None of the gentlemen were yet awake to see her; nonetheless, she dared not risk closing the gate lest the repeated sound succeed where the first failed. She needed this time alone to sort out her wayward thoughts and plan without emotional pressures or reactions.
She walked down the moss-covered stone pathways inspecting the beds as she passed. The garden had been a favored haunt for the child suddenly uprooted from a decaying manor and endlessly abjured to be a lady. It was as if she could somehow make amends for her father's and brother's profligate existence by being ladylike. No one wanted to know how she felt. It was more important what others thought of her.
The garden had been a placeshe ran to when she was confused and hurt. There she worked to tend the plants alongside Great Aunt Martha, an elderly spinster sister of her grandmother's. Under Great Aunt Martha's guidance, the garden was a lush, fragrant oasis. But the old woman didn't limit her herb gathering to the garden. She trudged far and wide across the countryside for plants. A worn copy ofCulpeper's Complete Herbal and English Physicianwas her treasured possession.
From Great Aunt Martha, Cecilia learned the lore of herbs and their medicinal uses. It was a knowledge that curiously aided her now in her sickly acts. She missed Great Aunt Martha. She passed away quietly in her sleep shortly after Cecilia married Mr. Waddley. Cecilia doubted the garden had been tended since then, save for the small cook's patch and the roses for bouquets.
Two days ago, she set the gardener to cleaning out the dead and overgrown plants. In the few days she was at Oastley Hall, she would thin and transplant the surviving plants. Slips from some she would take back to London to plant in Jessamine's tiny back garden.
She shook her head dismally at the sight of the thin and scraggly chamomile border. To return it to the thick and lush condition of her memory, it would need additional pruning and some division of the denser clumps. It looked like the comfrey, sweet woodruff, and other plants would need a similar treatment. Sighing, Cecilia wandered on down the stone paths, her object this morning to cut slips for rooting in Great Aunt Martha's potting boxes that were yet kept in the stillroom.
Great Aunt Martha. It was odd, but she had not thought of that dear lady in years. Cecilia had been the closest to her of any of her relations, for there was a gentle, non-intrusive understanding in her sweet smile. She never expected Cecilia to be any different from herself. She accepted Cecilia's stubbornness, fears, and lack of trust, yet by her actions alone, Great Aunt Martha built trust. She was the only family member not to harangue Cecilia to be a lady, nor fault her retiring demeanor, for she knew it did not stem from a shy personality. It grew out of Baron Haukstrom's impatience with his daughter's existence coupled with the sour knowledge that her dowry was untouchable.
Cecilia sighed at the memories. So many reminded her of the necessity to live without encumbrances. If it weren't for the necessity of investigation, she would already be living a retiring life in the country where she would not be a burden to anyone—not to her grandparents, her aunt, her father, and brother, or Waddley Spice and Tea.
But now, she had a responsibility to George Waddley. It took precedence over her own heart's desires.
She stooped to clip a wormwood plant and place the stem on the damp cloth that lined her basket.
At dinner last evening, she sat between Lord Havelock and the Reverend Septimus Whilber. It was not quite the auspicious positioning she'd hoped. The effusive gallantry Lord Havelock displayed before dinner did not extend to the table. Once they were seated, his conversation became directed to the young matron who sat on his right. To Cecilia's curious, half-listening ear, he charmed the woman with the same flattery he'd bestowed on her. He was like a library with one book. Cecilia wondered caustically if he intended to read from the same volume to all the women in the company.
She went over in her mind what she knew of the gentleman. Lord Havelock was a well-known figure in London society. A man of exquisite taste, he was arrogant and self-indulgent in personality tempered by exacting politeness and elegance of manner. He was reputed to have a more than easy competence, yet occasionally speculation rose as to why he declined to have Havelock Manor rebuilt after a fire six years ago destroyed the beautiful mansion. He chose instead to live in rooms in London, though it was seen that he purchased a prodigiously handsome townhouse in Bath for his mother and sister. He intrigued Cecilia for the apparent dichotomy in his personality.
On the other hand, as a person, she could not think well of the man. She supposed that his overwhelming self-indulgence smacked too closely of the attributes characterized by her father and brother, and that was what disgusted her, not the man himself. Nonetheless, she was thankful she did not have to listen too long to his elegant bouncers! They put her to the blush more than she cared to admit. But, she wondered, could he not, perhaps, be leading society astray as to the thickness of his wallet? Could Lord Havelock's elegant bouncers be designed to hide greater lies?
Then there was the Honorable Reginald Rippy to consider. He was one of Randolph's constant shadows. With his bony build and protruding Adam's apple, he was an exaggerated dandy. But shadows don't make suggestions such as he did as to his desire to ride to Oastley. Nor do they persuade men of Randolph's ilk, let alone that of Lord Havelock, to dispense with their comforts to accompany him! How did he do it? He was seated across from her last evening and appeared decidedly uncomfortable throughout the dinner, though he had a favored place next to Miss Cresswell. On his other side was Jessamine, and despite her best conversational efforts, he did not return more than a few monosyllables, and those were in agreement to her comments rather than venturing anything of his own.
When he wasn't dramatizing, Sir Harry Elsdon was the most at ease and natural of Randolph's confederates. His taste in dress was simple yet elegant. His manner was open and friendly. He was a generally well-liked gentleman. He seemed always to have something to smile about and encouraged those around him to smile too. On him, with his carrot-colored hair and a light dusting of freckles on his pale skin, his smiles reminded one of country folks' tales of mischievous elves and fairies. At dinner, he appeared to adroitly entertain old Mrs. Martcombe and Miss Amblethorp, for there was much laughter coming from their end of the table.
Following dinner, when the men finally rejoined the ladies in the parlor, there was little occasion for private conversation. Three young ladies (who possessed marriage-minded mamas) were persuaded to show off their singing skills and playing the pianoforte or harp. After this forced entertainment (which Cecilia was thankful being a widow allowed her escape), the gentlemen retired to the-billiard room before more could be offered, leaving the ladies with no recourse but to continue gossiping among themselves or to seek their beds. Cecilia, envying the gentlemen their retirement to the billiard room, opted for the latter choice.
The company would be at Oastley for two and a half more days. In that time, she must discover ways to ingratiate herself with Randolph and his friends and learn more about them. Once everyone returned to London, her task would be more difficult. Her first endeavor, she decided, should be to search Randolph's room, then perhaps those rooms assigned to the other gentlemen. She hoped to find something within Randolph's chambers, for the idea of entering a single man's chambers was somehow embarrassing, not to mention the ramifications should she be caught. But she would not be caught. She would be very careful of that.
She clipped a couple of stems of pennyroyal and placed them in her basket, then crossed to the back of the garden to see how the fresh marigold and heliotrope shoots were faring. She crouched down to thin the beds to encourage stronger growth.
Behind her, Cecilia heard brisk, light footsteps. She turned around, instinctively crouching lower. She watched motionless as Miss Amblethorp ran down one of the stone paths. Seeing the stone bench at the end of the path, she flung herself down on it and hunched over, her face in her hands.
Rising, Cecilia stripped off her work gloves and dropped them into the basket slung over her arm. The young woman was obviously in great distress and probably came to the herb garden to be alone. Cecilia understood the need to be alone. She'd come to the garden for the same purpose. Unfortunately, there was no way Cecilia could leave without Miss Amblethorp seeing her. It would likely embarrass the poor child. The only recourse was to offer help and sympathy brazenly.
Cecilia walked slowly toward the distressed young woman, uncertain how to make her appearance known without unduly startling her. She worried her lip a moment, then sighed and bent closer.
"Excuse me, Miss Amblethorp? Is there some way that I may be of assistance?"
Miss Amblethorp's head flew up, bright color flowing over her rather common features.
"I'm sorry, I did not mean to intrude, only I was already here when you entered," Cecilia offered apologetically.
"Oh! I did not see you!"
"That is hardly surprising. I was crouched down, tending some plants. May I?" she asked, indicating the stone bench with a sweep of her hand.
"Yes, of course." Miss Amblethorp slid down to make room, all the while staring at the willow basket and its contents. "You like to garden?" she asked slowly, surprise rippling through her voice.
Cecilia laughed. "It brings back fond memories," she said, startled by her truthfulness. "But, Miss Amblethorp, is there some way in which I may help?"
"Please call me Janine. I've never been comfortable with Miss Amblethorp. That's what my elder sisters were called, never me. But to answer your kind question, there is no way you can help unless you can convince my mother to allow me to retire to our home. I just do not seem to have the constitution for London." She wilted visibly. "I find I cannot get excited about balls, gossip, or the ultimate purpose of a Season—husband hunting."
"Don't you wish to marry?"
