He frowned at the bits of weeds and leaves that now littered the previously pristine rows.
“Or your hat,” added Miss Templeton, nodding at his feet, where the article had been trampled beneath his shoe. Thankfully, the bouquet hadn’t met a similar ending, and Arthur forced his hand to loosen around the stems.
“I saw these and thought you might enjoy them, though now that I see your garden…” His words drifted off as he considered the abundance of blossoms around them. Handing it to her, Arthur ducked his face away as he focused on picking up his crumpled hat; it was bad enough that he hadn’t a cover for his head, and now he’d offered a useless token.
What a poor beau he made.
“I may have many plants on hand, but they’re useful sorts,” said Miss Templeton, lifting the bouquet to her nose and breathing deeply of their rich scent. “I haven’t the time or space to cultivate ornamental ones. And I love roses. They are heavenly.”
Drawing in a lungful, Arthur’s throat threatened to stymie him, but he forced his speech out. “I came by to offer an apology, Miss Templeton, as I fear there’s been a bit of a misunderstanding concerning my coming to Oakham. I was led to believe there was no other physician in town. I cannot claim that Mr. Finch and I were good friends, rather that we were close acquaintances whose social circles often overlapped, but I see I was wrong to put so much trust in him.”
But Miss Templeton held up a staying hand. “I will admit I am furious with Mr. Finch in many respects—as his fears are unfounded—but I cannot fault him for desiring the best for his family.”
“Forgive me, madam, but I must disagree. I fault him greatly for it, even if I understand the temptation. People always have reasons for why they do what they do, however ill-conceived or selfish. Mr. Finch made a choice that benefited himself at our expense.”
Miss Templeton drew her arms before her, her brow creasing and her gaze dropping to the ground as silent thoughts seemed to whirl about her head. Arthur longed to ask her what they were, though he knew he hadn’t the right.
“Having considered the situation we find ourselves in,” he began, grasping for the words he’d planned—but they slipped from his grasp. “I wanted to discuss a matter with you. Of business. Concerning our work…”
Miss Templeton bent down, moving before Arthur knew her intention, and she snatched up the shears and the rest ofher tools. He moved to scoop up the detritus that had fallen from her basket and helped to gather her things.
“I have it,” said Miss Templeton, though she struggled to manage them and the bouquet.
“Allow me,” he said, taking the tools and basket.
“You will dirty yourself,” she said with a shake of her head. “I am already a mess, as you can see. There will be no damage done.”
Arthur gave her face and figure a look, though he didn’t know what she meant by “a mess.” Certainly, she was smudged with dirt, but the little smears on her cheek were appealing. As were the locks that pulled free from her bandeau, draping down her neck in delicate curls. Her cheeks were flushed from her exertions, bringing a rosy glow to her complexion, which only enhanced what was already quite lovely.
“I insist,” he said, scooping the mess and tools into the basket before she could mount another protest. He rescued his hat and placed it on his head; thankfully, only the rim had suffered any permanent damage, though the whole thing was far from pristine. If anyone looked a mess, it was he.
“Truly, Dr. Vaughn…”
But her protests faded away as he took it in hand and carried it into the house.
Arthur wanted to offer his arm to her, but if the lady protested so much over a little bit of assistance, he doubted she would easily accept any unnecessary gallantry, as the ground was even and the house sat only a few feet away.
“Were those beehives?” he asked, nodding back at the garden as she closed the gate behind them.
Miss Templeton nodded and led him toward the front of the house. “Honey does wonders for many ailments, and I prefer beeswax as a base for many lineaments and salves. To say nothing of the fact that the bees help the plants to flourish.”
Giving a hum of approval, Arthur shook his head at himself; the benefits to such a venture were obvious, yet he didn’t know of many apothecaries who bothered cultivating beehives.
“That is a magnificent garden,” he added as they moved to the front door. “In London, we don’t have the space to maintain our own. We must purchase all our supplies from local growers or importers. Though I do think you would enjoy visiting some of the physic gardens. There is one in Chelsea that is especially impressive, with one of the most extensive collections of medicinal plants I’ve ever seen.”
Miss Templeton’s brows rose at that. “I would like to see that. Sounds fascinating—”
But her words were cut short when a cart rolled up beside her.
“Here you are,” said Miss Templeton with a bright smile for the driver before giving Arthur an apologetic one. “Please excuse me, but I must see to our delivery.”
Shoving the bouquet into Arthur’s free hand, she turned toward the cart, peering over the back to the crates and sacks inside.
Ought he to leave? Miss Templeton’s tone was dismissive, yet she hadn’t sent him away. And there was a little matter of the reason he’d come by. While the roses and discussing her garden were a pleasant diversion, they weren’t the primary purpose of his visit, and Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of putting it off now that he’d gathered his courage.
Shrugging to himself, he shifted the basket in his hands. The roses were too delicate to be placed inside, so he kept them in hand and turned to study the home.
At first glance, the Templetons’ home was much the same as any of the cottages and houses lining the streets of Oakham with a stone exterior that seemed both gray and brown, depending on the light. The front door stood in the center with windows that flanked either side; on the farther one, Arthur spied an ordinary parlor, whilst those closest to him peered into what must be Mr. Templeton’s office and workspace.
