Like a Flower in Bloom (21 page)

A
s I was surveying the yard that afternoon, the Admiral came by. I gathered up the purple asters I had just picked, welcomed him, and led him inside. After taking his coat, I accompanied him to the parlor. While he greeted Mr. Trimble, I set to work finding a vase. When Father voiced a welcome from the study, the Admiral entered and shut the door. They conversed for some while as I tried to ignore Mr. Trimble. But after Miss Templeton’s approval of his person, it was rather difficult. I snuck another look at him. I supposed, all in all, he was rather handsome. For a sheep farmer.

He caught me looking at him. “May I help you, Miss Withersby? Did you need something?”

Why had I never noticed him in this way before? “No. No! No, thank you.”

When the study door opened, both the Admiral and my father stepped out. The Admiral waved an envelope at me. “For you, my dear. An invitation to a rowing party to be held down by the river next Saturday, although—”

Mr. Trimble rudely interrupted. “A rowing party? This late in the season?”

Must everything be subject to his scrutiny? “It’s not really that late here in Cheshire. It’s still fine weather for a river outing.”

He shot me a dubious glance.

Remembering Miss Templeton’s plan, I took advantage of the opportunity he’d provided. As Miss Templeton had said, what could be better than to watch him work himself out of his position? I put on my best smile. “Why do you not come with us? That way you’ll be able to experience our temperate clime for yourself.” I smiled again for good measure.

“Your Miss Templeton already talked me into the lecture on Monday night. Don’t begin to count on me for such things. If you do, I warn you now, you will be bound for disappointment.”

But my uncle was clapping him on the back. “Yes. Yes! A brilliant idea, my dear. I’ve been called to London next week and I had despaired of having to let your father escort you.”

“I don’t see why you ought to have
despaired
of such a possibility.” My father looked up as he was tying on a pair of viewing spectacles he’d made from two pocket glasses fixed into holes in an old stocking.

The Admiral stepped forward, pulled them from Father’s head, and laid them on the table. “If you can provide the escort, young man, then Charlotte can still go.”

He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Miss Templeton would be so proud of me if I could get him to agree. “And why not? You’ve words enough about what I’m not doing and saying that it seems to me you would fit admirably into such a milieu.”

“I haven’t been invited.”

The Admiral waved a hand. “Nothing that a note would not take care of. So it’s set. You’ll provide the escort.”

“I don’t see how I can, really. There’s too much work to be done.”

Not so easy to do everything at once, was it? Perhaps they
were
beginning to understand. I laid a hand on his arm. “I’ll say not one word about your background, Mr. Trimble. And the way you hold yourself, no one will believe you haven’t been born to a family just like theirs.”

“I can’t go. It wouldn’t be wise.”

“But if you attend, you can criticize my taste and appalling lack of good manners as we go along instead of afterward. It would be much more efficient that way and save you the trouble of doing it later. I daresay you might even have a good time.”

Mr. Trimble came upon me in the sitting room the next morning. I was using one of the plant presses as a sort of portable desk. “And what have you there?” He was eying my pen and paper rather suspiciously.

“I’m just undertaking a bit of correspondence for the rector. Some business with his old parish.”

“Is he incapable of doing that as well?”

“As well as what?”

“As well as managing a simple collection.”

I laid my pen down. “I don’t see why you should denigrate him so. Do you hold something against him?”

“Only that he seems to have delegated to you all those tasks he prefers not to do.”

“If you would bother to listen to him preach on Sundays instead of glancing round the church like a crazed lunatic, you would never dare to insult him again.” I could not say that
his suspicions about the collection were unfounded, but Mr. Hopkins-Whyte did not deserve Mr. Trimble’s disdain. “If it wasn’t him, it would be my father delegating tasks to me, wouldn’t it?” Had I just . . . had I just said that?

“Or that other fellow.”

Other fellow? “That other fellow’s name is Mr. Stansbury.”

“And you know vastly more on the subject of flowers than he could ever hope to learn.”

“I’m sure he’s seen more exotic species than I have. His glasshouse collections are really quite admirable.”

“And I’ve seen more of New Zealand’s flowers in the field than you have, and still I recognize that I know nothing compared to you.”

“He has asked me to help him round out his collections.”

“Does he know that you wrote
Ranunculaceae in Britain
?”

“I wouldn’t say that I wrote it. Not exactly.”

“I would.” He gave me a long look. “You disappoint me.”

“I disappoint you? I don’t see why you should be so set against my doing what God and nature have apparently ordained me to do.”

“And what is that?”

“I’m to be a helper. I believe that’s what Eve was called.”

“A helper? Is that what you think you’re being? God calls himself our helper too, if I recall, but no one makes
Him
engage in correspondence or keep track of labels or leave His name off books He’s toiled to write. We ask Him to lend His strength to ours. I don’t think you’re being helpful, Miss Withersby. I think you’re being taken advantage of.”

“And why should you care what it is that I’m doing with my time? You’ve waltzed in here and taken up my position, so why object to the ways in which I must now occupy myself? Why should it matter to you?”

“It matters because you’re made of better stuff than this. Believe me, Miss Withersby, I’ve seen much of society, and what passes for obligation most of the time is stuff and nonsense.”

For a moment, his words shamed me as I remembered the sort of family from which he’d come, and then I became quite exasperated and endeavored to ignore him.

My vow held until Monday evening when Mr. Trimble appeared in the parlor, dressed for the lecture. It was then that I began to think better of Miss Templeton’s plans. I wasn’t quite sure what had changed, but in evening dress, he made an altogether different impression than he had while working at his desk in his shirt sleeves. Formerly, I would have believed quite willingly that he was a sheep farmer. But in his pleated shirtfront and gloves, he looked every bit a peer of the realm. It was really quite as vexing, as if I had misclassified a colchicum as a crocus.

He bowed. “Miss Withersby.”

I curtseyed.

I was used to seeing him bent over a microscope or sitting at my desk. I had forgotten he was so tall. Or that the scent of him held such intrigue. I still couldn’t place what it was. Maybe I could ask Miss Templeton to take a sniff of him so she could help me to decipher it.

We travelled to the lecture with nary a word spoken between us, and as we entered the ballroom, he peered around furtively.

I put a hand to his arm. “Have no fear. As I’ve told you before, the people of Overwich are quite kind.” Excepting the Family Bickwith.

Miss Templeton introduced him around. I suppose I ought to have done it, but I still hadn’t gotten down who I was to introduce to whom. Whether I was meant to say, for instance,
Mrs. Such-and-So, this is Mr. Trimble or if it should be the other way around.

At the reception after the lecture, I saw Lord Harriwick’s son lounging against the wall opposite. He and his friends normally didn’t have much to do with
country folk
, as Miss Templeton called us, but he stumbled over, raising a glass in our direction.

“Hail, Saxon! Haven’t seen you for ages. Not since Eton.” He slapped Mr. Trimble on the back and offered him a drink.

Mr. Trimble stepped back as I stepped forward. We stood there, together, shoulder to shoulder.

Miss Templeton smiled and stepped out in front of us both. “You can’t have met him. Mr. Trimble farms sheep in New Zealand. He’s only just come back for a visit.”

The man leaned around Miss Templeton to peer at Mr. Trimble through narrowed eyes. “Funny. He’s a familiar look about him, but I can’t say I’ve ever visited the colony.” He raised his glass again and seemingly swallowed a belch with a great grimace. “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

A strained sort of smile bent Mr. Trimble’s lips. “I suppose you’ll have to.”

As the man left, Mr. Trimble drew a shaking hand up to his brow.

Poor man. If he had not usurped my position, I might have felt sorry for him. “I have to say, you look the part of a gentleman, even if you do work for your living.”

He turned to me with a slight bow. “I would say the same to you.”

The same to me? That I looked the part of . . . ? “Was that a compliment?” I did quite like the raspberry-colored dress I was wearing. It was woven with blue threads, and the color changed whenever I moved. Miss Hansford had aided me, dressing my
hair into ringlets, and I felt that on the whole I fit in with the milieu rather admirably.

“I think, perhaps, it was.” The look in his eyes seemed to be a kind of peace offering.

I accepted it with a nod.

At that moment, Mr. Stansbury approached and greeted me with a bow.

I curtseyed.

“You look as pretty as a pansy, this evening, Miss Withersby.”

Mr. Trimble raised a brow as if to press his point.

I concentrated all my attentions on Mr. Stansbury. “Thank you, Mr. Stansbury.”

“Speaking of which, my orchid has bloomed.”

“And?”

“And you were right.” He said it with a twinkle in his eye. “I never would have thought to question that label, but I am glad that you did. I was hoping you might come take a look at it and tell me whether—”

“She’d be delighted to.” Miss Templeton joined our conversation with a smile.

“Wednesday, then?”

“It would be our pleasure.”

Mr. Stansbury smiled back at her. Smiled at Mr. Trimble. Smiled at me.

He was such an interesting man. Most of the other men in the room seemed painted from the same palette of muted greys and browns, but he always displayed a surprising bit of color. Miss Templeton assured me that really should not be done, but I thought it enlivened his ruddy cheeks and set off the gleam of his precisely combed hair.

Compared to Mr. Trimble, he was positively dazzling, and yet there was something established, something settled, about Mr.
Trimble that was lacking in the industrialist. Miss Templeton’s words about the shiniest watches echoed in my thoughts.

Miss Templeton jabbed me with her elbow and tilted a brow toward Mr. Trimble.

I raised my own brow in response.

She smiled at Mr. Stansbury. “May we introduce you to Miss Withersby’s father’s assistant?”

That’s
what I’d forgotten. The introduction. What a pleasure it was to work with flowers. They never begged an introduction from anyone, and if you misidentified them as Mr. Stansbury had, they never took offense and one could still appreciate their beauty.

Mr. Trimble nodded at me. “I would be delighted to make a new acquaintance.”

I still couldn’t remember which way introductions went but embarked upon it just the same.

The two men nodded at each other.

Mr. Stansbury glanced at me. “Is Admiral Williams not here?”

“He’s been—”

Miss Templeton placed a hand to my arm. “He asked Mr. Trimble to escort Miss Withersby this evening.”

Mr. Stansbury gave him another, longer, look.

Mr. Trimble smiled.

Mr. Stansbury did not return it. He gave him a cool glance and then continued in conversation with me. “I received an Italian orchid today from a correspondent. Remind me to show it to you when you visit on Wednesday.”

“I should very much like to see it.”

He crooked an arm for me, and I threaded mine through it the way I had seen other women do.