by Esther Hatch
They strode down the gravel path. Bernard trailed behind them, breathing heavily, but not willing to be left behind. Halfway to Victoria, Jonathan stopped and scooped up Bernard. It seemed as though he would have to get used to carrying the dog about.
“Well, well, well,” Mr. Ashton said as soon as Victoria came into sight. “Who is this young lady we have here?”
Her chair was in the same position Jonathan had left her in, pointed toward them, only now she was sitting in it. “I’m Victoria Duncan.”
“Queen Victoria Duncan,” Jonathan added with an elaborate bow. “We are your humble servants.”
She raised her chin. “Are you?”
“Of course,” Mr. Ashton said, copying Jonathan’s bow. “I am nothing if not loyal to the queen, and at least as loyal to the new owners of Greenwood Manor.”
“Well, then.” Her head raised and her chin jutted out. “I require you to turn this chair around so I can go back to the garden, and I would like to be taught about flowers.”
Jonathan marched to her side and deposited Bernard into her lap. She squealed, but not with displeasure. “If you don’t mind, Bernard is quite fatigued and isn’t able to walk much farther. Would you mind carrying him?”
Her eyes flashed to his. Even though she was younger than Miss Duncan, her eyes seemed more guarded. Miss Victoria Duncan was less likely to admit people into her inner circle of friends, whereas Miss Duncan seemed perfectly willing to smile and encourage anyone. What kind of life had this girl had up until this point? She could stand, but it caused her pain. Had that always been the case?
He and Mr. Ashton both took hold of an armrest and lifted Victoria, chair and all, off the gravel. They spun her around and started marching toward the garden.
“Tell me what you know about flowers already,” Mr. Ashton said. “Then I will know where to start.”
“I’ve read lots about flowers. My favorites are the foxgloves, but I didn’t see any on my way here.”
“No, we don’t have any foxgloves. But that is something that could be remedied soon enough. I can add some in the statuary.”
“I saw a part of the garden with no flowers. It is only greens. Why don’t we plant them there?”
Mr. Ashton shook his head. “That is the winter garden. It blooms in the winter.”
“You have a garden that blooms in winter?”
Mr. Ashton winked at her. “No, you have a garden that blooms in winter. This is your garden. I’m only the caretaker.”
A smile transformed her face. “I think I shall like having a winter garden. What grows there?”
They had reached the edge of the garden where the path was paved in stone rather than gravel. Mr. Ashton and Jonathan stopped and set down the chair. Without waiting, Mr. Ashton took hold of the handles at the back and pushed Victoria toward the winter garden. It wasn’t in bloom, of course, but Mr. Ashton would be able to describe the snow drops, daphnes, and Christmas roses in such detail that Victoria would practically be able to smell them by the time they left that section of the garden.
Jonathan trailed behind them. He hadn’t entered the winter garden yet. That was his mother’s garden. Mr. Ashton had helped her decide what to plant and where, but she was the one who had always wanted a winter garden. Jonathan had spent hours outside with her when he had lived here.
“Do you know this winter garden was planted with a child in mind?” Mr. Ashton said to Victoria. Jonathan’s ears perked up. He hadn’t ever heard that. “There was a young boy that would live here, but only in the winter, and his mother wanted him to see how beautiful Dorset was, even when most of the land was no longer green.”
Jonathan stopped, his breath catching. Of course that was why she had planted the garden. How could he not have seen that?
“Where did the boy live in the summer?”
“In the summer he lived in a few other places. He had a home in Bedfordshire and Lincolnshire, and one other shire.”
Cambridgeshire, but Mr. Ashton was exaggerating by calling them homes. They were estates. Greenwood Manor had been his only home. No one had planted him a garden in any of those other houses.
“That is a lot of houses. I’m happy to have this one.”
“And where did you live before?” Mr. Ashton asked.
Jonathan was several paces behind them, so he couldn’t see Victoria’s reaction, but she didn’t answer right away. Her elbow poked out to the side of the chair and then returned a few times. She was petting Bernard. When she finally spoke, she only said one word: “London.”
“And did you have a garden in London?”
“I suppose we did.”
“You suppose you did?”
“We did. I just never had the chance to see it. At least not for the past few years.”
Now it was Jonathan and Mr. Ashton’s turn to be silent. Why in the world would that precocious young lady not be out in a garden? At least during the summer when the weather was better, one would think she would have spent hours outside, she seemed to love it so much. Had Miss Duncan kept her inside? Something deep inside his stomach twisted. Exactly what type of woman was he planning on marrying? First she threw out crazy ideas like menageries and tore out perfectly good stairs...
He stopped and hit his forehead with his hand. The stairs. She was taking out the stairs for Victoria. He watched the two of them move forward into the garden. The menagerie still made no sense, but the stairs were for Miss Duncan’s sister. Greenwood Manor was undergoing some changes to make it more of a home for Victoria, just as it had undergone changes when he had lived here. Had his mother torn out something in order to plant a winter garden when she realized it would be the only time he was here? She must have.
Most likely whatever had been planted there instead had been as beautiful as those marble stairs.
Jonathan strode forward again, increasing his stride until he came up beside Victoria. “Well, now you will have a garden anytime you like.”
“I think I shall come every day.”
“And what will you do here every day?”
“What did the boy do? The one with the winter garden?”
“Well,” Mr. Ashton said, “he helped his mother with the garden, and…” Mr. Ashton’s weathered face crinkled into a smile. Heavens, what was he about to tell Victoria now? There was only one other activity he had spent time on in the garden, and it wasn’t really the type of thing to interest a young girl. “He learned how to box.”
Victoria spun her head around to eye Mr. Ashton. “Who taught him how to box? His mother?”
Jonathan snickered. His mother was a lady of the first order. She hadn’t even known about him learning to box, at least not until that first letter home from Eton.
“No, not his mother. I taught him.”
“You are a boxer?”
Jonathan placed a hand on Mr. Ashton’s shoulder. “Mr. Ashton is one of England’s finest boxers. The boy couldn’t have asked for a better or a more qualified teacher.”
“After we see the winter garden, could you show me?”
“I suppose if John here is up for it, we could spar for a bit.”
Victoria tipped her head to one side. “I would like to see that, too, but what I meant was, would you show me how to box?”
Mr. Ashton skipped a step and the chair bounced to a stop. He smoothed it over quickly, but Jonathan knew what he was thinking. His first few lessons had been all about footwork. How in the world would they teach this young queen to box?
“It would be an honor to teach you how to box. I have missed having lessons with the boy. And you will have one solid advantage if you ever find yourself in a match,” Mr. Ashton said, his voice merry. “You won’t topple easily.” Mr. Ashton spun her around in her chair so that she was facing him. “The flowers will wait a bit longer. Now, John, tell her how to position her body.”
He took in Victoria, his mind adjusting to the advantages and disadvantages to fighting someone while sitting in a chair. He nodde
d at Mr. Ashton and then pulled his hands up in a defensive position. “When you are boxing you always want to get low. Your positioning toward your opponent could work to your advantage as long as you can learn to protect your head. Now, scoot forward in your seat and bend at your waist.” She did. He winked at her. “Now, plant a good one into Mr. Ashton’s middle.”
Victoria’s eyes widened and her mouth hung open. “Now?” Jonathan nodded at her. “But you haven’t even taught me anything yet.”
Jonathan chuckled. “Well, we are going to start by assessing your natural talent. There is much to learn in the sport of boxing, but you must not discount one’s natural instinct to fight.”
Mr. Ashton planted both feet firmly on the ground and braced for impact. Victoria’s eyes fluttered closed and her chin lowered. “I don’t think I have that instinct.”
Mr. Ashton lifted her chin with a forefinger. “Of course you do. Everyone does. You simply need to find it.” Her eyes opened and she stared at Mr. Ashton’s age-lined face. Jonathan knew very well the confidence Mr. Ashton could provide. He had provided a bit too much in Jonathan, at least if you asked any of his teachers at Eton. Oliver hadn’t minded, though. When he was teased for coming into the school thanks to a benefactor and not his own family, Jonathan’s fists were able to put a stop to it.
At Oxford Jonathan was called on to repeat his trouncing of a few choice classmates. By then he no longer had access to Mr. Ashton’s lessons, so he had taken up with a few less-mannered pugilists to train with.
Victoria pushed a fist into Mr. Ashton, but it lacked strength. Mr. Ashton shook his head. “You can do better than that.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Because I am old?”
“Because you are kind.”
Mr. Ashton stepped back. “Well, that is easily remedied. John, come over here and let Miss Victoria slug you.”
Jonathan laughed. Victoria’s eyes went back and forth between the two of them and then narrowed at a point in Jonathan’s waist. Jonathan pushed Mr. Ashton aside in a friendly shove, stood in front of Victoria, and tightened his stomach.
“I will be sorely disappointed if you don’t hit me with all your strength. I’ve had grown men, some nearly twice my size, go many rounds with me, so I promise I can handle what you give me. Think of something that makes you angry, something you wish you could change but you can’t…” Victoria’s hands tightened on the handles of her chair as she leaned forward. “Focus all of that energy on the second button of my waistcoat and—”
Victoria’s arm flashed out, connecting with his middle. Jonathan doubled over and pushed the breath out of his lungs. It was a fair hit, with more force than he would have imagined Victoria could muster. He exaggerated his reaction, but he was impressed nonetheless.
Mr. Ashton clapped and laughed and Victoria's hand went to her mouth. “I’m sorry!”
Jonathan blinked his eyes as if he were in pain. “You have the natural talent for it, I’ll give you that,” he wheezed. And she really did. Jonathan had spent enough time with men who had no idea how to hit, and Victoria at least knew enough to channel her energy and punch through her target.
With the chair taking up most of her reach and mobility, entering an actual boxing fight would be a terrible mistake, but women who boxed did so only for the exercise anyway; they would never be allowed in a ring. Victoria bent at the waist well, and he had seen her legs move as counterweights to her swing. Her problems must lie in her feet. What kind of injury did she have that confined her to the chair for mobility?
“Tell me, my Queen. What exactly are you capable of? I saw you standing earlier, so you are not in that chair because of a complete inability to move.”
Victoria scrunched her nose together. “No, I can move everything, but to stand on my feet for more than a few minutes…it is painful.” Her feet were well covered by her dress.
“So you can pivot forward and turn about at the waist,” Mr. Ashton said.
“Yes.”
“Well, then, that makes our job easier. And the fact that you can stand, even for a second, could provide an element of surprise if you ever need it.”
“Do you think I will need it?”
“In a fight?” Jonathan bent low and brought his mouth to the level of her ear. “You need everything you have.”
Victoria nodded in such a way as if to express the seriousness of the task she was about to undertake. “I will keep that in mind.”
“Good.” Jonathan straightened.
“Today let’s start on hand positions.” Mr. Ashton put his hands up, his dominant hand closer to his chest. Victoria followed suit. Jonathan stepped back and let them work.
So Miss Duncan’s plans had to do with this precocious young lady. One piece of the puzzle finally clicked into place.
Now if he could only discover why she had that horrendous fish wallpaper.
Chapter 10
“You don’t like that one?” Sally held up what was supposed to be a vase for Victoria to look at more closely. Victoria sat on the divan in what was to be her parlor. Sally had helped her take the two painful steps between her wheeled chair and the seat. They had spent the morning going over designs and plans for this room. Selling Vermillion had been like tearing out a piece of Sally’s soul, but seeing Victoria blossom here was restoring the missing pieces of her heart. Every time Victoria picked a fabric for chairs or decided on which carpet to put in a room, she opened up more. She had only been here for four days, and already had more color in her face. Some of that had to be attributed to her afternoons in the garden, where she spent time while Sally dealt with the more mundane parts of running a new household. But renovating a home suited Victoria, even if her tastes didn’t match the typical standards of the day. This vase, however, was even too much for Sally.
She had shipped it from a remote island in the Indies, and the thing looked as though it could steal a person's soul completely. It was all claws and feet. The legs of some hairy animal took up the bottom half of the vase, which was made of white stone. But there were too many appendages, legs on top of legs in a half circle. She set the vase down on the table in front of them. One of the legs acted as the base, while the others hovered in the air around it. The upper half were the creature’s arms, made of copper. Thus far, she had found no head. Had Sally actually bought a vase so disastrous that even Victoria found it distasteful?
Victoria’s face scrunched in disgust, not unlike the face she made when she had to put weight on her feet. “I don’t like it at all. I hope it wasn’t expensive.”
It was expensive. It seemed the more distasteful the vase, the more expensive it was. This one had been very expensive indeed. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we will find a use for it somewhere.”
“The attic?” Victoria suggested.
Sally nodded. “Or the cellar.”
“And frighten the poor servants when they go there looking for wine?”
“A good point. I suppose we could put it in the dog trot. Or...” Sally paused. She knew exactly where this work of art belonged.
“Or where?” Victoria asked.
Sally lifted the copper and stone vase up into the light. The sunlight shone off the polished claws that formed the rim. Lord Farnsworth had given her a squirrel, after all. It would be wrong of her to not return...something...to him.
This vase was something.
Sally flashed Victoria a grin. “I have the perfect place for it.”
“I gathered that from the devilish look on your face. Where?”
“There is a man staying at a hunting cottage nearby. I think it is just the type of artwork he would enjoy.”
Victoria cocked her head to one side and took in the full nature of the vase once again. “Is he all right in the head?”
Was he? Sally had seen a few instances—swimming in the pond and shooting squirrels—which might hint at something not being quite right with the man. But for the most part, yes, he did seem to have all
of his faculties. “He is perfectly stable, if a little strange. In truth, he won’t like the vase, but I like the idea of giving it to him.” A smile kept teasing her lips no matter how hard she tried to push it down. First the fish wallpaper, then the stairs, now this...art? He would think her mad.
Victoria tipped her head to one side. “How old is this man in the hunting cottage?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Is he quite old?”
“No.”
“Is he handsome?”
Sally pulled her head back. Lord Farnsworth was too rugged and indestructible-looking to be called handsome in any classical fashion. “No.”
“So you want to give a young but unattractive man living nearby a gift.”
Victoria had become much more inquisitive in the past four days. “I’ll be giving it to him as a neighbor. It isn’t as though we have many of those.” Sally started wrapping the vase back in its papers. “Besides, he gave me one.”
“He gave you a gift?”
“Yes, to welcome us into the area.”
“Was it expensive? Like the vase?”
Sally did her best to keep her lips pulled in a straight line. “It was a squirrel.” Lord Farnsworth had seemed so pleased with himself.
Victoria blinked. “He gave you a squirrel?” Then she closed her eyes and rubbed one of them. “Was it alive?”
“No, it was quite dead.”
“Like in a basket? Or wrapped up in a cloth? How does one go about gifting a squirrel?”
“I don’t know, actually. Mrs. Hiddleson gave it to Cook before I even got a chance to see it.”
Victoria’s eye widened to the size of saucers. “You ate it?”
“I...I don’t think so.” She had never dared ask what cook had done with the poor thing. But she didn’t think it had ended up on her plate. Or her soup bowl.
“How are you going to get it to him?”
“I suppose I will have to deliver it.”
“Yourself?” Victoria’s eyes grew suspicious. “Are you certain he isn’t handsome?”
“Quite certain.” Perhaps not completely certain, but Victoria didn’t need to know that. “Besides, he is titled, and you know how uninterested I am in any man who has a line to preserve.”
