At her impulsive dare, silver blazed in James’s eyes. The intense flash made her breath jam in her throat. It was gone the next instant, covered by cool, restrained blue.
“To Evie.” He held up his glass. “For arranging my favorite menu, decorating our home with refinement and style, and entertaining us all with grace.”
“Hear, hear, son,” Papa said.
The others joined in the toast. While they didn’t seem to register the subtle mockery in James’s tone, Evie did. His barbed compliment struck the raw and festering part of her that she couldn’t reveal to anyone. She felt sick—heartsick in a way that had no cure. What could be worse than being married to the man you loved, knowing that he despised you?
I deserve James’s antipathy. I brought this on myself. This is my fault, all of it.
“How are your botany projects coming along, Evie?”
Lady Georgiana, James’s youngest sibling, rescued Evie from rumination. Seated to Evie’s left, Gigi was a raven-haired, violet-eyed beauty who took after her mother. She had Mama’s charm, too: despite Evie’s misery, she couldn’t help responding to Gigi’s inquisitive smile.
“My experiments have yielded some interesting results.” Hesitantly, she added, “I have written a paper summarizing my research.”
“How exciting. If memory serves, you have discovered a new varietal of some sort?”
Touched that her sister-in-law remembered, Evie nodded. “Yes, I found a subspecies of the Cheiranthus cheiri—the common wallflower—growing on the estate. I have been studying its properties and believe it to be unique to the Berkshire Downs.”
“How is your wallflower different from others?”
Unable to resist, Evie launched into her favorite topic.
“The blossoms come earlier and are white rather than the usual brighter shades such as gold and purple. What piqued my interest was the strong fragrance this varietal exudes at dusk, which is not typical for Cheiranthus cheiri. I began observing it at night and noticed a most intriguing phenomenon.”
“Do tell us, Evie.” The entreaty came from Xenia, Ethan’s lovely redheaded wife.
“It is well known that bees assist in pollination during the day,” Evie said. “However, there may be more to the story of fertilization. When I observed my wallflower, I noticed its corolla was closed for most of the day and unfurled at twilight?—”
“Corolla?” Gigi’s brow pleated.
“I meant the flower’s petals.” Flushing, Evie reminded herself that this was polite company and not a meeting of her scientific society. “In other words, the flower blooms when the sun sets. Which begs an obvious question, does it not?”
She looked expectantly at her guests; they gazed back blankly.
James came to her rescue. “Bees are only active during the day. Therefore, if your flower blooms at night,” he said mildly, “how does it get pollinated?”
Gratitude flooded Evie. Admiration, too. Despite looking like a fashion plate from some gentleman’s magazine, her husband was no intellectual slouch.
“That is what I asked myself,” she said with a nod.
“And do you have answers?” Gigi wanted to know.
“I have a theory. It may seem far-fetched?—”
“Consider your audience, Evie dear,” Mama said with a charming laugh. “If you were to say that your wallflower was pollinated by fairies, we would have half a mind to believe you.”
“In that case…moths,” Evie blurted. “I think moths may play a role.”
She held her breath. When she’d tested the waters by sharing her theory with a few select peers in her society, they’d guffawed. Lord Grantwich, a senior member, had patted her on the head, chuckling, “How very droll, Lady Manderly. Moths pollinating, indeed. When it comes to the garden, we all know those drab creatures are nothing more than pests.”
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?” Xenia asked.
“I’ve observed Sphinx ligustri…the Privet hawk-moth, I mean, visiting my wallflowers. They arrive at dusk when the blooms are unfurling. For some reason, the moths prefer one patch over the others. Over several months, I recorded my observations and noticed that the wallflowers in that area blossomed more prodigiously—twice as much, in fact—as the other sections.”
“What a clever deduction.” Gigi canted her head. “I wonder if moths pollinate other night-blooming flowers? In our garden at Honeystone Hall, we have several beds of evening primroses. Have you noticed any moths hovering about, Mr. Godwin?”
The last question was aimed at her new husband, who was seated across the table from her. Sleek as a panther in his evening wear, Conrad Godwin was a dashing blond fellow who had a reputation for ruthlessness. Indeed, a few months ago, he had attempted to destroy Chuddums as an act of revenge. Gigi, a steadfast champion of the village and its quirky inhabitants, had locked horns with him, and the pair had ended up falling passionately in love. It amused and reassured Evie to see the powerful Godwin gazing at his bride with undisguised adoration.
