John gave Sarah a polite bow and backed away, with her words hanging in his thoughts. With God all things are possible. Could she be correct? Would God be interested in a lowly man’s hopes? Wouldn’t the Lord be too busy saving people for eternity to worry about a simple man’s plans?
He grinned, realizing he’d said plans, not dreams.
“Mr. Banning, I nearly forgot,” she said, pivoting toward him like a lithe dancer. “My father requests you see him in his study before you leave. Pull the cord and a servant will show you the way.”
Surrounded by ferns and palms and washed in sunlight, she sent him a bright smile and moved with grace through the doorway into the house. John stared at the empty opening, longing to be released from the feelings that stirred in his chest. She was a woman to be cherished.
Though she had vanished, he drank in her enticing scent of lavender and chamomile that clung in the air. Sweet. Young. Fresh. She appeared to be a dreamer as he was. He read it in her eyes. Though she tugged on his heart, he felt certain even God could not make this dream come true.
Saddened by the thought, he hurried back to his work, riddled with concern. Why did Mr. Hampton want to see him? Had he displeased the man? If God had a special plan for even the simplest of men, John prayed the Lord would be with him now.
The servant tapped on Edward Hampton’s door, and when admittance had been granted, John entered. Hampton sat at a spacious walnut desk, matching the paneling that covered the walls.
“Please,” Hampton said, rising and gesturing toward a chair, “have a seat.”
John hesitated, scrutinizing his rough work clothes. “I’ll stand, sir, as not to soil the upholstery.”
“Don’t be absurd, lad, sit.” He gestured again.
“Thank you.” John accepted the chair and waited, his hands twitching in his lap. He struggled to keep his eyes forthright and confident.
“Let me be direct. I have two reasons to speak with you. First, since your position at the manor, I have had no opportunity to discuss at any length the gardens and orchards with you. You mentioned you arrived home from an internship. I would enjoy hearing your new methods.”
“My methods?” John faltered, amazed at his employer’s interest.
“I trust you, John. You are a man of vision. You have come to me highly recommended. I’ve known your father for years and respect him.”
John relished his sincerity. “I hesitate to interfere with my untested approach.”
“Come now, I am only asking your thoughts,” Hampton said. “First let us discuss the orchard. I would like your opinion on the cyder apples.” He eyed John over his spectacles.
John hesitated, knowing his father leased acres of the Hamptons’ orchard. “Sir, I’m not certain what you—”
“Let me be totally frank. I’ve heard from some of the townsmen that your family’s cyder has a sweeter taste and higher color. Are you responsible for this?”
John nodded. “I have experimented with a variety of apples, sir, and I am pleased with the balance of flavor.”
“And I’ve heard you are producing a small batch of specialty cyder.” He waited with the look of expectation.
“Yes, sir. It is woodruff.”
Hampton stared at his desk, nodding thoughtfully. “Woodruff? Yes, it has a distinctive flavor.” He focused on John. “Let me consider what you’ve said, Big John. Now, tell me about the gardens. What news do you bring us?”
Reviewing methods he had recently learned, John described ways he’d been taught to improve the vegetable gardens. Then he recalled his excitement in working with new exotic flowers being grown in England.
Hampton drew back. “What of this ‘bedding out’ I’ve heard so much about? Have you seen the phenomena yourself? They tell me the origin is Aztec.”
“That’s correct, sir. I have seen it used for growing plants to create the intricate mosaic pattern of flower beds.”
“And pray tell, what are they?” Edward asked.
“Flowers bedded in varying colors that form pictures. Before returning home, I took a carriage ride past the new Crystal Palace in Hyde Park and saw the wonderful gardens there.”
“Ah, yes, I did catch a glimpse. Did you go inside?”
“No, sir, time did not permit a viewing. But it is a sight,” John said, recalling the amazing glass building he’d heard covered seven hectares on the ground and thirteen kilometers of display tables.
“Would you like to see the inside, Big John?” Edward asked.
John studied his employer, wondering why he had asked about an impossibility. “Certainly, sir. Visiting the industrial exhibit would be a man’s dream.”
“If you would like, you will have your dream … with one condition.”
John closed his gaping mouth, embarrassed at his addled state. “Sir, I don’t understand.”
“I am asking you a favor. I have promised my wife and daughter a trip to London to see the Crystal Palace—a brief trip that will include a shopping excursion for the ladies. I can no longer travel with them, having pressing business here at home.”
“How might I assist you?” John asked, his mind whirring with possibilities.
“I trust you, young man. Not wanting to disappoint my family, I would like you to accompany them to London. You and the coachman will be paid and accommodations arranged.”
I trust you. Obviously, Mr. Hampton had no knowledge of Sarah’s visits to the garden or conversations with him. The man had no idea how John struggled to control his feelings for the intelligent, lovely young woman. A woman presented and ready to marry.
John grappled with his employer’s offer. Saying no seemed impossible, but spending such luxurious hours with Miss Banning would be John’s undoing.
“So will you consider my offer, John? I will be ever in your debt.” Hampton slid his spectacles from his nose and ran his fingers along the bridge, eyeing him with a persistent gaze.
“I will do whatever you ask, sir.”
Hampton rose and rounded his desk, then clamped his hand on John’s homespun shirt. “You are a good lad. I will inform my family.”
Speechless, John could only nod. His mind raced with questions. Now he faced the reality of hours … days in the presence of the lovely Miss Hampton.
Chapter 4
Sarah studied her father’s face all through dinner and sensed he had unpleasant news for them. His look sent a chill down her arms. The dining room hung with silence while the servants removed the china and silver, then brought on the sweet course, warm pudding with sugar and butter.
When all had retired to the kitchen except the butler, her father cleared his throat, and Sarah slid to the edge of her seat, waiting to hear the message that had bothered him through dinner.
“Excellent meal, Mary,” he said.
“Thank you, dear. Cook made the pudding especially for you. She knows you love it.”
“I’ll have to properly thank her.” He cleared his throat again and clenched his fingers together against the table edge. “I have something to discuss with you both. It concerns our trip to London.”
“Oh dear, I hope nothing has occurred to change our plans.” Mary daubed her mouth with a napkin.
Tension knotted along Sarah’s spine and settled between her shoulder blades.
“Unfortunately, there has been a minor change.” Her father shifted with discomfort. “Lord Beckenridge will arrive in the village while we are to be gone. Since he must speak with me on business matters, I find it impossible to leave.”
“But what of Sarah’s birthday … and her gown?” Her mother’s concern etched across her face.
“You and Sarah shall go as planned. I’ve made arrangements.”
“No, Papa, not without you.” Sarah prayed this was the long-awaited solution for which she had hoped. No holiday from the manor. No new gown for the ball she didn’t want.
“You will be in good hands. Both of you,” he said.
When he straightened his back,
Sarah observed her father’s determination. No one could be quite so stubborn … except perhaps her own obstinate nature.
“But how without you, Papa?”
“John Banning will be your escort,” he pronounced.
“Mr. Banning?” Mary said, her attention shifting from Sarah to her husband. “But Edward, is this appropriate? Should we not delay our trip and—”
“I cannot promise a journey to London before the ball, Mary … and you wanted to select Sarah’s gown.” He arched a brow at his wife.
“Well, yes,” she murmured.
Sarah sat speechless. She could ask for nothing more wonderful … or more agonizing. For days she would be under her mother’s watchful eyes. How could she avoid holding conversation with Mr. Banning during the journey?
“You have nothing to say, Sarah?” her father asked.
“I’m disappointed you won’t be with us, Papa.”
“You’ll have a wonderful holiday without me.” Her father moved aside his dessert and leaned forward on his forearms. “I have talked to this young man, Mary. John is a reliable fellow. I realize he is a laborer, but I see a future in the lad.”
“You do, Papa?” Sarah’s heart tripped.
“What do you mean, Edward?” Mary asked.
“He has learned some grand techniques while away, and he’s shared them with me—ways to make our cyder more appealing to our buyers, and Big John has offered valuable advice about new apple trees I will add to our orchard.”
Sarah sat back amazed at her father’s excitement.
“We are removing the Sheep’s Nose and Court Royal trees to make room for Yarlington Mill and Dabinett. The lad is filled with ideas.” Her father stared beyond his family, his thoughts seemingly in the future. “I will reward the young man … somehow.”
Her mother vocalized a disapproving harumph. “He is rewarded by a trip to London. I would think that is enough.”
He gazed at her over his spectacles. “Mary, Sarah is present. We will discuss this later if you don’t mind.”
Watching her mother’s shoulders tense, Sarah longed to ask questions. How could John be rewarded? Why did her father trust his wife and daughter to his care? But she knew better than to ask. At this moment, she could hardly contain her joy. Somehow she would enjoy John’s company despite her mother’s watchful glare. If she couldn’t find a way, she would leave her destiny in her heavenly Father’s care.
Sarah breathed a relieved sigh when the public carriage returned them to their London hotel. She’d spent tedious hours with the dressmaker selecting her ball gown and other frocks for the social engagements following her birthday celebration.
The trip from Barnham had been tiring and uncomfortable. She sat with her mother in the carriage while John rode outside with the driver. What made her think they would have an opportunity to converse? She wondered if her father had traveled with them if he might have allowed John in the carriage and enjoyed conversation, learning more about his ideas for the plants and orchard. A foolish speculation. If her father had come, John would be at the manor, tending the garden.
Encouraged, Sarah could barely believe how fondly her father had spoken of John. He saw John’s worth—his talent and quick mind. Her mother, on the other hand, only saw a lowly farmer.
Because of the time constraints, Sarah’s dresses would be delivered to their home, an extravagance Sarah thought unnecessary but her mother deemed important. When the carriage door opened, the driver helped them to the ground with their few packages.
Her mother paid the driver, while Sarah hurried ahead of her to the lobby and waited by the staircase. She’d never considered her father would arrange for John and the driver to stay in a less choice hotel. She sighed. Another propriety.
Since they’d arrived in London, Sarah had garnered enthusiasm for the Crystal Palace. People spoke of nothing else. At least at the exhibition, she and John might have a moment outside her mother’s vision to speak a private word. Sarah eyed the grandfather clock on the broad staircase. John would arrive in a few moments to take them to the exhibition.
Sarah darted up the stairs, her mother trudging behind her. On the first floor, she rushed to their suite and waited until her mother arrived, breathless, with the key.
Tossing the packages on the settee, Sarah poured water from the pitcher, bathed her face to remove the street grime, then looked into the mirror. Her face glowed but from more than the exertion of the climb. The excitement of seeing John had tinted her cheeks a rosy hue.
Her mother had plopped onto the tapestry lounge and fanned herself from the midday heat. Her mottled red cheeks softened Sarah’s heart. Going to the washstand, Sarah dampened a cloth to soothe her mother’s flushed face.
“Thank you, Sarah dear,” her mother said, continuing to fan. “You must remember to use the language of the fan, Sarah. Practice lest you forget.”
“Mother, I have watched ladies and their fans forever, it seems. I don’t need practice. I’ll do what is natural.”
“Sarah,” her mother’s voice raised to an unfamiliar pitch, “you will do what is proper. What has come over you, daughter? Since you have approached eighteen years, you have lost your gentler ways.”
“I’m sorry, Mama,” Sarah said, crumpling to the floor beside her and pressing her cheek against her mother’s skirt. “I know you and Papa have only my well-being in mind, but I am having difficulty accepting what I must do.”
“You will enjoy it in time, Sarah.”
Sarah doubted it, but she did not disagree. She had no desire to be admired and courted by the young men of the surrounding area of Barnham. Sarah swallowed her thought, not wanting John’s image to surface in her mind.
Why did this man stir her like no other? She’d wrestled with her thoughts over and over. Though roughened by physical labor, John had qualities that the eligible young gentlemen of the area did not. Maturity, tenderness, ambition, ingenuity, and a simple godliness. Those qualities rose in her mind when she thought of him. Yet her eagerness frightened him. She saw the look in his eyes. She must garner self-control. John would certainly avoid her if she showed him her true admiration.
Her mother rose from the lounge and appeared to have gained composure to make their way downstairs. With eagerness, Sarah waited, and when a tap sounded on the door, she opened it.
“The driver is downstairs,” John said. His focus locked with Sarah’s for a heartbeat, then slid to the carpet.
“The carriage is waiting, Mama,” Sarah called over her shoulder.
Since she had only seen John dressed for gardening, Sarah admired his Sunday clothes. He looked more handsome than she had ever imagined, and the sight warmed her. Hearing the rustle of her mother’s skirts, Sarah stepped away from the door to grasp her parasol and reticule.
Her mother swished past, handing John the door key. He stayed behind to lock the suite, then hurried forward to assist her mother down the long staircase. Sarah went ahead, imagining how it might feel to have John’s arm linked to hers.
At the carriage, John assisted them both inside. His hand lingered a moment on Sarah’s glove, and when she drew away, the pressure of his fingers lived in her thoughts.
The carriage rocked and bounced along the cobbled streets, and when traffic became heavier, Sarah noted they were nearing Hyde Park. The driver guided the horses down North Carriage Road, approaching the north entrance of the park leading to the Crystal Palace. Through the iron gates, Sarah saw the giant glass edifice with the flags of all nations floating above. Transepts jutted from each end of the building, and in the distance, she viewed people on foot and riding in carriages traveling toward the entrance. As they neared, the sight astounded her—elegant palms, statues, flowers, and the gigantic fountains.
“It’s lovely,” Mary said, her voice sounding awed by the splendor. “Your father chose Friday for our excursion. It is the favored day of the gentry with tickets going for a half crown. With smaller crowds, we’ll have time to linger over
the exhibits.”
“What will the driver and … Mr. Banning do while we’re inside, Mother?” Sarah’s heart pitched, waiting for the answer.
“Your father is generous, Sarah. He has allowed them to attend today as well.”
“Very generous,” Sarah said, monitoring the thrill in her voice. She closed her eyes, sending a thankful prayer to her Father in heaven.
At the grand entrance, John stepped down and gave them assistance. While her mother spoke with the coachman and arranged an agreeable time to depart, Sarah longed to tell John she would find him inside, but her mother’s keen ears would hear even the smallest murmur.
When all had been agreed upon, Sarah and her mother went on ahead while John followed. Sarah gave a longing look over her shoulder, listening to her mother’s prattle about the vast array of magnificent displays.
The exhibit appeared more than they could enjoy in one day. They moved from one display to another, marveling at the merchandise from all over the world, but Sarah’s thoughts were behind her. Occasionally, she looked over her shoulder to see John an acceptable distance behind them.
Focusing on the exhibit, Sarah inspected elegant furniture, ornamental silver pieces, decorative boxes covered with japanning or decoupage, and spinning machines weaving hand-spun cuffs, but always, her mind centered on John. Watching her mother’s eyes widen, Sarah inched forward to admire the majolica ceramic earthenware—brightly glazed vases and sculptures in all sizes and shapes. When they reached the talk of the exhibition, the Patek Phillipe watches, her mother halted to study the lovely timepieces. News had traveled that Queen Victoria had purchased two of the creations during her visit.
When her mother insisted she sit for a silhouette portrait, Sarah had a small respite, while John observed from a distance. She had been more intrigued by the daguerreotypes. The thought of her actual portrait etched on a metal plate intrigued her.
For high tea, Sarah followed her mother to the refreshment tables where they nibbled on tea sandwiches and scones with jam. Sarah observed fashionable women and men ambling past, overhearing their praise of the Crystal Palace and the exhibition, but she longed to discern what John concluded about the amazing array.
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