On her way to check on the wallflowers in the garden, Evie ran into her sisters-in-law, who’d promptly invited themselves along. Their company was a charming distraction she desperately needed. She’d barely slept last night; the belladonna clipping, threatening note, and row with James had kept her tossing and turning. She didn’t know what to do…how to protect her husband.
Whoever knew about her past clearly meant to cause trouble. But what did they want? Did they intend to blackmail her—for money or some other nefarious end?
In the gloomy hours before dawn, Evie had paced her bedchamber, trying to plan her strategy. If money was what they wanted, she had funds. James was a generous husband. She hadn’t come to him with a dowry—with much of anything—but he’d given her everything she needed. And luxuries that she didn’t need or deserve. Clothing, jewels…and gracious earth, even a greenhouse. On top of that, he provided her with so much pin money that she barely made a dent in it.
Nevertheless, paying off a blackmailer did not seem like the wisest idea. Wouldn’t the villain just want more? By acquiescing to the demands, Evie would sink deeper into trouble. She was reminded of the time when, against her mama’s warning, she’d ventured too deep in a swimming hole. A vortex had sucked her in, and she’d flailed desperately, trying to stay afloat, to keep her head above the water…
Luckily, Harkness had found her in time and fished her out. Now, there was naught her companion could do for her. In fact, she hadn’t told Harkness about the note. If she had, the other would have put them on the first train to some faraway destination, with no return ticket.
Evie swallowed. She would leave James only as a last resort—if there was nothing else she could do to protect him from her past. She could bear his anger, even his hate. But she didn’t know if she could bear being separated from him forever.
“Um, Evie?”
At Gigi’s gentle prompting, Evie yanked her focus back to the present company.
“Pardon my woolgathering.” She mustered a smile. “You were saying?”
“I was asking if you had named your wallflower.”
In her walking dress of ivory wool bordered with lavender ribbon, Gigi looked as delicate as the snowdrops they passed. In fact, she matched the freshness of the garden that Evie had had a hand in designing. Together with the landscape architect, she’d chosen plants to highlight the beauty of every season. She had the benefit of Grove Hall’s location: nestled on a warm, protected slope of the Berkshire Downs, the estate was already in the throes of spring. Primroses and celandine were showing off their bright petals, and the wallflowers had unfurled last week.
“As a matter of fact, I have,” Evie replied. “What do you think of Cheiranthus cheiri, variety vespertinus?”
“It is rather a mouthful.” Xenia’s eyes twinkled in the shade of her bonnet. Dressed in a forest green ensemble that complemented her red curls and creamy complexion, she was as vibrant as spring itself. “May we call it Vesper for short?”
“Yes, I like it. And the ‘evening wallflower’ could be its common name.” Shyly, Evie added, “Whilst I have discussed my research with colleagues, I hope to present the paper I have written at a Botanical Society meeting one day. But women are rarely invited to take the lectern. Or considered for the ultimate honor of publication in the Society’s journal.”
“I cannot think of a more deserving candidate than you. Heavens, you discovered your very own flower.” Gigi twirled her parasol with delicate gloved fingers. “And its unique process of…um, what did you call it?”
“Pollination.”
“Most people overlook wallflowers—and certainly the moths that pollinate them. How did you happen to notice it?”
Because I observe the things that go unnoticed. I know what it is like to be overlooked.
An image flashed in Evie’s head: her fourteen-year-old self, dressed in black, hiding in the garden after her mama’s funeral. In the hedgerows, she’d sought shelter from the pitying glances and trite condolences. She didn’t want to be told that she would see her mama again one day…she wanted to be with her now. She didn’t want to be alone because that was what she was, no matter what people said. And they said things—things she wasn’t meant to hear. Because she was so good at making herself invisible, they didn’t see her listening from the shadows.
“That poor child. Such an odd, plain little creature. Didn’t get Beatrix’s looks, did she?”
“Alas, with no looks and no money, what is to become of her?”
“She is fortunate to have Lord Wilmington. Although he is her stepfather, he will settle a dowry upon her, I’m certain. After all, marrying her mama replenished his estate…”
As the months passed, Evie withdrew into the garden. The plants became her companions, for they didn’t care that she was plain and penniless. Moreover, her botanical passion felt like a connection to her mama. Evie was fascinated by every aspect of the flora—how the plants adapted and survived with thorns, camouflage, and even…poison.
Shivering, Evie shut the door on the past.
“I am an observer by nature, I suppose.” She cleared her throat. “As a girl, I spent a lot of time in the garden and spotted the moths that arrived at dusk. I remembered thinking they looked like tiny ghosts hovering above the evening primroses.”
“Speaking of ghosts and gardens.” Gigi’s violet eyes twinkled. “When I was a girl, Owen told me a story about a specter that roamed Great Windsor Park at night. He was apparently a soldier who was supposed to deliver a message but died before he could do so. Now his spirit haunts the park, trying to get the missive to its rightful owner.” She gave a delicate shudder. “I was afraid to go into our garden for months. You were much braver than I was, visiting your garden at night.”
I wasn’t brave. I was just more scared of the monster inside the manor than any that might exist outside.
“Must we talk about ghosts?” Xenia’s voice was wry. “I was rather enjoying a break from the supernatural.”
Evie didn’t blame her, for Chuddums had its own resident phantom. For decades, the locals had blamed the village’s misfortunes—from its economic woes to its criminal element—upon “Bloody Thom,” said to be the ghost of former resident Thomas Mulligan. The scholar had lived there nearly a hundred years ago and had been found murdered in his home…which happened to be Bottoms House, Xenia and Ethan’s residence. The legend blamed his death upon a witch, who’d supposedly cursed him and the village.
Through a series of adventures, Xenia and Ethan had discovered that certain sightings of Bloody Thom had been a hoax perpetuated by cutthroats for felonious gain. Nonetheless, the spirit of Thomas Mulligan was real: both Xenia and Gigi had had dreams about him and his lover, which led them to unearth clues about what had really happened all those years ago. It was as though the lost lovers had reached out to those destined to bring their love home…
