British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  Moving across the room, Sarah stopped at the door and grasped her courage. She must cooperate with her mother … behave properly as society and her parents expected.

  Still she clung to her mother’s words. You may take your time finding the young man who captures your heart. Sarah would take her time.

  John hunched over the boxwood that formed a low maze in the formal garden. Pruning the new growth, he shaped the shrubs into perfect cubes. In each corner of the garden, the greenery formed four intricate patterns. In the hub of the adjoining paths stood rows of iris, delphinium, foxglove, and in the center, a sundial. The formality reminded him of society—everything in its appropriate place.

  Concentrating on his work, John trimmed the outer hedges beside the displays of peonies and rosebushes. When footsteps crunched on the gravel, he sprang to his feet. “Miss Hampton,” he said catching his breath.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Banning. The garden looks grand.”

  She stood beside him with a pale pink parasol opened to block the sun. The color matched the trim on her pale gray dress.

  “Thank you.” Nervousness stiffened his stance, and he looked toward the opening in the gate, knowing her father would consider it inappropriate for him to converse with his daughter.

  “I so much enjoy the sunshine instead of spending gloomy hours in the arbor. My mother insists I attend one more ball. Men are so blessed to be excused from such foolishness.”

  Startled by her comment, John hesitated. While she seemed to wait for his response, he sorted through words that would be proper for a man in his position. “I’m sure it will be a wonderful party. Your parents are eager to present you to the young men of the community.” He swallowed, imagining the suitors who would gather around her, awed by her loveliness.

  “Fiddle-faddle, I’ll oblige if I must. But consider this, Mr. Banning. What do you do if you visit a shop for a new cap … and none meets your expectation?”

  He struggled with her thinking, wondering how she had moved the conversation from admirers to caps. He could only answer her honestly. “I would not be interested in a new cap, I suppose.”

  “Yes, that’s my thinking exactly. If no suitor meets my expectation, I’ll not be interested.”

  Thinking of what had been said, John finally thought he understood. “I’m certain one gentleman will catch your fancy, miss.”

  She shrugged and traipsed away toward a row of blossoming perennials. “Perhaps, but I can’t imagine it.”

  Her voice caught on the breeze, and John hid the grin that curved his lips. He bent again to the trimming, though his concentration centered on the vision of gray and pink who strutted nearby.

  “Look at the peonies,” she called, moving closer to the row of flowering stems. “The ants have done their work. They’re open wide and very delicate—like flounces on a ball gown.”

  Eyeing the fragile blossom, he could imagine Sarah dressed in a dainty frock covered with ruffles and lace, accepting the offer of a dance from a young gentleman. As she moved from flower to flower, her graceful manner delighted him. Her delicate parasol bounced above her head while sunshine spread around her feet like liquid gold.

  Without thinking, he stepped to her side, bent down, snipped a blushing peony blossom from the plant, and presented it to her. Sending him a sweet smile, she accepted the stem between two long pale fingers and nestled it against the bodice of her frock.

  Her direct gaze lowered to the blossom. “It’s so beautiful. Look at the tinge of pink.” She extended the petals beyond the shade of her parasol and in the full sun, the color seemed ethereal.

  Before she drew the peony into the shade, a large white butterfly lit upon the bloom. Sarah paused, and her face filled with delight.

  John watched as the airy insect flitted above the flower, its wings wafting like a lady’s fan, intriguing and enticing.

  When the butterfly floated away, Sarah gasped and drew in a full breath. “I forgot to breathe,” she said, her laughter as airy as the insect. “Such a lovely moment. Thank you, Mr. Banning.”

  Her delight had given him a lovely moment as well. “You’re welcome, miss … but God provided the butterfly. I only offered you the flower.”

  “Indeed, but I still want to thank you.” As if struck by a thought, she faltered and slipped her fingers beneath her lace-fringed sleeve. “Lest I forget …”

  She withdrew a white cloth from beneath the pink ruffle, and John stared at it in amazement. Could it be his kerchief? And if so, why had she tucked it into her sleeve?

  She presented the handkerchief to him. “Here. It is yours. Remember? You offered it to me to wipe my hands.”

  He stood frozen, unable to move.

  “Don’t fear, Mr. Banning. It’s clean. I washed it for you.” As if encouraging him to accept it, she jiggled her hand, and the cloth splayed downward, fluttering on the breeze.

  He grasped the clean kerchief, noticing the neat stitching in the corner; the cloth could not be his. When he lifted the end, his pulse surged, seeing the letters J B. His initials. His monogram.

  He pulled his amazed gaze from the white fabric and looked at Sarah. “But this isn’t … did someone—”

  “I embroidered your initials. There is no B for Big. I hope you don’t mind.”

  B? A soft chuckle rippled from his throat, followed by his concern. “I’m touched by your generosity, miss … but it’s not at all proper.”

  “Piffle, Mr. Banning. It’s my way to make you beholden.”

  He tensed, speculating what she might mean.

  “Now I’ll expect flowers from you. Vases of them for my pleasure. Our ailing gardener, Mr. Benson, presented me flowers often. Might I expect the same?”

  Shamelessly, John gazed at the woman, wanting to remind her Benson was elderly and married. But how could John tell her he could not give her flowers because he might also give her his heart?

  Sarah carried the flower inside, filled a small vase, and carried it to her bedroom. Setting it on her dressing table, she sank onto her bed and gazed at the blossom. Her hands trembled with the awareness of her shameless behavior toward the young man. She had been flirtatious with the orchard keeper—totally improper and unforgivable to her parents. She prayed God would not find her indiscretion unpardonable.

  Sarah lifted the hem of her skirt and slid her feet onto the bed. Through the lace curtain, a blue sky filled the window, and she lifted her prayer toward the heavens, asking God if the feelings that struggled inside her were the Lord’s bidding or her own evil direction. No matter, she needed God’s forgiveness.

  “Sarah.” Her mother’s voice sailed through the doorway.

  “Come in,” she called, watching the door until it opened and her mother stepped inside, her mauve skirts swishing against the door frame.

  “Are you well? You look flushed.” Her mother bustled across the floor and pressed the back of her hand to Sarah’s cheek.

  “I’m well. I walked in the garden, and I became heated.” Sarah could never tell her mother what brought the blush to her cheeks.

  “Perhaps that’s all it is.” Her mother rose and drew a cloth from the washstand, then wet it with water from the pitcher. Returning to Sarah, she pressed the damp towel against her daughter’s forehead. “I have exciting news.”

  From the enthusiasm in her mother’s voice, Sarah’s interest was aroused. “What news, Mother?”

  “Father has agreed we will all go to London to visit the Crystal Palace Exhibition. I suggested the holiday to celebrate your birthday.”

  “To London—but how long would we be gone?” Her mother’s expression sent a fearful sensation skittering down Sarah’s back. She should have expressed excitement, not disappointment. “How lovely. Thank you.” She prayed she had hidden her obvious concern beneath her new exuberance.

  “My–my, Sarah, for a moment you sounded as if you didn’t want to go.” She fanned herself with her hand, then rose and lifted the window to allow a cooler breeze to
drift into the warm room. “There, now that’s much better.” She sent Sarah a gentle smile. “While in London, we’ll purchase new gowns, especially for the ball.”

  Instead of returning to Sarah’s side, her mother pulled back the curtain and peered outside. “The new orchard keeper is certainly making wonderful improvements to the landscaping.” Facing the room, her gaze lit upon the flower on Sarah’s dresser.

  Sarah swallowed her guilt.

  “Who gave you the peony, Sarah?”

  Controlling her vulnerability, Sarah sat up and swung her feet to the floor. “It’s from the garden.”

  “But you didn’t pick the flower. Peonies have strong stems and must be cut,” her mother said as her back stiffened.

  Feeling helpless again, Sarah’s shoulders sank. “I asked Mr…. the orchard keeper to cut the blossom for me.”

  “The orchard keeper?” Her mother’s lips puckered with disapproval. “The Banning boy is a farmer.”

  “He is not a boy, Mother. He’s a man … and …” Sarah realized her error too late. The words had already slipped from her lips and struck her mother’s ear.

  “Yes, Sarah, John Banning is a man. Please use good sense and proper conduct when dealing with such matters.” With a final look, she turned and strode from the room.

  Sarah stared at the empty doorway, then turned to the lovely peony on her table. Did good sense and proper behavior have anything at all to do with her? She cringed, knowing the unwelcome answer.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah passed through the garden gate and wandered among the flowers, longing to see Mr. Banning. His work took him to both the orchard and the gardens. Perhaps today, he labored among the apple trees.

  She sensed he’d been avoiding her. As soon as she appeared near the stone bench, he scurried toward the shed or to another area of the garden. Still from a distance, she noticed his gaze turned toward her, and Sarah wondered if he felt the same stirring excitement as she did.

  Her mother guarded her incessantly. They had spent hours together planning the August ball. At times, Sarah had longed to be stricken with some disease—the plague maybe—so the ball could be canceled. Then the seriousness of her wish struck her, and she would retract her thought, asking God to forgive her foolishness and to proffer a way to solve her dilemma.

  In only a few days, her family would head for London. Her father, who had gone a month earlier on business, had viewed a small part of the amazing industrial exhibition and had told her about the wonders of the display. Though Sarah looked forward to exploring the new Crystal Palace, she did not look forward to buying the gown for her ball. She loved new frocks, but the ball gown affirmed the immediacy of her birthday … and her August gala. If she were truly honest, she preferred to remain in Barnham near the orchard keeper, even though he pretended not to see her.

  Sarah quickened her pace, returning to the garden gate, holding the spring-green parasol to cover her fair skin from the summer sun. Perhaps Mr. Banning had not come to the manor at all today. She shrugged and stepped briskly across the lawn, up the stairs, and closed the parasol.

  When she entered the house, Sarah ambled down the hallway with no idea how she would occupy her time. Passing her father’s study, his voice rang out to her. She spun around and stood in the doorway. “Good afternoon, Papa. It’s a lovely day.”

  “You’ve been walking in the garden?” From his desk, he looked at her over his spectacles.

  “Only a few minutes.” Did he suspect her interest in the orchard keeper? She waited for his reprimand.

  “Where are you off to now, Sarah?”

  His questions caused a guilty shiver up her spine. She shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. Perhaps I shall read.”

  He slipped off his spectacles and rubbed his nose. “Would you do your papa a favor, please?”

  Relieved, she stepped deeper into the room. “Certainly.”

  He slid on his eyeglasses. “Mr. Banning is in the conservatory. Would you tell him to see me before he leaves today? He can ring the servant’s bell and have someone show him the way to my study.”

  Her heart leaped at the news. “Yes, I’d be happy to deliver your message.” She monitored her excitement, longing to dance from the room and head for the conservatory. She forced herself to cross the floor and kiss her father’s cheek before leaving his company.

  Once beyond her father’s gaze, she dashed past the family parlor and dining room, through the large formal sitting room, and out the French doors toward the conservatory. Stepping beneath the glass dome, she stood in place, making a circle and peering through the palms and ferns. When she heard a noise from the left, her attention focused on the greenhouse, and she followed the sound.

  When she stepped inside, the orchard keeper lifted his head from his work.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Banning,” she said.

  He shifted, his gaze darting toward the doorway. “Why … have you come here, miss?”

  “Looking for you.” Gesturing toward him, Sarah realized she still carried the parasol.

  “Looking for me?” His jaw tensed. “But why?” His brows knitted.

  “I will tell you soon enough, but first, I need you here.” She beckoned him to follow.

  Clearly concerned yet curious, John wiped his hands on a ragged cloth and walked behind her into the conservatory. Inside the dome, she sank to the stone bench and patted the seat beside her.

  He eyed her frilly parasol.

  “I came from the garden,” she replied, answering his questioning look. “Please sit here.” She pressed her palm against the bench. “I cannot see you up there.”

  “Miss, I … I can’t sit with you.” He glanced toward the glass enclosure of the greenhouse. “I’m working.” His thoughts jumped to the garden. Had he trimmed something improperly? What had been so urgent in the garden to cause her to search for him?

  “Please,” she said, looking into his eyes and causing him to tremble. “Father is in his study and Mother is indisposed. Don’t be apprehensive.”

  “Has my work displeased you?” He studied her face, seeing no unpleasantness.

  “Your work? Not at all, Mr. Banning. I admire your ability in the garden.”

  “Then, why have you looked for me?”

  “I have a message, but first, I am curious. I desire to know more about you.”

  “Me? No … miss, being alone with you is improper.”

  “I’m weary of being proper, Mr. Banning. I’ll go away if you will sit beside me for only a moment.” She gestured again to the empty place at her side.

  He eyed his dusty clothes, then her lovely green- and white-striped wrapper and matching parasol, her hair knotted and pinned at her neck. He should not allow himself to submit to her, but winning the battle seemed hopeless.

  The young woman’s determination awed him. Such strength and honesty in one petite frame. He sank to the farthest corner. His voice tightened in his throat, and he could not look in her eyes; they were too close … too intimate. “What do you want to know, miss?”

  “I wish you would call me Sarah.” Her voice seemed more a whisper.

  He could never call her by name. Sarah. It played in his mind like a love song.

  Perhaps she could ignore propriety, but his position allowed him no options.

  “I understand your family lives in town,” she said.

  “A farm on the outskirts of town, miss.”

  “Who tends the farm?” She plucked at the pleat in her skirt.

  “I do … and four brothers, miss.”

  She drew in a gasp of breath. “You toil here all day, then—”

  “Yes, evenings and the hours I’m not in your father’s employ,” he said, recalling how weary his life had seemed before meeting … Sarah.

  Her eyes widened. “Do you not have time for leisure?”

  “On occasion,” he said. But the occasion had been very rare. While her life abounded with social engagements, parties, and excursions, he toiled … b
ut not forever. Someday he would own a business … if God honored his dream.

  “Work is not meant to fill each hour,” Sarah said. “I’m sure God has provided a verse to assure us that pleasure and leisure are important, too.”

  John searched his memory. “My knowledge of Scripture is limited, though I would presume the Lord allows some leisure.”

  “But … you quoted me a verse, don’t you remember?” A frown marred her face. “I thought—”

  “I know there is a God in heaven who controls the universe and directs the seasons, but … a man of my means has no time for church and little time for Bible reading.”

  She shifted to face him more squarely, a quizzical expression on her face. “Then how did you know the Bible verse the day we met?”

  “From my mother. She always reminded us if God found the earth perfect enough to create people, then we should never be too proud to till the soil.” His pulse raced as he looked into her tender eyes.

  “Such meaningful words … your mother’s.” She lifted her head toward the light streaming through the overhead glass. As if kissed by heaven, the sun’s rays beamed upon her.

  “But why have I not seen you before … until that day in the garden?” she asked.

  “I’ve been away working as an apprentice. I dream of owning my own cyder business one day. A cyder of such fine quality it will receive a warrant from the queen.” Embarrassed at his admission, he paused. She would probably think him foolish to have such high hopes.

  “Mr. Banning,” Sarah said, her voice as tender as a whisper, “that’s a wonderful ambition. Please don’t call it a dream. Dreams don’t always transpire, but ambition … that is different.”

  “Thank you kindly for your confidence,” John said, rising. “Now I must return to the greenhouse.” He extended his hand to help her rise.

  “You are a gentleman, sir,” Sarah said. “I have more than confidence in you—I have faith. I shall pray for God’s blessing on your endeavors. With God, Mr. Banning, all things are possible.”