Fortune's Flower

by Mary Ellen Boyd

  He took a step closer to the door. Verbena looked at Mrs. Downs’ smiling face, and smothered her sigh. “Please come in,” she said, but she knew they would come in regardless.

  “I hear you were hurt. You look pale, my dear. What a pity that we ain’t had a chance to become acquainted before now. And your sister so newly widowed. Poor dear. So young to be a widow.”

  As Mrs. Downs spoke, she set down her basket, removed her bonnet, hung it on one of the pegs, pulled out her apron and started tying it. Goodness, Verbena thought, this one is not wasting any time, either. She did not want to admit it, but part of her gave a sigh of relief. That spot on her side had been hurting more than she wanted to admit, and the work would not wait. The children all had their own chores. Matthew was catching fish for supper, Julius was pulling weeds at the Holman’s, and the girls were feeding the chickens and cleaning the coop.

  Now she could concentrate on the tasks that did not require any lifting or scrubbing. Like mending Matthew’s pantaloons, and trying to alter one of Julius’s to fit. That she could do without pain.

  She felt Damon’s eyes on her. Much as she wanted to blurt out her gratitude, she could not bring herself to look at him yet. She had to make sure her embarrassment would not show first.

  Was Edeline wrong about the Therns?

  Mrs. Downs looked around the kitchen. “I see you been doing the dishes. You jest forget about that. Don’t you be worryin about a thing. I can do all the heavy work. A broken rib, now, that is a bad thing. Especially for someone as tiny as you. Why, I wager even breathing hurts. An you have no padding on them bones of yours. I remember catching my heel in my skirt hem an takin a tumble down some stairs an landin hard once. But I’m so much stronger than you, an even then I had a bit of paddin. Even so, I was bruised for days, let me tell you.”

  Damon stood off to the side, that same smile on his face, his eyes never wavering away from her face. Not even with Mr. Dibble banging away on the door frame.

  Mrs. Downs rubbed her hands together. “Now you just show me where your laundry is. Soon’s I’m done with the dishes, I’ll get on that. I’m a wonder with the scrub board, let me tell you. I can get a whole week worth of laundry done in no time. Course, it is just my man an me now, what with all the children grown up. You should have seen the smile on his face when Mr. Thern here said how much he’d pay me for just a little bit of work that I can do in my sleep.”

  Her bright brown eyes pinned Verbena. How she wished she dared turn to Damon right now and give him a glare! Yes, she was grateful, but anyone would know at a glance, or a minute’s listen, that if there was anything the village did not know yet about the Barnes, this woman would ferret it out. And her ability to keep any secrets at all seemed nonexistent.

  “You jest scat now, an leave me be to work.”

  In spite of her misgivings, Verbena had to smile. She suspected if Damon had not taken her arm and started leading her out, Mrs. Downs would have pushed her out herself.

  So she collected her bonnet and let Damon walk her past Mr. Dibble and out the front door. Strange, to feel a visitor in her own house. She normally used the back door, out the kitchen, just because it was shortest to the shed and the coop.

  But Damon took her out her front door. And down the rocky path toward the small woods that separated them from the village. At least he was not taking her toward Thernwood. His hand rested on hers where it was linked through his elbow.

  Verbena did not know what to do, other than keep walking. She looked down at her chapped, red hand where it rested on his rich blue coat. She curled her fingers, hoping to hide them, and stayed at his side. It was a clear, sunny day, not too warm for a walk.

  Matthew’s pantaloons could wait a little longer. It really was a lovely day, and she did not remember ever going for a stroll without having to get some place.

  The birds sang in the trees around them as if they too enjoyed the sun. The air was fresh, not sticky as it could get on really hot days, but light, easy to breathe. She smelled a hint of bread baking, drifting toward them on the breeze. It blended with the delicate scents of trees and blooming things. And Damon, as he warmed with the exertion.

  He drew them both to a stop. “So. Am I improving myself a little bit in your eyes?”

  She felt his head dip to see her face around the bonnet’s brim. She looked back, into those expressive dark eyes. “I do not know why you are doing this for us, but I’m grateful. You don’t know what a help this is.”

  He sighed. “Oh, but I think I do. I am not doing this for your gratitude, although I’m glad it will help you.”

  He started walking again, with his hitched gait. “In the war, many women followed their husbands. We had women around the camp all the time. I watched them work. It never ended, washing and cooking, even caring for the children, although there was not much of that in my regiment. But I did see it. Women even followed their husbands onto the battlefield rather than stay behind, waiting and worrying.”

  He took another breath, deep, as if bracing himself and Verbena waited. They walked a few more steps before he spoke again. “You remind me of them. Hard-working and utterly loyal to those you love. You would follow your husband into the battle, I believe.”

  She stumbled, but he caught her arm and steadied her until she found her balance and they could resume their walk.

  He looked down at her again. “You are an admirable woman, Miss Verbena.”

  They had reached the end of the drive, where it split to go to the village or around to Thernwood. He halted in the shade of a great oak and stared off toward the first houses that marked the village. “You were right about most of my class. Before I spoke with you, I knew nothing about the people who live here. I assumed they did well. The houses all appeared clean, the shops were not boarded. I had no idea where they got their business, or who had the coin to pay them. I might excuse myself because I was ill, but I have not that excuse now.”

  Verbena recalled their conversation by the log, the same one that seemed to have made such an impression on him. Two people at least in the village had reason to be glad she had called him out on his lapses. “I’m not totally without guilt myself. I seldom go into the village. There just is not time for any casual calls, and when I do go, it is to pay the bills my father incurs.”

  He shook his head. “You at least do that much. Your criticism of my class was deserved. I am not them, nor am I blind to what goes on.”

  In his own house? But she could not ask.

  “I promise, I will monitor my inheritance better than my brother did.”

  “Or your father?” She could not believe the words came out.

  He frowned at her, and seemed to draw away even though her hand was still held in his elbow. “I can’t speak for my father. The village is surviving, so clearly he does watch over them.”

  Verbena had no response to that. Maybe Mr. Thern did care for the village. They paid rents, after all. The Barnes, however, owned their small bit, and were outside the Thern’s purview.

  Verbena wished she could take her sharp words back. Anything she said might make it harder for Edeline, but somehow she did not think Damon would tell tales on her. She had the sudden wish to draw out his smile again. “I apologize. That was cruel of me. I do not know your family, and have no business speaking ill of them.”

  He accepted it with a quick nod. “Will you at least absolve me of being careless and thoughtless?”

  She found a smile, and hoped it looked genuine. “You are doing very well. The villagers will spread the stories of your care far and wide.”

  “And you?” His gaze sharpened.

  “I have no one to tell. Other than the children, of course.”

  He gave a quick squeeze on her arm where it rested on his. “Do you absolve me of being thoughtless?”

  From the intensity in his eyes, Verbena knew it mattered. “Yes, I do absolve you. You are doing very well. You will be a wonderful landlord, I’m certain.”

>   “How am I doing as person? Not a useless fribble?”

  Her smile was certainly genuine now. “Not at all a useless fribble.”

  “Good. At least I have redeemed myself in other respects because I fear I have pushed myself too far and now I must bring you back to your house.”

  “Lean on me, if you need to. I’m stronger than I look.”

  “And injured yourself. But yes, I do know how strong you are.” They started back, his steps halting and slow, but his color was still good and if he had pain, he did not show it. At least not in his face.

  He was stronger than he looked, too, she thought, and wished she dared gaze at him, look and take more of the measure of this man.

  But propriety intervened. And loyalty, just as he had said a moment ago, held her back.

  CHAPTER 8

  Verbena heard the church bell tolling the death knell for Andrew as she walked carefully down the dusty village street. She was late, but at least she had taken care of one errand. The letter to Aunt Mabel was on its way. The children had stayed at home. No one had attire presentable enough for a funeral, especially not with so many of the wealthy down from London.

  Edeline needed support. That meant at least one of the Barnes had to make an appearance. She was the only one who could. And that simply because she fit into Mother’s old clothes, one of which, while not a mourning gown, was at least black and would pass.

  Despite the swelling around her ribs from Father’s kick, Verbena had managed to get into Mother’s black gown and shoes. Her hair, however, had been beyond her. Even though it was pinned up, she had done an awkward job and did not have much faith that the pins would stay. Maybe the bonnet would help.

  So here she was, scurrying to the church to let Edeline see she was not alone. Someone shuffled up behind her, and Verbena stepped sideways. A man strode boldly up the stone stairs and grabbed the big bronze handles. Verbena hurried behind him, and managed to slip through before they shut.

  As if in sympathy, the bell tolled exactly as the door thumped shut. The long mournful peal sent shivers down her spine. It was somehow different from the pealing that happened every Sunday, this one slow and chilling.

  Verbena did not even know if their plan for Edeline’s escape was still in force. Ever since Damon had driven Edeline back to Thernwood in the majestic family carriage, they had not seen her, nor had there been word. To be sure, it had been scarcely two days, and she knew the Therns house had been filled with visitors.

  The sensibilities and restrictions from London on who could and could not attend funerals had not reached their little town, and the church was filled to capacity. It was easy to see who were villagers. The men wore rough woolens and must be stifling in the stuffy heat of the church. The local women wore linens and chintz in every color of the rainbow, and their hats drooped from long use. Here and there, a man’s rough nankeen-clad leg poked out into the aisle. Candles flickered in the sconces on the wall, and the good silver candlesticks that came out only on special occasions were placed on either side of the coffin. The black velvet pall covering the coffin draped down to the floor, forming a puddle of death there.

  Toward the front were the London guests. Somewhere the Therns must be held in affection, for so many to come and even attend the funeral.

  Silk rustled its distinctive sound, and taffeta shimmered in the blend of stained glass sunlight and the softer glow from the candles. Bonnets were everywhere. Straw and silk, ruffled and bowed, and as pristine as the day they were made. Today all were distinguished by the sign of mourning. Black bows and ribbons and ruffles peeking from underneath, everyone had at least done something to show respect for the occasion.

  Verbena tried to be inconspicuous as she looked around for a place to sit. She did not see Edeline before she was allowed to squeeze through a row, and it was worse after she got seated. One of the local farmers sat on one side, smelling slightly of cow. The village milliner sat on the other side, a painfully thin woman, and taller than most of the men in the village. Her husband barely came up to her shoulder, but they seemed happy enough.

  Verbena could not see around the bodies in front of her, let alone spot Edeline, and she wished – not for the first time – for a little more height. As she gingerly leaned against the firm support of the pew’s back, she had to accept that the whole painful journey to town was a wasted effort. Edeline would never know she had even come. The whole church was filled with people desperate for something to overhear – and spread.

  Just like their hired housekeeper. Mrs. Downs was full of gossip and delighted to pass every bit of it along. They had already been updated on all manner of the Thern’s private affairs.

  As the congregation shuffled into silence, Verbena heard the woman’s voice again. “All the Thern’s high and mighty friends have come all the way from London,” Mrs. Downs had gushed the first time she came, after Damon had left and the two were getting better acquainted. “There’s all manner of the fancy here. I hear tell our plain Mr. Thern got himself a title when he was in London. He is a baronet, that he is. That’s why he ’as been gone so long this last time. That makes him a ‘sir’ now, an I suspect he’ll be making the most of it. So our Sir Edward Thern,” she stressed the title with a strange pride, “wanted to move the funeral to London, but there is a family cemetery in the churchyard here, an they decided it was not seemly to move the body all the way back down to town.”

  Thank goodness for a family cemetery, Verbena had thought then, and the thought returned with force. Had the Therns gone to London to bury Andrew, they would have dragged Edeline, the new widow, with them as a matter of course and any hope of escape would have been at least most difficult, at worst, impossible.

  Now the Therns had the weight of a title on their side. A baronet, which was some small comfort. A duke or an earl would have been too much to fight.

  The bell’s tolling faded into silence and the vicar took his place in the pulpit.

  Verbena tried to concentrate as the parson droned on about Andrew’s righteous life and the joys that awaited him on his resurrection, but she kept hoping for at least a glimpse of her sister. Sitting in the back as she was with no way to see what was happening in the front rows, she cared little about Andrew’s eternal fate.

  Her mind stubbornly stuck on her sister’s welfare. Had she fainted, or gotten sick, or any one of a dozen things a pregnant woman might do to give herself away? If Mrs. Downs was right, and the big house was filled with guests, hiding her condition was going to be an hour by hour, minute by minute fright.

  The congregation rose. The first few rows milled about, and Verbena watched them split into two groups. The men followed the coffin, but the women went out a different door, not down the aisle. Big burly footmen surrounded the women in their fancy expensive garb and ushered them through the opposite door, normally used on the hottest days to provide ventilation. Verbena tried to see around the mass of people between them and find her sister somewhere in that group, but it was hopeless.

  She had hesitated too long. Someone behind her pushed, and Verbena gasped. The pain eased before the person could shove again. She exited with her pew, moving down the aisle toward the main doors.

  Ah, well. She had done her best, but now had driven herself too far, and she needed to rest.

  A hairpin fell onto the ground in front of her as she stepped outside into the sunlight. Verbena left it there. Her hair was falling down, as she expected, yet another reason to slip away.

  The bulk of the crowd turned right toward the village proper, the shops and houses, and Verbena turned left with the stragglers.

  *

  If he had not been so tall, he would not have even seen her in the crowd. Damon stopped at the top of the stairs and watched Verbena walk away. She looked right and left, but thankfully she did not turn and look up. He had to force himself to stay in place.

  As soon as Andrew’s consignment was over, he intended to pay the Barnes a visit.

 
He had more than one reason for checking up on them. All was not well with Edeline, either. The two women must have met the day Andrew died for more than sisterly comfort, and he would very much like to know what that was.

  He had a plan for Verbena. More a wish, actually. If he had designed a woman for himself, it would have been her.

  Maybe he had designed her, in the blood and dirt and death of the war, kept her face as the ideal to which all other woman must compare. But what was she really like? He had seen what she wanted him to see, but something was going on under the surface.

  *

  The door was flung open. Matthew burst inside, hardly the proper decorum for such a somber day. “Verbena went to the funeral this morning,” he said to someone behind him.

  Verbena swung her legs down to the floor, eased herself upright, and winced sharply at that harsh quick pain around her ribs. Matthew’s report would hardly be news to Mrs. Downs, and instead Damon’s rich voice rolled through the air. “I am very glad to hear it. Thank you for letting me come see how she is doing for myself.”

  Lizabeth and Annabelle leapt to their feet in such unison it seemed they had practiced the move, and dashed past the settee and out the parlor doors.

  Her biggest fear, that Damon would continue his inexplicable interest in the family, was coming to pass. In the midst of his constant watch, she and Edeline were supposed to plot a workable escape plan?

  “Damon! Damon!” the girls warbled, with complete disregard to his status as heir to a Title. “You came back!”

  His chuckle was just as warm as his voice. Verbena suddenly realized she had never heard him laugh before. How hard was it to put on a smiling face on the day of his brother’s funeral?

  “I need to speak to your sister,” he said, and the footsteps came closer, his measured and hesitant, favoring the leg, the girls’ light, almost dancing across the floor.