And thereupon landed with a thud upon the hard ground, having caught my foot on a tree root in the process.
Suddenly, in recollecting that event there in Lady Ambrosia’s solarium, a vivid image came to mind. The face of a young man. William St. Clair.
It would be a lie to say I had not thought of him in the years since we had parted ways on my eighteenth birthday. The ugly scene by the coaches had played out in my mind repeatedly. I had been so angry at him for treating me like a child, but in retrospect, I could see I had, in fact, acted like one.
But, that was in the past. Far in the past. I shook my head as if to clear the thought, removed the pins holding my hat in place, deposited the chapeau upon the seat I had vacated and proceeded to execute an impeccable cartwheel, if I do say so myself.
When I was upright again, Lady Ambrosia smiled and clapped her hands in appreciation. "Oh my! That was a corker!"
Blushing at her praise, I put my hat back on and resumed my seat, winded but pleased with myself.
Lady Ambrosia scribbled furiously in her mysterious book while I refreshed myself with a hearty sip of tea.
"Now," Lady Ambrosia said, closing the book again, "I am going to say some words and I would like you to say the first thing that comes to you. One word only. Understand?"
"I think so," I said. I had come this far, what was the point of questioning her methods now?
"Hot."
"Hot? Oh, I do not know what to say." I wrung my hands. This test was hard.
"Try to clear your mind. Take a deep breath. Erase every thought in your head and we will try again." Lady Ambrosia patted my arm encouragingly and then said, "Blue."
"Sky," I said. "Oh no, that’s not a good answer. Blue ribbon. That’s my answer." I looked up at Lady Ambrosia expectantly. "Are you writing that in your book?"
With a heavy sigh, Lady Ambrosia took my hand and held my gaze. "There are no wrong answers. This is just a little game. Whatever word pops into your head, is the one you ought to say. Only one word. Can you do that?"
Another cartwheel would have been easier. How could I only say one word? I took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, I am ready."
"Hibbety."
"Jibbety."
Lady Ambrosia smiled. I did it!
"Love," she said.
"Dogs," I said automatically and then realized what I had said. "No, no. I should say Jimmy, he’s my son. And Tempest. That’s who I love."
Lady Ambrosia jotted more notes in the book. I expected a reprimand at any moment.
"Let us try again," she said, and I focused very hard to make sure I followed the rules.
"Regret," she said.
"William St. Clair." I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands. What had I just said? My eyes went wide, and Lady Ambrosia gave me a knowing look.
"Hmmm. Interesting," she said, opening the big book and thumbing through a few pages with scratchings on them that looked like spider legs. She snapped the book closed and put it back beneath her chair.
I could barely pay attention to what was happening around me, so shocked was I by my mention of William’s name. Of course, I assured myself, his name only came to mind because I had remembered the time in the woods when I had hurt myself doing a cartwheel and he had picked me up and carried me home.
He always made me feel safe and protected. Which is what he was trying to do at my party... before it all went haywire.
I wondered what had happened to him in the years since I last saw him. After that ugly incident at my birthday party. Regret was right. I regretted so many things about what happened that night.
A wave of melancholy washed over me, and I pushed my seat back from the table and stood. "I-I have made a mistake," I said. "Thank you, but I believe I must leave now."
Lady Ambrosia looked at me and to my amazement, she did not seem surprised.
"You have a tendency to run away when life becomes difficult." She sipped her tea and glanced at me over the rim of her cup. "Is that how you wish to live the remainder of your life?"
I gaped at Lady Ambrosia, her face placid, her eyes gentle. How dare she speak so boldly to me? Did she not realize I was a countess? I puffed up my chest and prepared to set her to rights about my standing and her impertinence, but a moment of clarity wafted over me.
I had spent my entire life avoiding unpleasantness. Was that such a bad thing? Is it not called unpleasant for a reason? But, I was also an adult. A countess. Despite efforts to shield myself from the unpalatable portions of life, I had nonetheless experienced plenty of strife. The death of my husband and learning to navigate life without him had been more than a little daunting and heart rending. I had gone from my father’s care to that of my husband and when he died, for the first time in my life, I was solely responsible for myself and also for my son. I had been poorly prepared for autonomy.
Thinking about William pinched painfully at my heart and conscience. My feet itched to head for the door, yet I remained in place.
Leaning over, Lady Ambrosia patted the seat of the chair I had just vacated. "Please," she said, "sit down and tell me about William St. Clair."
Glancing from her kindly eyes to the exit route and back again, my decision was made. I resumed my seat, though I remained uncharacteristically quiet.
I had forgotten about the flowers which Lady Ambrosia had plucked from my hat until she brought them forward on the table again, her fingers stroking the blooms and stems while she hummed and mumbled to herself.
Watching her, I recalled Tempest’s description of how Lady Ambrosia had used flowers to select my Jimmy as a husband for her. Certainly, they were an ideal match and so when Lady Ambrosia brought out the flowers which I assumed were to be part of her methodology in matching me with my new husband, my heart fluttered, and I hoped this meant she no longer desired to discuss William. My relief over that was replaced with anxiety at what my future might hold.
Glancing down at the flowers which were the subject of Lady Ambrosia’s attention, there were clumps of two different varieties, one had long green leaves and tiny white lantern-like buds. The other included small blue blossoms with five petals and a delicate yellow center. I stole a peek at Lady Ambrosia’s face and noted a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
"Ah, yes," she finally said. "It all makes perfect sense now."
I was pleased to know at least one of us had a confident understanding of what was happening, as I most certainly did not. I bit my tongue and my heel wiggled beneath my skirts, but I forced myself to wait patiently for Lady Ambrosia to speak, difficult though it was for me to squelch the many questions dancing on my tongue.
Thankfully, Lady Ambrosia shared her thoughts before my tenuous self-control snapped. "This flower," she said, holding up the blue one and gazing upon it fondly, "is called forget-me-not."
Curious, I cocked my head to the side and silently awaited her further explanation, which she kindly provided forthwith. "As the name seems to imply, this lovely little bud symbolizes remembrance, particularly of those for whom we care a great deal. Or cared for in the past," she said, studying my face for a reaction.
She was no doubt rewarded with a heated flush which I felt moving from my neck to forehead. My heart fluttered and warmth formed low in my belly.
Lady Ambrosia held the small bundle of blue blossoms out to me and I took it in hand, raising it to my nose and inhaling deeply, though I discerned a barely perceptible scent, despite the robust color of the petals. Curious, I looked to Lady Ambrosia. She smiled. "Ah, the forget-me-not is an odd little blossom. Its scent is strongest in the evening, and quite faint during the day. Trust me, by this evening it shall share a most pleasant fragrance with us all."
"May I keep this?"
"Of course, since it actually belongs to you and arrived here upon your hat." We shared a laugh over my forgetfulness and I found myself growing fond of Lady Ambrosia. She was most interesting company.
I tucked the blooms into my hair, finding a secure
place for them above my ear and out of the way of my hat.
"And, what of this one?" I asked, pointing to the other cluster.
Lady Ambrosia held the flowers to her nose and inhaled deeply. "Lily of the valley," she said handing them to me for a whiff, though their scent was strong enough it was not necessary to draw them too near before the sweet aroma filled my senses.
"Lovely," I said.
"Yes, it is," Lady Ambrosia agreed. "The meanings for this flower include a return to happiness. It also signifies good fortune in love."
"Really?" Hope began to bloom in my heart. "I am most eager to learn the identity of my future husband."
"Patience, my dear. Patience."
"What more is there for me to do?" I asked. "Questions? Cartwheels? Flowers? What else do you expect?" A bit of pique began forming within me. Why did this process take so long? Was she stalling? Or was she a fraud?
"Please," Lady Ambrosia said, "tell me more about William St. Clair. It seems he still lays claim to your heart."
"No, there is no truth to such a statement. How dare you imply it? I was married to Lord Knox for many happy years and to suggest otherwise is not only incorrect but disrespectful to his memory as well."
"My apologies, my lady. Please forgive me for I meant no disrespect to you or your dearly departed husband." Lady Ambrosia took on a decidedly remorseful air and I immediately forgave her unintended transgression.
Somehow, it felt safe to confide in Lady Ambrosia, though I had only made her acquaintance thirty minutes earlier. I shared with her thoughts and feelings to which I dared not before give voice. I could never have allowed the words to pass my lips. To whom could I have entrusted the secrets of my heart, particularly when I was married to another?
In many ways, I believed myself foolish. These were the thoughts and emotions of a girl. A girl who knew nothing of the world or life. Now I was an adult, a mother, a widow. A countess, no less. And yet, my heart told me these feelings were very real.
For someone who had spent her entire life talking too much, saying the wrong things and blurting words in a most unladylike manner, I had, somehow, managed to keep my feelings about William to myself. My grief and regret, longing and desire were too strong, and I knew if I dared to give even the tiniest bit of time or energy to them, they would overwhelm me. Consume my being. Possibly cause me to do something foolish which would alter the entire course of my life and undoubtedly, not for the better
But, with Lady Ambrosia, I felt no judgment, no pending criticism. And so, I opened the gate on the tumult of emotions surrounding the young man from my youth, William St. Clair.
The entire story came tumbling out. Once I began to speak, even I was shocked by the mass of words which had been waiting to be freed. The weight of guilt, sorrow and regret lifted from my shoulders.
Yes, he had behaved like a barbarian, but with time and distance I was able to see my own actions had been foolish as well. Going off alone with a young man at the mention of a gift, I had lost all sense. Reviewing the scene as William would have observed it, I could see his actions, though extreme, were intended for my benefit and well-being.
When all was completed, I glanced at Lady Ambrosia, holding my breath as I awaited her response to these words which I had never shared with another human being.
After a lengthy pause she said, "And what became of William? Have you never heard from him or about him in all these years?"
"He took a commission in the army. After the incident at my birthday party, I persuaded my mother that we needed to make a call upon his aunt on the pretext of checking on her health as she had been unable to attend the event at our home, though, in truth, I was desperate to speak to William. I could not have ventured there alone in order to see him, as you know. That would have been quite improper, even for me. His aunt informed us he had left for the army; his uncle having hastily arranged a commission for him. Shortly thereafter, I accepted Lord Knox’s offer of marriage and left the area.
"Every letter from my mother, particularly during the early years of my marriage, I scoured for news of William, but she said nothing, and I dared not ask. I pushed him from my mind, which became easier with the passage of time as well as the duties of motherhood and running a household as the Countess of Knox, my husband’s father having passed on shortly after our marriage." I sighed and looked past Lady Ambrosia’s shoulder as though I could recapture those years in some vision. "Several years ago, I learned his aunt and uncle had both passed away and a relative had inherited the title and estate. But of William himself, I have heard nothing for more than two decades."
I took a deep breath and forced myself to smile. "But, that was ancient history. A girlish crush, I am sure." Turning to Lady Ambrosia, I said, "Let us not speak of this any longer. It is time for me to leave the past where it belongs... in the past, and move on to my new love. I do hope you can make a love match for me. I simply hate the idea of not loving my husband. Though Lord Knox and I were not well acquainted at the time of our marriage, I did grow to love him and he me. Had I wanted to marry for the sake of having a husband, I suppose I could have done that by now without your kind assistance."
Lady Ambrosia laid her hand palm up on the table before me. "If you would be so kind, my lady, I should like to hold your hand for a moment. I may fall into a bit of a trance, but please do not be alarmed."
Somewhat taken aback, I paused. I had heard tales of seances and mediums and those who could communicate with the spirit world. Was Lady Ambrosia such a person? Was she a charlatan? A fraud?
Curiosity got the better of me and I laid my palm against hers. Immediately, a pulse of heat shot up the length of my arm. Lady Ambrosia closed her eyes and began to mumble. Her head fell forward as though she had lost consciousness. Alarmed, I was unsure how to proceed. Should I wake her? Disengage my hand from hers and run from the house? Her grasp on my hand intensified and her mumbles increased in speed and volume until, as suddenly as it had begun, it ended. She looked up at me and smiled, released my hand and said, "I am having a dinner party tonight and would be most delighted if you could attend."
"Wh-what? Dinner? I thought you were going to find a spouse for me. What is happening? Oh dear, is there no man who will have me? Please, Lady Ambrosia, if no match is to be found, tell me now and let us have over with it and I shall go on my way, knowing the notion of finding love at my age is a bunch of silliness. Do not be alarmed, I have been silly my entire life, this sensation is quite familiar to me."
Though I had made the appointment with Lady Ambrosia on a whim, I had to acknowledge the deep disappointment which fell upon me as I realized no match for me existed. Once I had made the decision to engage Lady Ambrosia’s services, a sense of excitement and possibility had me all a twitter and it now felt as though the rug had been pulled out from under me.
Gathering as much of my dignity as remained, I stood and gathered my things. "I thank you for the invitation, Lady Ambrosia, but I cannot impose on your hospitality any further. I am grateful for your time. You have been most kind." To my utter embarrassment, there was a catch in my voice as I spoke. One would never have guessed I had spent decades as the Countess of Knox.
Clearly, it was time for me to get back to my life as a middle-aged dowager countess preparing for her first grandchild. I made a mental note to stop off at the local yarn shop on the way home and collect some proper wool and needles to make a cap and booties for the little dear.
"My apologies," Lady Ambrosia said, "I did not explain myself. That sometimes happens, and I am quite sorry to have upset you. Your future husband will be at dinner here tonight."
I gasped. "Are you quite certain?" I clapped my hands in excitement. "Oh, I am so pleased. I was afraid there was no man who would have me, being old and widowed and sometimes silly. Thank you, Lady Ambrosia. Thank you ever so much. I shall return for dinner."
It was not until I was nearly home that I realized I had not asked for one single detail about my husband-
to-be.
Chapter 2
Colonel William St. Clair
Despite the early afternoon hour, I felt no compunction about finishing off my drink and pouring a second from the general’s well stocked bar. I supposed I ought to have been more deferential given that he outranked me and was also, in theory at least, my host.
Host of a hellhole, if you asked me.
I sat down and glowered at the general. If he was affected by my ire, which I highly doubted, he did not show it. I was likely pushing the limits of protocol and would not have been so loose with the rules with any other, but General Fitzwilliam and I had been through too many struggles, on the battlefield and off, to stand on much pomp and circumstance. Since we were the only occupants of the room, we faced each other as men, brothers in battle who had seen enough to give us each nightmares for a hundred years.
"I do not know what you are speaking of, General Fitzwilliam." I brought the bottle from the bar and set it on the general’s desk between us. "Are not my discharge papers signed? I came here expecting a slap on the back and well wishes for the future and you tell me there is another mission for me to complete?"
Until that moment, I had not realized the true extent of my desire to leave the army. To exit that part of my life, while I still had life to enjoy. I had seen too many good men maimed in body and spirit and counted myself fortunate I still had all my limbs and at least a portion of my soul intact.
So, you may well imagine the ire I felt when General Fitzwilliam informed me that instead of taking up residence in a suite of rooms at my club and spending my days gambling and cavorting as a well-heeled bachelor ought, my duties were to continue.
General Fitzwilliam leaned across his desk, peering directly into my stony stare. "How often has life followed your planned course, St. Clair?"
I could not help but chuckle at that. A mirthless, cynical chuckle, but a chuckle nonetheless. "I do not believe I can recall one time, however, you know what an optimist I am."
His Mischievous Bride: Regency Matchmaker Book Two Page 3
