She frowned. If she missed this appointment, would Mr. Dandrae become wary of sending business her way?
Phineas replaced the dome, then pulled a soft-bristled brush from his smock pocket and handed it over. “Take a light touch, miss, and gently sweep away those what are still a-buzzin’ about the comb, then I’ll cover ’er up.”
She barely kissed the bristles to the bees, and they took flight. One of them landed on her face netting, giving her a close-up view of the tiny hairs on its legs before it darted away. What a wonder. God’s creation never failed to make her marvel.
Once she cleared the honeycomb, Phineas laid a white cloth over the top of her basket. Taking off his hat, he swiped his forehead with the back of his hand, looking pleased with their work. “Well done, lass. Let’s wrap ye up a piece fer yer efforts. Come along.”
She followed, heart full. Funny how such a small task could be so fulfilling, and it truly hadn’t taken a great deal of time.
Inside the shed, she pulled off her netting and gloves. While Phineas packaged a small bundle of honeycomb, a quiet lap-lap-lap caught her ear. Curious, she ventured to the corner, only to spy the black cat enjoying a saucer of cream. She crouched and ran her finger along the silky fur of its back. The cat barely noticed, so tasty was its treat.
She grinned over at Phineas. “Spoiling him, are you?”
He approached, his grey eyes fixed on his new pet. “Jes’ showin’ him where his home is. One always returns to where they’re cared for the most.”
Ami blinked. This gardener was a regular philosopher. “You are full of wisdom, Mr. Phineas—”
“Jes Phineas, miss, and no, child.” He chuckled as he handed her the cloth bundle. “I’ve no claim to wisdom other than what God teaches me here in the garden.”
“Well, I should say you’ve learned a great deal.” She tucked the package into her pocket. “And now I really should be going. Good day, Phineas.”
He dipped his head. “Appreciate the help, miss. G’day to ye.”
She’d barely reached the door before he called out, “Oh, and miss?”
“Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder.
“See that ye take a care with Mr. Price as well as ye did with my pets today. I’d not willingly see ’im hurt again, and ye remind me a great deal o’ her.”
Her brows knotted. “Her who?”
“I reckon tha’s for him to tell ye, miss. Jes ... tread as lightly with him as ye did with the bees, and all will be a’right.”
“Of course,” she murmured, confused as to why the oldgardener felt the need to tell her such a thing. It wasn’t as if Mr. Price was interested in her when he could have any woman in society on his arm.
She strode outside, the sweet scent of roses thick on the air. The fact was that clearly some woman had hurt him in the past, which really wasn’t any of her business. She was here to do a job, nothing more, nothing less—and the next stab of guilt hitched her step. Running off to broker a deal on a stolen artifact had absolutely nothing to do with the job she’d been hired for at Price House. Should she really be going?
But if she didn’t, those faience amulets would more than likely end up stuffed away in some private home instead of being put on museum display for rich and poor alike to admire.
Edmund straightened his four-in-hand as he strode into the dining room, the blasted fabric nearly choking him, only to be intercepted by Barnaby the moment he crossed the threshold.
“A word from Miss Dalton, sir. She regrets to say she won’t be at dinner tonight. Something about retrieving a book from her father’s library.”
A peculiar wave of disappointment washed over him. He’d been looking forward to the woman’s lively conversation, but he hadn’t realized how much until the opportunity was stolen. He did feel a bit guilty for flirting with her so frequently, but she made it far too easy with her witty banter and uncommon beauty. Too bad she wasn’t Bastion’s daughter, or he’d give that matrimony idea more of a consideration. It was so easy to be around Miss Dalton, to laugh, to banter ... quite unlike the cool and distant relationship his parents had suffered—a marriage he would avoid at all costs. No, marrying Violet was out of the question, and he’d have to tell the man as much.
He gave a final tweak to his tie as he narrowed his eyes on the butler. “Why did you not offer to send a boy to fetch it for her?”
“I did, sir.” Barnaby shrugged, his sharp bones lifting hisblack suit coat at the shoulders. “Yet the lady claimed her father’s office is such a fright that no one but her would be able to find it.”
An image of the cluttered odds and ends he’d seen crammed into that small room came to mind. “True enough,” he murmured. “Thank you, Barnaby.” He made to sidestep the man.
The butler followed his movement, blocking his path. “There is one more thing I think you should know.” He tipped his head slightly, indicating Gil on the far side of the room. “Mr. Fletcher did not bring any baggage.”
Edmund wrinkled his brow. “What are you talking about?”
“There was no trunk on his carriage, sir, and as you’ll note, he is not dressed for dinner. I daresay Mr. Fletcher will be wearing the same garments tomorrow ... and the next day. All he came with was a small satchel he refused to let anyone handle but himself.” Barnaby took a step closer, voice thinning to a whisper. “And he’s been making rather free with the wine as well.”
Edmund regarded his business partner. Sure enough, Gil tossed back a great guzzle as he peered up at the Price family portrait wall. How odd. He was a teetotaler.
