A Sisterly Regard (33 page)

"Phaedra must wish to be me of her own accord. If she does not
care enough to give me a chance, I must assume she feels not the slightest
attraction for me." He held up a hand when Lady Mary would have
argued. "No, Mary, do not offer me false coin. Phaedra must find me
interesting enough to be with, or there is no hope."

"I believe she is quite interested, Mr. Farwell," Lady Gifford
assured him.

"Perhaps. I can only hope. I certainly intend to do my utmost
encourage any attraction to grow into love. But I must do it myself, don't
you see?"
Yes, and you may be the greatest fool in England, to refuse their
help. What if she does turn you down?

He shook his head, unwilling to contemplate such an
occurrence.

"Aye, Isabella, let the man do it his way. Got a cool head on his
shoulders, he does," Lord Gifford said. Reggie set his cup down and rose.
He bowed to the ladies and promised to meet the other gentlemen at the
stables in a half-hour.

"Do you really think he will be able to convince Phaedra to love
him, George?" Isabella said, when he was safely gone. "If I know her, she
will avoid being alone with him whenever she can. She is interested, but
extremely uncertain of her own emotions."

"Taking him out into the woods this afternoon isn't she? Stop
fretting, my love," he said, patting her hand. "Leave Farwell to his
schemes. He's the man for our girl and he knows just how to bring her
around. Talked about it on the way here. I'll wager that he'll have a yes
from her before the week is out."

"What will you wager, my lord?"

"A new bonnet for you against a game of chess?"

She smiled fondly at her husband. "Done. And much as I would
delight in a new bonnet, I hope I will lose." Since their daughters had
become young ladies, she and her husband had formed the habit of
engaging them in conversation of an evening at home, to give them
practice for their Season. This left them with fewer opportunities to
indulge in the board game which both of them enjoyed. Some months had
passed since she and her husband had fought a game to the last pawn. "Do
you know, George, I think I am as eager to have Phaedra married so that
we can return to country life as I am for her own sake."

"I admit I'll be glad when we can go home. I believe I've lost
more hair since we went to London than I had in the past year."

"And I have gained more white ones," she said, rising from the
table and leaning to kiss him. "The Duchess has asked me to come to her
after breakfast, so that we may plan some activities for the young people. I
think she wants to give a small ball while we are here. Enjoy your ride, my
love."

* * * *

While the gentlemen explored Verbain's extensive acres and the
older ladies planned all sorts of entertainments, Phaedra happily arranged
her closet and prepared her improvised plant presses. She was pleased to
find the closet quite warm, backing as it did upon the kitchen chimney.
Her plant specimens would dry quickly and not mold.

As she worked, she found herself, as usual these days, thinking
of Reginald Farwell. Why had he asked her to marry him? He was
accepted everywhere, was an intimate of the famous Beau Brummel, was a
favorite of the Season's hopeful mamas. To be noticed by Mr. Farwell, she
had discovered, was to become an instant favorite among the young men
who populated balls and soirees and hops. Both she and Chloe had
benefited by his notice, and for that she was grateful. She had enjoyed her
Season far more for being moderately popular.

"Why me?" It was a question she had asked herself too often.
She smoothed several more sheets of newspaper and added them to the
pile. Perhaps she should ask herself why she had asked for time to consider
his offer. She certainly had no intention of accepting. How could she ever
live the life he led, a constant round of parties and balls, a frivolous life
with no time for serious pursuits?

And yet...

He had studied the results of weather experiments well enough
to explain them.

He cuts such a ridiculous figure. His waistcoats...his collars. I am
surprised he hasn't scars on his face from their sharp points.

But...

This morning he had entered the breakfast room clad in sensible
garments, beautifully tailored for his unusual height. His boots had shone,
but she had noticed an old scratch on one, evidence of hard use.

He was a denizen of the ballroom and the salon, both places she
delighted in visiting on a rare occasion. She could not imagine spending
the rest of her life flitting from one to the next.

Still...

He was showing Papa and Mr. Martin around Verbain, so he
must have considerable familiarity with it. In the rain. Without bemoaning
the damage to his clothing or his boots, as most town tulips would.

Baffled, curious, and uncertain, she decided she must spend as
much as possible of her time in his company while here at Verbain.

How else can I learn who he really is?

* * * *

Phaedra was ready to go into the home wood, seeking flowers
that grew beneath the thick canopy of beeches and oaks, but Mr. Farwell
was nowhere to be found. She waited for nearly a half hour, before
deciding he had fallen asleep somewhere. "If Mr. Farwell asks where I
am," she told Lady Mary, "please remind him that we had an appointment
at two."

"I'm sure there is a good reason for his tardiness."

"Oh, so am I. 'Twould be a shame if he missed his afternoon
nap." Without waiting for a reply, she picked up her trowel and a hessian
bag for carrying her specimens and went on her way.

Why am I surprised? Never say the elegant Mr. Farwell would be
found grubbing in the dirt in a dark wood. Why he might get his precious, primrose
trousers stained.

She was nearing the woods when she heard her name called.
Turning, she saw him striding toward her. For just a moment, she
considered ignoring him and going her own way, but good manners got
the best of her. She waited.

"I apologize for my tardiness, Miss Phaedra. I was visiting His
Grace and he tricked me into a game of chess. I would be there yet if I
hadn't let him win."

"Let him win, Mr. Farwell? I have heard that His Grace is a
superb chess player. Papa learned from him, and my papa rarely loses to
anyone." She smiled her understanding of his need to preen.

His lips parted to show his teeth, but there was no smile in his
eyes. "Of course. How could I have expected you to believe me a worthy
opponent at chess. Never mind. I am at your disposal for the rest of the
day. May I carry something?"

"Thank you, but no. I am entirely capable of carrying my own
equipment." She turned again toward the woods, leaving him to trail
behind.

Phaedra had to admit she was both surprised and pleased to see
him dressed in an old and frayed tweed jacket and stained buckskins, with
heavy woolen stockings inside wooden clogs such as were worn by the
poorest peasants. She herself had found the wooden shoes to be most
practical for use in wet weather, for the mud did not stick to them as it did
to leather shoes or boots. As the afternoon wore on and her serviceable
boots picked up an ever heavier load of sticky mud, she wished she had her
own, but they, like her presses, had been left at Gifford Court.

She happily added several mosses, a small buttercup, and a
particularly fine specimen of
Chrysosplenum alternifolium
, a species
she had only collected once before, to her bag. He followed her in silence
for the most part, only occasionally asking the name of a plant. After an
hour or so, her skirts were wet, her boots heavy with mud, and her fingers
numb from digging in the cold soil. She straightened and attempted to
brush plant fragments and streaks of soil from her skirt.

"It seems to me that you would be far better off in trousers," he
observed. "Skirts have always seemed to me particularly impractical
garments"

"I rarely wear skirts when I am collecting at home," she
confessed, surprised at his comment. She would never have expected him
to approve of trousers on any female, no matter what the circumstances.
"They are so unmanageable when I am forever kneeling or crawling in the
shrubbery. Trousers are much more practical, though Mama refuses to
allow me to wear them into the house and I must change in the dairy
barn."

"Why are you in skirts today, then?"

She grimaced. "Mama would not let me bring my trousers to
London with me, for she said that she feared that I would not be able to
resist wearing them. Chloe supported her, too, for she was certain I would
steal out in them to look at plants and be seen by someone, to my
complete ruin."

"I would like to see you in trousers, Phaedra. You would be
quite fetching, I imagine."

"I am quite disreputable looking, sir, and you will not see me in
trousers. They are outgrown ones of my brothers' and they fit like a
second skin."

"Then I would definitely like to see you in trousers," he said,
grinning at her blush when she caught his meaning. "Come," he
continued, holding out his hand, "you can see that it is getting too dark
and damp to find flowers. Let us walk down to the lake. It is particularly
attractive in the rain. Or are you too cold? It is fully a mile to the vantage
point."

She took his hand and let him pull her to his feet. Although he
did not release it when she was standing beside him, she did not attempt to
disengage it. His clasp seemed...comforting.

"Tell me," she said, when they had walked a little while in
companionable silence, "how you became interested in the Beaufort
experiments? It does not fit my perceptions of you at all."

"Oh, I am interested in many things. I attended a meeting of the
Royal Society a few months ago and heard a talk about his work. Later I
studied some of his papers."

"At a meeting of the Royal Society? How did you come to
attend?"

"I am a member," he replied, simply.

"But do you not have to be invited to join? And is not the
invitation based on original scientific discoveries?" She was amazed, and
intensely curious. She knew little of the Royal Society, but was aware that
it was a most select group. She had sent plant specimens to one member, a
gentleman who was compiling a flora of England. Phaedra had trouble
believing that this fop could claim to be a member of that august
group.

"Doubtless, it was a mistake," he said with a wry smile. "But I
have done some experiments on breeding better varieties of fruit, you see,
and they elected me to membership on that basis."

"What fruits?"

"Oh, there were some rather interesting peaches and apricots
that I encountered in Arabia on my way back from India. I brought the
dried flowers home and was able to apply their pollen to the flowers on
trees in my own succession houses. The resulting fruit is more cold hardy
and larger than the varieties that commonly grow here. A poor effort, but
mine own."

"Why that is perfectly marvelous, Mr. Farwell. I did not know
you were interested in botany. Tell me more, please."

"It is not botany that interests me, but food plants. I have seen
the efforts of horse and cattle breeders to improve their breeds and often
wondered why the same principles should not be applied to plants. But I
am a mere amateur and only dabble at it. His Grace reported my results to
the Royal Society, and I am sure he overstated their importance."

Phaedra stopped in the middle of the path and looked up into his
face. Since he had retained his hold on her hand, he, too, was forced to
halt. "Reginald Farwell, Mary told me you were not at all what you
seemed. I have noticed some inconsistencies in your behavior myself.
What other surprises are there in store for me?"

"I will let you discover them for yourself, love. Look, we are
only a few steps from the vista I wished to show you. Let us go on."

He started down the path and she kept pace with him. As they
emerged from the trees, a large lake came into view. In its center was an
island where stood a miniature castle, complete with turrets and
battlements. Even through the light rain, she could see that the small
building was exquisite.

"Oh, how lovely. But why a castle on an island? And so tiny.
What is it for?"

"The present Duke's mother wished a castle and he, not willing
to destroy the beauty of his home, built it here. It is not a real castle, of
course, but a hollow shell. Inside is a single room, with tables and chairs
and even a fireplace. You can see, if you look closely, that the doors are
much out of proportion to the rest. They are cleverly painted to look as if
their tops are part of the walls. Although it is rarely used now, it is
maintained for its beauty. When the weather clears, Mary intends us to
have a picnic there."

"Can it be seen from the house?"

"Only from Their Graces' apartments. The trees block the view
from the other rooms. I understand that several venerable beeches were
cut so that the lady could view her castle from her bedroom."

"I do not blame her for wishing to. Thank you for showing it to
me." The rain had become heavier during their walk, and Phaedra
suddenly realized that she was both wet and chilled. "Perhaps you will
bring me here again on a warmer day. Right now, lovely as is the view, I
must beg you to show me the way back to the house. I am becoming quite
cold."

He put an arm around her waist. "Before we return, Phaedra, I
must ask you a favor." His gray eyes seemed to glow as he gazed down at
her.

"A favor?"

"Yes, a very large, very important favor. Will you?"

Curiously enough, she wanted to say yes, no matter the
question. Clinging desperately to the last of her common sense, Phaedra
said, "I cannot promise until I know what it is you wish."

"Will you say my name?" His forefinger slipped under her chin
and lifted it. "Please."