosh. At the time of the so-called miscarriage, she began remembering a little gain in weight before the wedding, and what was called at the time a nervous stomach. But ladies, you know, did not discuss such things. Andrew is to be a cousin from Ireland, as we do not wish to jeopardize his inheritance by broadcasting the bigamous nature of Margaret’s marriage. Morally the money is Andrew’s. That is good enough for me.”

“It was kind of him to pretend he did not want my studio, was it not? He knows how much it means to me.”

“It is a shame a fine painter like Andrew does not have a studio, though. We have a nice, bright corner room at Parham that would take very little work to convert to a studio.”

“Weylin! You are not going to steal him from us entirely! We found him first!”

He rose and sat on the sofa beside me. “You misunderstand me, Zoie. The corner room at Parham would make a fine studio for you.” A lazy light danced in his eyes, and his lips moved uncertainly.

Until he made his intentions clearer, I was obliged to misunderstand him. “It would be inconvenient for me to have my studio at Parham and live here. Much better to have it where one lives.”

His arm moved along the sofa, to dangle over my shoulder. “True. I daresay we could find you a bedroom as well, move you in bag and baggage. The only little difficulty is that you would have to share the bedchamber with me.”

“Are you not afraid I would make off with your Chinese porcelains?”

“What is mine is milady’s,” he murmured, placing his hand on my shoulder and turning me to face him. “My vases, my home, my name...”

The words blurred to a hum as his lips seized mine. I closed my eyes as his arms folded around me, crushing me to him. I was overcome again by the magic of the moonlit garden. A strange confusion of emotions whirled through my brain. It was all mixed up with Andrew and the sad tale of Barry and Margaret, and with leaving Mama to begin a new life at Parham. How could Margaret have let the man she loved sail away from her? My heart swelled within me, filling me with an unknown rapture, which must have been love. I knew I would follow Weylin to the ends of the earth, if that was what he wanted.

We did not hear Brodagan come in. She can move quietly when she wants to. The first intimation that we had company was a discreet cough. We flew apart in guilty haste, to see her staring at us. With her misshapen jaw, it was impossible to know whether she was smiling or frowning.

“Brodagan, you should be in bed!” I exclaimed.

“So should you, from the way the pair of you are carrying on,” she replied. “Them chits from Parham can go home now, your lordship. I don’t need any help but my Mary and Jamie. I’ll not let an aching jaw detour me from my duties to my ladies.”

Weylin, awake on all suits, knew the way to cozen her. “I wish you will let them stay a few days, Brodagan. They do not get the sort of training they need at Parham. It takes a masterful woman like you to trim the chits into line. You had best go and see they are not moping over a cup of tea. You know what servants are.”

“Aye, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. As soon as melady comes down, I’ll get a collar on your chits, melord.” She stood straight as a door, glaring at us until we drew a few inches apart. “Well,” she said impatiently. “Do you have something to tell me?”

Weylin said, “You may be the first to congratulate us, Brodagan.”

A smile split her swollen face. “My soul from the devil! You’ve nabbed yourself a fine lord, missie. And not a drop too good for you either,” she added to Weylin. “So it is to be the middle-aisle jig. That’s all right then. I’ll leave you to it, but mind you don’t let your joy get the better of you.”

She left with a swish of starched aprons, her steeple wobbling uncertainly.

“Quick thinking, Weylin,” I complimented.

“I have not been a politician all these years for nothing. I know when a colleague must be appeased. You will miss Brodagan.”

“Yes, like Brodagan will miss Mr. Snaggle Tooth. If you are not hard enough on me at Parham, I can always come and visit her, to receive a scold.”

We settled in comfortably. Weylin said, “What was that you mentioned to Andrew about a Mr. Bradford, and a Kashmir Jewelry Shop? You did not tell me about him, when we were sharing our disgrace at Tunbridge.”

“You gentlemen have to learn the art of politics. Ladies are born possessing it.” I confessed all my little lapses, while he was still in the first throes of being engaged. His arm was around my shoulder, his fingers playing with my hair.

When I had confessed all, he said, “You will make an admirable Whig hostess, my dear. The very soul of discretion. That is French for crooked as a dog’s hind leg.”

“Thank you, sir. Now, to change the subject, it is the copy of the diamond necklace that first brought us together, and we
still
don’t know what Barry was doing with it.”

“Andrew explained that to me. Barry had a copy made when Margaret decided to sell the original. She planned to wear the paste necklace, to conceal having sold the original. She was not happy with the copy, and said the necklace was stolen instead. Barry just tossed the copy in a drawer and forgot about it. And I, for one, am very happy he did, or I would never have got to know your delightfully warped character.”

“I am happy, too, for us and Andrew. It has taken a quarter of a century for the tale to reach this satisfactory conclusion. Three lives have been impoverished by Margaret’s betrayal.”

“Let it be a lesson for us. I don’t know how they could have hidden their joy from the world when they fell in love and married. Folks say love and a cough cannot be hidden. I can only conclude they did not love as
we
love, Zoie. I feel like hiring a platform and announcing our wedding to the whole parish.”

“An advertisement in the journals will serve the purpose,” I said, but truly I felt the same as Weylin. “You need not hire a platform, but when I give you our first son, I want fireworks at Parham.”

His fingers tilted my face to his. “There will be fireworks at Parham long before that, my dear, if
I
have anything to say about it.”

Copyright © 1993 by Joan Smith

Originally published by Fawcett Crest in June, 1993

Electronically published in 2006 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.