Lost in Lavender (A Christmas Bouquet Book 1)

by Patricia Kiyono

  What shade of green? Why on earth would she need to know that? “Er… Are you an artist, my lady?”

  The woman straightened and nodded. “Why, yes, I do enjoy working with watercolors on occasion. And I’m hoping the winter garden’s grand opening will inspire me to take up my brushes once again. But the reason we invited you here was so that we can plan our wardrobes for the big day. After all, we don’t want to clash against the colors of the plants. That’s why we asked you to come, so that we can plan ahead.”

  This is why I’m here? To assist these ladies in planning their wardrobes? He worked to keep his expression neutral. “Forgive me, my lady. I misunderstood. I thought your group wanted information about the gardens because you were interested in the plants.”

  The woman’s cheeks colored. “Of course we’re interested in the plants. After all, we are a garden club. But ladies have an obligation to wear suitable clothing for the occasion, and the best way to do that is to find out exactly what we will be surrounded with.”

  Lady Wentworth stood. “Mister Benton, we appreciate you coming to deliver the earl’s presentation. But your facts, dimensions, and dates are not quite what we are here to hear.”

  He blinked. “Er… they’re not?”

  “No, sir. We would like to know what you put in the garden. When we go to the grand opening, what plants can we hope to see?”

  He closed his eyes momentarily, envisioning the garden in his mind. He’d chosen all of his favorites, knowing they were readily available in the area, and arranged them in a pleasing design. Opening his eyes, he began his description. “You will see the most glorious collection of blossoms. Bright cyclamen blossoms, colorful eranthis hyemalis… “

  Lady Wentworth interrupted him. “Do you have paintings? Diagrams?”

  He paused, his mouth hanging open. “Er, no.”

  James wiped his sweaty hands on his trousers. Why hadn’t he thought to bring his diagrams? It hadn’t occurred to him that a gathering of Highgate’s elite women would be interested in anything other than the information Lord Godolphin had supplied.

  The lady beckoned her ever-present butler. She whispered into his ear, and the man stepped out. Three footmen entered, bearing trays of food and drinks.

  “Friends, we’re going to postpone our informational talk for a few moments. Please enjoy some refreshment.”

  Stepping over to James, she spoke in a low voice. “Forgive me for not consulting you first, but I’ve never known an architect who couldn’t draw. My daughter is a budding artist, so I’ve instructed Wells to bring Melinda’s easel and supplies here. When we’re all set up, you can simply show us what we’ll see, and everyone will be happy. I suspect you’ll be more comfortable facing away from us.” Her eyes shone with a youthful gleam at the last sentence.

  James nodded. The lady was correct — he’d definitely be more comfortable drawing. “Thank you, my lady.”

  Twenty minutes later, the easel was set up and the guests had settled again. He chose a thick black pencil and drew a large rectangle. At the center of one of the long ends, he made marks to denote the entry gate. Then he drew the various walking paths. Behind him, the audience watched silently, and he felt his anxiety fade away.

  “The walking paths will take you to the various sections of the gardens,” he told them in a conversational tone. Over here—” he picked up a dark green chalk and shaded in a large area with curved upward strokes denoting shrubbery, “—you’ll see sarcococca and daphne, with their lovely white and pink blossoms.”

  He continued his description of each of the other sections in the gardens. With his back to the audience, he could imagine he was simply sharing his vision with someone, and he relaxed, warming to his topic. His fingers chose the colored chalk and soon the paper came alive with the stunning colors of the garden.

  When all the plants were drawn, he picked up a brown piece of chalk and drew a circle at the intersection of two walking paths, explaining, “And here, in the center, will be a… whimsical monument. The design is still being discussed—”

  “If Lady Stormont is in charge, it’ll no doubt be a likeness of one of her cats,” one matron remarked. There were polite titters, and James was thankful he faced away from them. Lady Stormont’s eccentricities, apparently, were well known.

  Chapter Nine

  James wiped his brow, thankful his ordeal of speaking to the women was over. He’d need to thank Lady Wentworth for her brilliant idea of allowing him to draw the layout of the garden, rather than explaining it. Sketching had been much easier on his nerves, since he’d faced away from the audience. And the ladies had seemed to approve of the plan. Afterward, a few had even asked intelligent questions regarding the placement of certain species, and he’d been happy to answer them.

  When the questions finally ended, Lady Wentworth rose and invited everyone to partake of the refreshments. He noticed the milliner and her friend with a cluster of the younger women, although the former hung back, as if reluctant to socialize. He made his way toward them, smiling inwardly as he detected her lavender scent. She turned, and he wondered if his footsteps had alerted her to his approach. His size had never before been a concern, but around her he felt monstrous and clumsy.

  “I sincerely hope our collision earlier hasn’t caused you bodily harm,” he murmured.

  “Oh, I assure you I’m unhurt. Please don’t concern yourself further. If I hadn’t hesitated about coming inside, I wouldn’t have been in your way.” She sighed then, and he wondered about the sadness in her eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve attended a meeting, and I wasn’t certain about how I’d be received.”

  He couldn’t imagine her not being accepted anywhere, but before he could ask her to explain, her friend called. Selina, the woman called her. What a lovely name. It fit her perfectly.

  The gathering thinned, and the ladies donned their pelisses and left. James collected his overcoat and stepped down to the street. He recalled his instructions to get there hadn’t involved any turns. But which way did he need to go to return home?

  Again, the lovely milliner came to his rescue. “You came from that direction.” She pointed to her left as she descended the stairs.

  “Thank you, Lady…” He paused, realizing they’d never been properly introduced.

  “Mrs. Davison,” she supplied.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Davison. Good day to you.” He sketched a short bow and headed in the right direction. Henson must have been watching for him, because he stood in the open doorway.

  A few minutes later, James sank into the deep cushions of the armchair in the sitting room. His experience in front of the Garden Club wasn’t one he’d care to repeat, though the details kept playing through his mind.

  If it hadn’t been for Mrs. Davison’s subtle assistance and Lady Wentworth’s excellent suggestion, the afternoon would have been a total failure. Why had Lord Godolphin insisted he take his place? He’d tried to convince the earl he was no speaker, but the man had simply given him the address and told him the ladies had already been notified. He’d even had a basic script ready for him. And so he’d gone.

  Lady Wentworth had offered to pay him for the drawing, but of course he’d declined, telling her it had been an honor to create it for her.

  Henson brought him a cup of tea and a newspaper, taking him out of his thoughts.

  “Thank you. Do I have any social commitments tonight?”

  “None that I’ve been informed of, sir.”

  “Excellent. It’ll be an early night for me. I think I’ll retire soon after dinner.”

  “As you wish, sir. Er, I placed this morning’s post in the study. Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I’ll look at it momentarily. Henson, what do you know about the Davison family?”

  “Davison, sir?”

  “The woman who owns the millinery somewhere… near here.” He waved a hand in a circular motion, aware that if he pointed he would u
ndoubtedly choose the wrong direction.

  “Ah yes. The Dowager Countess Milton.”

  He sat up. “Dowager countess? What is she doing selling hats?”

  “The title went to a distant cousin or nephew, as she and the earl had no children. I understand the new earl’s wife insisted on a clean sweep of the estate. Everything associated with the previous Lord Milton, including his wife and the entire staff, were put out.”

  “Good heavens, how cruel. Has she no family to take her in?”

  “Her parents were already deceased, and her brother perished on the continent.”

  “How sad.” His kept his voice even, but the churning in his stomach suggested a far deeper level of concern for the lovely milliner’s fate.

  Best to redirect his thoughts by sorting out the post. He rose with a sigh and took himself to the study.

  The post contained the usual invitations, and he carefully penned his regrets to all but a few. He had no desire to be caught up in social engagements, knowing that as an unmarried gentleman he was a target for the ladies of the ton. As the second son, he wasn’t quite as desirable as his brother had been, but his connection with nobility would provide a comfortable alignment for some less high-reaching debutante. At the moment, he needed to concentrate on the job at Nettlebloom. Making appearances would be an unwelcome distraction, but he knew he couldn’t avoid them altogether, or his mother would undoubtedly take him to task.

  Getting to the bottom of the pile, he picked up a sheet of familiar stationery. Lady Stormont’s spidery handwriting on the outside was barely legible. He broke the seal and read. It was an invitation to tea at Rosebriar the following day. The viscountess wished to see him the following afternoon to discuss the addition the winter garden.

  He had no choice but to accept the invitation. Dashing off his response, he sealed the letter and added it to his outgoing correspondence, then prepared for dinner.

  As he entered his well-appointed dining room, he pondered what the lovely Mrs. Davison would have for dinner. Did her widow’s pension allow her to employ a staff, or did she have to prepare her own meals? Did she have enough to eat?

  Why did he care so much?

  He sat back, contemplating his feelings for the lovely milliner.

  Chapter Ten

  Back at her shop, Selina thanked Betsey for inviting her to the Garden Club meeting and bade her goodbye. She went back to her work, happier than she’d been for some time.

  The afternoon had been a success in more ways than one. Betsey had been correct in that the women had welcomed her. It had been heartening to know she wouldn’t be shunned in their circle. Second, the alterations she’d made to her dress had been just right. She’d had several women ask who had designed it. And when Betsey had announced that Selina would be creating a hat for her based on the flowers and plants described in that day’s presentation, she’d received a flurry of orders.

  Thank goodness she’d purchased extra fabric and supplies. She’d already cut out petals for many of the flowers she’d need, so she decided to put them together. Hours later, realizing the light in her workroom wasn’t enough to see her hands, she cleaned up, ate a light supper, and went into the sitting room.

  She heated water for tea, put another log in the fire, and settled down to read more of Richard’s diary. Reading his words, she could almost hear him saying them aloud.

  The date was that of their wedding day.

  I am overwhelmed with joy. The beautiful Selina is now my wife. She looked so lovely, so ethereal, floating down the aisle toward me. I felt she must surely be an angel coming to take me to my heavenly home. The ceremony passed in a moment — I have no memory of it other than holding my beloved’s hands and repeating the vows. I hardly remember anything of the wedding breakfast, other than I had no desire to eat.

  I suppose I should consider myself lucky to be alive at all, but right now that’s not my feeling. I can only hope that the experts were incorrect in their assessment. I couldn’t bear for my bride to see me as less than a man.

  Less than a man? What had threatened Richard’s life? His mother had never shared anything about his past, even when she’d asked. What had experts told him? She longed to read more, but the sun had completely set, casting the room into shadows. The fireplace gave off enough light for her to make out more, but the following day was market day and she needed supplies. She’d have to rise early in order to get to the market and back before opening the shop. Besides, it was best not to burn any of her precious candles unless it was necessary. Selina closed the book, wondering again what secret her husband had kept from her.

  She’d been a young bride. There had been no season for her. She’d met Richard at a garden party, he’d begun his courtship immediately, and they’d married within the year. Her father had been relieved to avoid the cost of ball gowns and entertainment, and her mother had been elated that she’d landed an earl.

  Their marriage had been a happy one for the most part. Richard’s mother had been the only fly in the ointment. Selina had thought she’d been taught proper manners at finishing school, but she’d never been able to satisfy her mother-in-law. The woman had made no pretense of affection toward Selina, criticizing her choices in everything from clothing to decorating to friends. No matter how hard Selina had tried, nothing she’d done had been right.

  She remembered that last night. The dowager countess had been especially harsh that day. Selina had chosen to wear a new gown in a lovely shade of rose for a dinner party, only to be told that the color was totally wrong for her complexion and far too bold for a woman of her age and position. “You represent our family,” she’d insisted, “and I will not tolerate you dressing like a hoyden.”

  Crushed, Selina had taken to her room. She’d told her husband she wasn’t feeling up to going to the party. Richard, having heard his mother’s barbs, had been understanding, and had made her excuses. They’d left, and Selina had not seen him again until the coachman had brought his lifeless body back.

  The weeks afterward had passed in a blur. She hadn’t had the chance to grieve. With no other family to support her, she’d been the one to make all the arrangements. She’d had to listen to and try to understand the mountains of legalities. When she’d discovered she would need to move and start life over on her own, she’d done it all herself. And through it all she’d carried the pain of guilt. If she’d had been better prepared to be a countess, perhaps her mother-in-law would have been kinder. If she’d been less sensitive to criticism, the three of them would have left earlier, and the dowager wouldn’t have urged the driver to go faster. If only she’d been able to conceive, they would have had an heir, and her life wouldn’t have been turned upside down.

  If only she’d had family to lean on…

  But she’d survived. Perhaps the fact that she’d had to do everything alone had made her stronger. Perhaps her mother-in-law’s criticism had made her more attuned to fashion trends, resulting in the success of her shop. Her own mother had always quoted the verse from Ecclesiastes beginning with “To everything there is a season…” So all in all, her hardships had been to her benefit.

  But sometimes, her hard-won success left her weary. Weary and lonely.

  Chapter Eleven

  James arrived for his appointment at Rosebriar only five minutes late. Henson had pointed him in the right direction, but somehow he’d found himself on a street that ended abruptly. Fortunately, Davison’s Millinery happened to be on that street, so the enchanting Mrs. Davison once again set him straight. Lady Stormont’s butler was again unimpressed with his tardiness, but this time refrained from commenting.

  Lady Stormont studied him through her lorgnette. Edwina, from her seat on the viscountess’ lap, scrutinized him as well. James imagined if the cat had a way to hold one, she would have a lorgnette also.

  “I see Jennings is doing a fine job with your wardrobe,” Lady Stormont observed.

  “Yes, my lady. I appreciate you allowing him to
assist me.” He didn’t quite appreciate the cost, but if it helped him get more commissions, he supposed the new clothing would be considered an investment.

  “I’m delighted he is working out well.” She leaned forward and spoke more softly, as if imparting a secret. “If you wish to retain him yourself, he would probably enjoy that.”

  “Er, I’ll keep that under advisement, my lady.” First, he would need to build his own career so that he could afford a valet.

  “Excellent. Please have a seat, and I’ll have Clive bring tea.” She signaled to the hovering servant then launched into the purpose of their meeting. “I have finally decided on the garden feature for Rosebriar Garden.”

  James froze halfway into his chair. “Rosebriar Garden, my lady?” As the garden was located on the Nettlebloom estate, he’d assumed the garden’s name would be one associated with the earl. But it wasn’t his place to question her.

  “Yes, of course. I’m sure Talbot thinks otherwise, but the garden was my idea in the first place. Now, I’d mentioned to you that the garden needed something right in the center, where the walking paths intersect.”

  “Yes, my lady. An arbor or pavilion would be quite nice.”

  “Absolutely.” She paused as a footman brought in a tea tray, and poured a cup for each of them. The furry version of the viscountess glared at the interruption to her lounging, but at Lady Stormont’s abject apology, followed by kisses and a hug, settled back on her lap.

  James waited patiently for Lady Stormont to continue.

  “I’ve decided the pavilion should look like a cat.”

  He nearly dropped his teacup. “A what?” He remembered one of the ladies at the garden club predicting this, but he had hoped the idea of a cat had been an exaggeration. He knew of a garden in Italy with dragons, bears, and a child-eating ogre, but surely her ladyship didn’t mean something like that. Or did she?