How to Ruin Your Reputation in 10 Days (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  His arm tightened around my shoulders. “Thank you again, by the way.”

  My cheeks heated as my gaze dropped to his mouth. The heat of his body surrounded me. I’d never felt so relaxed, comfortable and yet aware of him at the same time. Would he kiss me again? When he made no move to, I leaned closer. He didn’t pull away.

  I brushed my lips against his when the driver pulled the horses to a stop. He rapped on the roof to get our attention. “Hyde Park,” he announced. “Do you fancy a ride through the park, sir?”

  “No, thank you,” Julian called back. He retracted his arm and opened the carriage door. I tried to hide my disappointment.

  He paid the driver and helped me disembark from the conveyance. The hackney had stopped precisely in front of the heavy gates to the park. They yawned open. Julian tipped his head to the gatekeeper as he offered me his arm.

  “My lady,” he said.

  I shook my head as I slipped my hand onto his strong forearm.

  “We’re shutting the gates within the hour,” the gatekeeper warned. “Do see that you don’t dally.”

  “We won’t be long,” Julian said. He guided me into the park and strolled with me down the carefully groomed path. Here it was still wide enough for two phaetons to pass side by side if needed. Despite his words, he made no effort to quicken his step. Our pace was slow enough that my ankle didn’t protest.

  “Where is this plant?” I asked.

  He laughed at my eagerness. “Farther into the park,” he answered. “We’ll get there. Enjoy the evening.”

  “Easy for you to say. You weren’t roused from bed less than an hour ago.”

  He grinned. The strong moonlight glinted off his teeth.

  “Tell me what has happened in the last few months,” he said, his voice soft. “As you pointed out, I have a lot of time to catch up on.”

  With a little encouragement, I told him everything I’d wanted to put in my letters. Every letter that I’d started to write out of frustration, joy, or simply because something had happened that I thought he’d find amusing. As we strolled, he said little. He listened to my chatter, laughed and commented on one of my tales, but offered nothing in return.

  As we meandered farther into the park, deviating from the main path and onto the well-trodden grasses, the streetlamps faded away, leaving us ensconced in darkness, with only the glint of the moon to light our way. It was as though the whole of London had fallen asleep, leaving only the two of us awake. The park was deserted.

  I turned my face up to look at him. “What of you? You haven’t said a word of what you’ve been doing over the past few months.”

  His expression closed. Perhaps it was a trick of the dim light. “I don’t want to think of Leicestershire. I wish we’d never grown up. Back before you moved away and Juliana was married and—” His voice broke. He rubbed at his eyes with the knuckles of his free hand.

  Of course. The engagement of convenience. If he didn’t want it, why had he agreed to it?

  Probably for the same reason I would marry. Our lives weren’t our own, not really. Our hearts had little to do with what we did with our bodies. Like Papa, Julian had probably agreed to the engagement because of the desired connections it would bring to his family. As much as I wished differently, in the end I might have to do the same.

  Julian tugged me into a thicket of trees. “The plant I saw was this way.” He navigated the way for us in the dim light sifting between the broad, fat leaves of the trees. When we emerged into the open air once more, he said, “It’s not far now.”

  He led me to a patch of grass and pointed at the ground. “Here it is.”

  I glanced at the flora, then back at his face. He was utterly serious. Not a single twitch of a muscle betrayed that he jested. I got down on my hands and knees, just to be sure.

  Biting my lip to keep from either laughing at him or scolding him, I got to my feet and dusted off the knees of my dress. “That,” I said, pointing to the plant cluster, “is a common clover patch. Not rare in any way.”

  He shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I’m no botanist.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “Passing twenty such clusters on our way here should have been some indication of the rarity of the plant.”

  With a grin, he swooped in to capture my lips. His kiss was light, teasing. Just like him. It was perfect. I clung to him, holding tight to the moment.

  At least until a grinding sound shattered the serenity of the night. I broke the kiss. “What was that?”

  Julian cringed. “It could be nothing.” His dubious tone said otherwise.

  “But?”

  The chime of the clock sounded in the distance. Twelve strikes.

  “But we should check, just to be sure.”

  This time, our progress through the park wasn’t languid, but frantic. My ankle ached, but I maintained his pace without complaint. When we reached the front of the park, he stopped short.

  The gatekeeper, fastening the lock on the gate, viewed us with a scowl. Julian held up his hands. “Forgive us. This was my fault. I lost track of time.”

  A shadow of pain gripped my ankle. I pressed my lips together and said nothing. When I shifted most of my weight onto my other foot, a throb started in my injured ankle.

  Grumbling, the gatekeeper opened the gate only wide enough for us to slip between. Julian thanked him and slipped him a few coins for his troubles while I leaned against the brick wall. When he returned to my side, Julian said, “I’ll go find us a hack. You don’t look up to walking on that ankle.”

  I nodded. The gravity of the last few days weighed heavy on my shoulders once more. I’d known I would have to return to reality eventually, but with Julian I’d been able to forget for a while. Forget everything except the miraculous fact that he was by my side again, when he hadn’t been for a decade.

  “Don’t,” he said, catching my chin in his free hand. He turned my face toward him. “Don’t leave me again.”

  “I’m right here.”

  “Maybe, but your mind is wandering miles away. I can tell by the look on your face.”

  For a long moment, I gazed into his eyes, wondering what to say. Eventually, I whispered, “I have to go back to my life eventually. And you have to go back to yours.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. A shutter fell over his gaze, cutting me off from his thoughts. He stiffly retracted his hand. “I’ll be back momentarily.”

  Don’t leave me again.

  I wanted to parrot his words back at him, to beg him to stay in my life. Without his levity, his smile, his kiss, the future looked bleak. I pressed my lips together and smothered the words before they reached the open air.

  I couldn’t ask him to stay with me, not when I couldn’t guarantee that I’d be able to make the same commitment to him. Would I defy Papa’s wishes and marry Julian, if I could? I didn’t want to be married, but Julian and I were such close friends that I had to wonder if maybe, with him, the enterprise wouldn’t be as dreadful as I anticipated.

  Shoving the notion from my head, I steeled myself for the days to come. It didn’t matter whether or not I’d defy Papa’s wishes to marry Julian. He wasn’t free to marry me.

  Chapter Twelve

  I pinched off the deadhead of an orchid plant. Angraecum album majus, to be exact, better known as the moon orchid. A silly and auspicious name for the delicate white flower, but I’d helped myself to a cutting nonetheless. Mother had received the original specimen from Southeast Asia.

  With a sigh and a regretful shake of my head, I used a sharp pair of shears to head back a withering offshoot. I snipped as close to the stem as possible without damaging the plant. Moisture beaded over the opening in the healthy green stalk, beginning the healing process.

  I set down the shears with care and examined the rest of the plant. What a temperamental specimen, orchids. Rather like my friend Rose in that way. For two days, I hadn’t been able to tend to it with my ankle giving me grief, and without the att
ention it melodramatically decided to wither under the less experienced care of a servant. Not the entire plant, just an offshoot it could live without. Come to think of it, the flower mirrored Rose exactly. She sometimes pretended vapors at the slightest insult.

  Erysimum cheiri, now there was a hardy plant. The wallflower could survive any slight, even if it wasn’t nearly so pretty.

  The hothouse door opened, letting in a breeze from outside. The gust cooled the sweat on my neck. I shielded the frail orchid and squinted to identify the intruder. Mary shut the door forcibly. The humidity hanging in the air beaded fog on her spectacles. She removed them, stomping toward me with a scowl. She wore a dress today, thank the good Lord.

  “Watch your skirts.” I shuffled forward to ensure she hadn’t wounded my cutting of Mother’s latest specimen. The shoot, which I’d tucked under the lip of the workbench as it needed partial shade, remained upright in the pot. I patted the dirt around it for safe measure.

  Mary grumbled under her breath. “And people say I’m bizarre.”

  I pretended not to have heard.

  When I straightened, I found her staring at me with a pugnacious scowl. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I heard you were caught kissing a man.”

  I examined the leafy barrier of plants separating my side of the worktable with my mother’s. The slight rustle of her movements assured me she wasn’t paying the least bit of attention to the conversation, as usual.

  “It isn’t true,” I told Mary. A flush crept up my neck at the lie. I prayed it wouldn’t spread to my cheeks.

  Surprisingly, my friend took me at my word. Her angry expression dissolved into one of relief. “Good. I was afraid someone might have taken advantage of you. You aren’t the type to go around kissing men.”

  Unlike Rose. Her unspoken words sent my thoughts spiraling back to before Rose had married. The dim echoes of ancient arguments threatened to induce a headache.

  Changing the subject, I said, “I didn’t see you at the Wentworth’s luncheon yesterday.”

  “That’s because I didn’t go. I had more important things to do.”

  The tenacious glint in her eye warned me not to ask. If I showed interest, she might drag me along with her next time. I had enough scandal in my life right now as it was.

  “Oh! Pauline wanted me to inform that you received some flowers.”

  My lips parted in surprise. “What kind?”

  A glower stormed over her elfin features. “How am I to know? Ask her.”

  The rustling opposite me stopped. Scant seconds later, Mother poked her head around the side of the workbench. Stray strands of hair formed a messy halo around her head. A blunt stick of charcoal protruded from behind her ear. Dirt covered her gloves.

  “Flowers, did you say?” She absently wiped a hand over her cheek, leaving a dark smear. “Francine, that’s excellent news. Flowers are used as a means of indicating interest.”

  I covered my sigh by blowing at a stray curl drooping in front of my eyes. “I know, Mother.” In fact, I was surprised she knew courtship rituals existed, let alone what they entailed.

  Once again, she paid no attention to me. To Mary, she asked, “Who were they from?”

  My friend smiled tightly, no doubt choking down a snappy answer. “I don’t know. I’m afraid I didn’t ask.”

  “Well.” Mother huffed, glancing around. If she hoped to find a servant, she was out of luck. They tended to run off to cooler areas of the house the second we immersed ourselves in the plants. We often spent hours in the hothouse without noticing the passage of time.

  “Oh, bother. Mary, dear, would you mind fetching Pauline for us? We must know who the flowers came from.”

  Although she didn’t protest out loud, Mary left with obvious reluctance.

  Once the hothouse door closed behind her lithe form, Mother mused, “I do hope the flowers were sent by someone your father deems suitable.”

  Although the words sounded as though they might be addressed to me, she neither looked in my direction nor projected her voice. I shook my head. “Why do you care, Mother? The flowers aren’t likely to be rare.”

  Unless they came from a botanist. I might expire from the sheer joy of having attracted the notice of someone of my ilk, but where would I have attracted such a person? Certainly not at the luncheon yesterday, with rumors of my disgrace sullying the air. Most likely, the flowers were as ordinary as their senders.

  As one, Mother and I returned to our plants. I stuck my bare fingers in the moon orchid’s soil to test the moisture. Overwatered, to be sure.

  Mary returned, carting Pauline with her. She threw up her hands in exasperation as her spectacles fogged once more. She cleaned them on one sleeve but didn’t replace them on her face. A good choice. They would only fog up again.

  “Did you two move while I was gone?”

  I exchanged a glance with Mother from my position kneeling beside the pot encasing the azalea clipping I’d taken yesterday.

  Mother answered first. “Why? For how long were you gone?”

  “At least ten minutes.” Mary sounded exasperated, but she didn’t press the matter further. By now she likely realized ten minutes passed in but a blink of an eye when we engaged ourselves in the hothouse.

  Pauline lifted her arms, which held not one but two bouquets of flowers. “These came for you, miss.”

  I stood to examine the blooms. “Daisies and lilies. Common specimens.” Not from a botanist, then. I hid my disappointment behind a barren expression.

  Pauline sighed. “Miss Francine, will you ever care for the sentiment behind the flowers? These are the tokens of two esteemed gentlemen.”

  “I very much doubt their estimation if they send me common posies.”

  Irritation flooded Pauline’s face. She shook her head. “And you wonder why you haven’t found a match.”

  I chose not to be offended at her comment. She meant well. However, I refused to speculate on the motivations of the gentlemen in question.

  Mother rounded the corner of the workbench to stand with us. She made a disapproving noise under her breath. “They are rather unimaginative specimens.”

  I shot Pauline a look of triumph. Ha! I wasn’t the only one to think first of the flowers and second of the men who had sent them.

  “Who are they from?” Mother asked.

  Pauline handed the daisies off to Mother. “These are from a Mr. Johnstone.”

  I frowned. Maybe Rose was correct. Did he fancy me? At the very least, the lure of my dowry enticed him.

  To me, Mother said, “I’m not familiar with any Mr. Johnstones. Would your father look well on him?”

  “Hardly. He’s set to inherit the Hartfell estate.”

  Mother brightened. “He sounds like an excellent candidate.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Apparently she recalled no one outside of her particular circle. Elsewise, I wouldn’t have to remind her. “Lord Hartfell married Rose last Season.”

  “Oh.” The hopeful light in her eye winked out. She set the daisies carelessly on the workbench behind her. They tipped over and fell to the ground. No one moved to pick them up.

  “What of the other bouquet?” she asked, eyeing the lilies. The fiery blooms certainly drew the eye. And, as they would have had to be imported, as this particular species, Lilium bulbiferum, grew at higher altitudes in sunny climes, they were more expensive than the daisies by far. If the expenditure of money meant anything, Rose might have succeeded in finding me a viable candidate for marriage.

  I kept that thought to myself, however. Mary wouldn’t approve and I…well, I still held the faint hope of finding my botany-loving equal. Which this suitor certainly was not.

  Pauline juggled the bouquet in her arms to read the accompanying note. “This is listed from a Sir Phillip Trentham.”

  I groaned in dismay.

  Mother’s mouth puckered as she thought. A small groove appeared in between her eyebrows. “Why does that name sound
familiar?”

  “It’s Cheswick, Mother. The Cheswick nephew.”

  “Oh!” She beamed brighter than the sun sifting through the glass panes of the hothouse. “That is tremendous news. Francine, surely you recall I wanted you two to meet?”

  “We have met, Mother.” On numerous occasions, much to my detriment. I hated the fellow. “He’s entirely unsuitable. He doesn’t even notice me.” Unless it was to insinuate something lewd. Before yesterday, he’d never done that, either.

  “Nonsense! Your father and I have been speaking to Lord and Lady Cheswick quite a bit lately. We think it’s a splendid match.”

  My stomach lurched. “Papa hasn’t arranged something, has he?”

  “No.” Mother’s face softened as she repeated softly, “No. I know your feelings about an arranged marriage. You might be wrong, you know. Mine worked out to advantage. I think you’ll like Lady Cheswick’s nephew, if you give him a chance.”

  I wouldn’t. I opened my mouth to tell her, but she grabbed me by the wrist. Her glove was gritty with dirt. I doubted it would ever wash clean.

  “Come, we must pen a reply.”

  I tugged myself free. “There is no need for one. They’re only flowers.”

  “Give the card here,” Mother requested of Pauline. At least her attention had strayed from me, for the moment.

  She thrust the entire bouquet into Mother’s arms. Without the large blooms crowding her arms, I noticed a brown parcel tucked beneath her right underarm.

  Mary all but flayed Mother. “You’re putting too much in store from a gift of flowers. And the Cheswick nephew? A complete dolt! Surely you don’t expect Francine to entertain such a man.”

  With a sniff, Mother raised her chin in as supercilious an expression as I’d ever had the benefit of witnessing. “I expect her to do more than entertain him. I expect her to wed him. Lord Valentia has made it most clear she must marry by the end of the Season or he’ll send her away. Lady Cheswick’s nephew is the only man to have expressed interest that my husband considers suitable. I am not losing my baby.”

  My stomach turned somersaults. Was Mama on my side or wasn’t she? Given her propensity for devoting all her attention to her plants, I had to wonder if she would notice if I was gone despite her claim.