by Vella, Wendy
“No, I do not think it will work, Mr. Hetherington.”
“Benjamin,” he said, relieved she’d stop questioning him about why he had no wish to marry.
“Mr. Hetherington.”
“It will benefit us both, Primrose. You will be doing me a favor, at least for the remainder of this season, and I you.”
“You shall be free of sighing, giggling women and their militant mothers?”
“Exactly.”
“How taxing all that adoration must be.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him.
“I am not one of your species, please don’t inspect me.”
She laughed.
“Oh dear.” She swallowed her smile. “Lady Jane told me not to do that.”
“Do what? Laugh?”
“It’s meant to be more a soft, breathy giggle, and yet I’ve never quite mastered it.”
“There’s a way to a laugh?” He looked horrified. “Don’t stop being you, Primrose.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Did Lady Jane lecture you about destroying another dress?”
“Yes, and made me vow to stay out of the water again.”
She didn’t want the dance to end, but it had to, of course. Just as he had to take her back to Lady Jane. Primrose knew no good could come from his proposition. Spending more time in this man’s company would be dangerous to her, and she wasn’t sure she’d walk away at the end entirely unscathed emotionally.
“Do you know Mr. Caton well?”
“No. I am acquainted with his elder brother, and he seems a good and fair man. Why do you ask? Surely you have not forgotten Herbert so soon?”
“Who?”
“Your beloved.”
“Oh yes. And no, I was just asking out of curiosity.”
He placed her hand on his arm as the dance ended and started walking.
“Or it could be that your new friend has an interest in him?”
Nothing escaped this man’s eye.
“If you will just take me to Lady Jane, please.”
“We can start implementing our plan right now by sharing a walk around the room.”
He pulled her in closer, and Primrose could do little about it unless she wanted to create a scene.
“Lady Jane is smiling far too widely,” Primrose whispered. “I have not agreed to your proposal.”
“But you will,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “Come, we shall visit the supper room and sample some of the treats.”
“We just ate a large meal. Is there a time in your day when your stomach is actually full?”
“Very rarely.”
The room had plenty of guests.
“Eclairs,” Benjamin said, towing her with him to the table. “They are my favorite.”
“I thought all food was your favorite.” Primrose reached for a small piece of peppermint candy and popped it into her mouth. It made a satisfying crunch.
“Must you?” He stopped with the eclair halfway to his mouth.
“Oh, I must.” She picked up another piece and crunched again.
“Your jaw clicked.”
“Did it?”
“Loudly.”
“Primrose!”
She turned to find Heather behind her.
“Hello, would you like some of this wonderful peppermint candy? I highly recommend it. Stand right here and eat it with me.” Primrose passed the plate to her friend.
“I really don’t—”
“No, you really do.” Primrose handed a piece to her. “It’s the best I’ve tasted.”
“Shrew,” she heard Benjamin hiss.
“Mr. Caton, Primrose. I just danced with him,” Heather whispered.
“Yes, how was it?”
“Wonderful.”
“If that is the case, why are you frowning?” Primrose held the plate closer to her chest as a large hand came around to remove it.
“Primrose, Mr. Hetherington wishes to eat some of the peppermint candy.”
“I’m not sharing it,” she said, taking another piece and biting into it loudly. His groan was her reward. “Eat another piece, Heather.”
“I don’t want another piece. Now put that plate down and listen to me.”
“Yes, put the plate down, Miss Ainsley,” he mimicked Heather.
She turned and slapped the plate down. Benjamin picked it up and walked down the table to place it at the end.
“What is the problem, Heather?”
She grabbed Primrose’s hand and they shuffled sideways until they had reached a wall offering some privacy. Benjamin, she noted, was still circling the table, and no doubt eavesdropping.
“You should not have lured me into dancing with Mr. Caton, Primrose.”
“Why? You like him, and he likes you.”
“That is not the point,” Heather said, obviously agitated. “Does he? Like me, I mean?”
“Very much, is my guess. His eyes are constantly following you wherever you go.”
“Are they?” Heather sighed.
Primrose nodded.
“It doesn’t matter, he will never be good enough for my mother. His brother may be titled, but he is not.”
“But if you care for each other—”
“That matters for nothing in our world, as you very well know, Primrose.”
“Well it should, and it is not as if he was not born into a titled family with a great deal of money.”
“My mother wants me to be a lady,” Heather said.
“You are a lady.”
“You know very well what I mean, Primrose.”
“Sorry, I should not have teased you.” No one knew better than she about how society saw a person who was beneath them. The thought was a depressing one.
“Don’t give up, Heather, please” was all Primrose found to say. “I’m sure we can make this work somehow.”
She looked at Benjamin and caught his eye. She saw the sympathy in them and hated that her heart beat just a little faster because of it. The man was far too appealing in almost every way. The thought of leaving society at the end of this season and not seeing him again was suddenly a depressing one.
Chapter Fourteen
When she was sure Lady Jane was snoring peacefully, Primrose pulled on her sturdy boots and shawl over her day dress. It was close to 2:00 a.m., and the perfect time for her to inspect the night garden.
She’d told the duchess she was eager to see it and the woman had winked at her and said it was not located too far from the house if she chose to go alone. Primrose took this as an invitation to do exactly that.
Perhaps she had meant for her to visit it just before retiring for the evening, and not at 2:00 a.m., but she was awake, and surely could not get into trouble going for a quick walk.
She hadn’t been able to sleep anyway. Visions of Benjamin Hetherington and their kiss had kept her awake. Then there was Heather and her feelings—which were clear for anyone to see—about Mr. Caton. Something must be done… but what?
Primrose hoped a brisk walk in the gardens would clear her head and help her sleep.
Opening her bedroom door, she closed it softly behind her. Tiptoeing to the stairs, she hurried down. Reaching the front door undetected, she opened it and stepped outside.
The left hand path that led behind the house was the one she had been told to take. Hurrying along the front, Primrose turned at the end.
“Oomph!”
“Hollyhocks!” Primrose shrieked as the person she collided with stumbled backward, then fell, taking her with him. She landed hard on a broad chest. “Oh dear.” She tried to scramble off the body, but her foot got caught in her skirts and she tripped, somehow resulting in her front being pressed to theirs.
“Be still, Primrose!”
The words were more a breathless rasp, but for all that she still knew who uttered them.
“Benjamin, I’m so sorry!”
Dear Lord, not him again.
“You’re certainly heavier than you look
,” he wheezed, easing her off his chest. Seconds later they were both standing.
“I have heavy bones, so the doctor once told my mother. Please forgive me, I did not know you were there when I—”
“Hurried recklessly around the corner?”
“Umm, yes.” She bobbed a curtsey. “Begging your pardon once more.” Primrose started to walk away, but a large hand secured itself around her upper arm.
“You don’t honestly think I would let you walk away, do you? It’s an ungodly hour, and you’re clearly alone. Surely I deserve an explanation?”
“I don’t have to give you one,” Primrose said. She wanted to get out of this man’s company and view the garden.
“No, you don’t, but you’re not simply walking about alone in the dark. So you either tell me, or I take you back to your room.”
“You’re out here.” She squinted up at him and saw that his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed. “Why should I not be?”
“Yes, I am.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.
“I’m not telling if you won’t.”
“This is not the schoolroom, Primrose. But if you must know, I was simply walking as I could not sleep.”
“Oh. Well, I’m sorry for that.”
“As am I, because now I have a crushed windpipe and bruises.”
“Oh dear, I am sorry. Does it hurt terribly?”
“No, I was teasing you. Now tell me why you are out here when you should be sleeping and dreaming blissful dreams of Herbert the Honorable.”
I was actually thinking about you.
“There is no need to mock me.”
“Probably not, but it is a great deal of fun, and in a small way a repayment on all that deliberate peppermint candy crunching.”
“People cannot go about eating quietly just because you cannot stand the sound, Mr. Hetherington.”
“I know, but it’s my fondest wish that they try.”
Primrose harrumphed.
“You called me Benjamin before.”
“I should not have.”
“Are you meeting someone?” He sounded angry about the possibility and she wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“No! Good Lord, do I look the type to do that?”
“There’s a certain type?”
She gave in. “The duchess has a night garden, and it is my fondest wish to see it. This is the first night I’ve had the chance to.”
He laughed softly. “Of all the things I thought you would say, that was not one of them, but of course it had to be about a plant.”
“Yes, well, it is my life’s work not to be predictable.”
“You are certainly that. Are you to steal more cuttings?”
“It is not stealing, it is… well, it’s harvesting them.”
“Harvesting them,” he mused. “Sounds a lot better than theft.”
“Well, good night then, and if you would keep this to yourself I would be most grateful.”
“As I have never seen a night garden, I think I shall accompany you.”
“No! I mean, thank you, but no. It would not do for anyone to see us together.”
He grabbed her arm again, then turned her toward the path that ran around the house. Primrose felt the imprint of his fingers right through to her skin. She did not like being so aware of this man.
“As everyone is slumbering, I hardly think that is likely to happen, and anyone who is awake at such an hour is doing something they should not, like you, so lead on.”
“Do you mean discreet liaisons?”
“Miss Ainsley, I’m shocked. I’m not sure an innocent like you should know about such things.”
“My mother may not show a great deal of interest in anything but botany, but she talked to me at length before I left about many things that happen in society.”
“How very forward thinking of her. Why does she only show interest in botany?”
“It’s her life’s work.”
“And you are her daughter, so surely she shows interest in you?”
Primrose was not about to discuss her family relationships with him, of all people.
“Thank you for offering to accompany me, Mr. Hetherington—”
“Benjamin.”
“—but I really don’t need you to, so please return to your bed.”
“And yet I am accompanying you. We cannot have some rogue gardener seeing you and deciding he wishes to lure you into his shed.”
“Very amusing.”
They walked in silence, the only sound their feet crunching on the shell paths.
“I like the night,” Primrose said, feeling the need to speak. The silence between them did not feel comfortable to her. “It’s nice to be alone… well, nearly alone, with your thoughts.”
“Quite” was all he said.
They entered the gardens, and the scents were different from the day. Clearer somehow. Primrose identified each as she passed them.
“What’s that?” He pointed to a tall sprig of flowers.
“Hocks.”
“And that?”
This carried on as they passed plants, until they’d moved through a gate. The path they then followed was winding, and at the end was another gate. The hinges creaked as Benjamin opened it. A large stone wall encased the entire garden, and Primrose felt her heart thud harder.
“What’s that?” He pointed at another plant.
“Are you testing me, or are you really this ignorant?”
“I beg your pardon?” He stopped, and the moonlight told her he was not amused by her insult. His mouth formed a line, and his brows met in the middle in a fierce frown as he stood before her looking large and forbidding. Primrose, however, did not scare easily. Her brother had been trying to achieve that for years. Perhaps if she continued to needle him, he may return to the house.
“I believe you understood the question. Now if you will excuse me, I have need to keep moving, as I do not want Lady Jane aware I am missing.”
“For the record, I am not ignorant, I just have not made a study of plants. Do you know how a steam engine works?”
“Not in detail, but I have a little knowledge.”
He made a scoffing sound that her brother often used when she attempted to discuss something botanic with him.
“In the boiler, there would be a firebox where coal would be shoveled. It would be kept burning at high temperatures to heat the boiler to boil water, producing high-pressure steam. The steam expands and leaves the boiler via pipes into the steam reservoir. The steam is then controlled by a slide valve to move into a cylinder to push the piston. The pressure of the steam energy pushing the piston turns the drive wheel in a circle, creating motion for the locomotive,” Primrose said.
“How do you know that?”
“My father and mother have two servants in our house. Mr. and Mrs. Putt. Mr. Putt is interested in steam engines, and you cannot walk five paces without tripping over some kind of journal in the kitchens.”
“Why are you in the kitchens?”
“I like it there. Don’t be a snob, Benjamin.”
That silenced him, and they walked on. His fingers were still on her arm, and loath as she was to admit it, Primrose was starting to enjoy the feeling.
“I love steam engines,” he said softly. “I love the mechanics of them. I love the noises they make and the smells. I love that they will change so much for so many.”
He spoke with passion, just as she’d heard Mr. Putt do many times.
“Did you know that steam power will enable mills to operate away from a water source?”
“I didn’t know that, actually, and believe me when I tell you I know a great many things.”
“Quite the know-it-all, then?”
“My brother often says that, but it is not as if I set out to know everything. I just… well, I do.”
His chuckle carried on the still night air.
Primrose sighed. “My family rarely talk of anything but b
otany when they are home, so that left reading. I have learned a great deal from books.”
“Like I said, a know-it-all.”
“It is hardly my fault, and I fail to see why I should appear dimwitted to make anyone else feel better.”
“But I thought it was important for a woman to do just that. How could a man see you as a future wife if you are more intelligent than he? Surely the Honorable Herbert will not want a wife who bests him in everything?”
“But for the next few weeks, that is not a problem, is it?” But it was a problem, actually. Herbert could be a little pompous at times, often telling her things with a great deal of ceremony that she already knew. Once she’d tried to correct him, and he’d been wounded.
Could Herbert kiss me like Benjamin did? Could he make my heart beat just a little harder inside my chest?
“I have no wish to marry a man who does not respect my intelligence.” Primrose shot him a look and noted the smile, and her anger fled as quickly as it had come. “You’re teasing me.”
“A bit.”
“It’s all very well for you to do so, but you must understand that it is a concern. Men do not want a woman who sits about the place reading newspapers and doing anything other than needlework and other ‘ladylike’ pursuits. I have no wish to do that.” Primrose spoke honestly out here in the dark. It was only them; no one would overhear their conversation. It was liberating to speak her mind finally.
“Then don’t, and I’m sure your Herbert won’t mind if you can outthink him.”
“Much easier for you to say than for me to carry out,” Primrose snapped, taking her arm from his. “I fear Lady Jane has an ulterior motive, as does my family, and will do whatever it takes to wed me to someone this season. I cannot be a burden to my parents indefinitely, so I must accept.”
“I’m sure they all have your best interests at heart—”
“Indeed? How is it in my best interests to end up wed to a man I cannot tolerate?”
“I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want or need your sympathy. Plus, you are not really sorry.” Primrose felt the full weight of her life then. How what happened was completely out of her hands. She had no say in the direction her life would take. The injustice of that nearly choked her.
“Primrose—”
“It is the reality of many a young lady,” she interrupted him again. “Perhaps you and your kind should think about that when comparing us to gout-swollen toes!”
