Blossom Time

by Joan Smith

  “Doesn’t she ride well!” Miss Rafferty exclaimed. “Oh, I wish I could ride. I’ve never had the opportunity.”

  “We have a spare hack in the stable,” Dick said. “Feel free to use it, Miss Rafferty.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir,” she said.

  But the look she exchanged with Rosalind said, Don’t worry. I won’t do it. She wouldn’t like it.

  After lunch, the ladies made a special toilette for the party. Rosalind wore the gown with the lowered neckline and a leghorn straw bonnet with a broad brim to protect her from the sun. When Miss Rafferty brought Sukey down, both ladies were in their best afternoon frocks. Sukey looked unusually ladylike in a white dress with a wide blue sash and her new blue hair ribbons holding back her curls. She carried Snow Drop, who had a matching blue ribbon around her neck for the occasion. Miss Rafferty had blossomed forth from her usual dark governess’s clothes into a jonquil muslin with green ribbons, and a straw bonnet.

  Dick looked at her, then took a second look. He didn’t smile, but he gazed at her long enough to betray that he hadn’t missed a single ribbon, or the fact that her brown eyes were glowing and her curls gleaming like freshly peeled chestnuts in the sunlight.

  “You all look lovely,” he said, then he formally offered Sukey his arm and led the party down to the table, where a pile of presents loomed enticingly.

  A guest was already there awaiting them. Lord Harwell sat at his ease, sorting through the gifts. He rose, bowed formally to Sukey, and said, “Many happy returns of the day, Miss Sukey.” Then he handed her a small box wearing a pink ribbon.

  “I thought you’d forget,” she said. Then she added nonchalantly over her shoulder, “I invited Harry, Roz.”

  Harwell glanced at the five places at the table and said, “Is this fifth place for me, or should I claim a pressing engagement elsewhere?”

  “Don’t be silly,” Rosalind said, and sent the servant off for another place setting.

  “Annabelle is still to come, is she?” he said. “Odd she sent her present on in advance. I’ve been examining the offerings. Hers looks like a book. Not what I would have expected from her.”

  “She sent the present?” Rosalind said, and went to examine it. “Yes, definitely a book. Is there a card? Perhaps she’s not coming.” She exchanged a small, hopeful, spontaneous smile with Miss Rafferty. She looked around and found a card stuck to the back of the gift.

  Harwell lifted an eyebrow and said in a quiet aside, “You sound positively hopeful, Roz. Have you and Miss Fortescue come to cuffs so soon?”

  “Not yet. Truth to tell, however, we are never far from it. I shall open this card, as Sukey—to her shame—can’t read.” She looked at the envelope. “Oh, it’s addressed to Dick.”

  She gave the card to Dick, who opened it, read the message, and folded it up again with a grim set to his lips. “Annabelle can’t make it,” he said. “Pity. Her papa had to go up to London on business, and she went with him to do some shopping. She wishes you a happy birthday, Sukey.”

  Rosalind assumed his annoyance was because Sylvester had also gone to London. She felt a stab of anger herself. Really, Annabelle was too encroaching, scrambling off to London after Sylvester.

  “I didn’t invite her!” Sukey said. Then she said to Miss Rafferty in a perfectly audible aside, “I’m glad she can’t come. What did she send me?”

  “Time to open the gifts,” Rosalind said, hoping to divert Dick’s attention. He looked ready to give Sukey a scold.

  Sukey tore the ribbons off Annabelle’s gift and looked at it in disgust. It was a thin volume, covered in morocco leather with gilt lettering. Summer Solstice—The Nature Poems of Lord Sylvester Staunton. Sukey nipped through it. “It doesn’t have any pictures!” she said. “What does it say?”

  Dick glanced at the card. “It says it is a very rare copy of a limited edition of poems that should be put away as it will be very valuable one day. I daresay he only had a dozen of them printed up at his own expense.”

  “I hate poems!” Sukey said. Then she glanced apologetically at Rosalind. “Except for yours and nursery rhymes,” she added, and snatched up another present.

  She was enchanted with Emmaline, the golden-haired doll, and with Miss Rafferty’s offering of crayons and drawing book. Snow Drop enjoyed playing with the discarded wrappings. The wind blew a ribbon across the grass, with Snow Drop in hot pursuit. Sukey opened Lord Harwell’s present last.

  “This doesn’t look like my sugarplums, Harry. It’s too small,” she said, shaking the little box.

  “Good things come in small parcels,” he told her.

  “My saddle didn’t. It didn’t come in a parcel at all. You never did give me the sugarplums.”

  “The sugarplums aren’t a birthday gift. I didn’t bother to wrap them,” he said, pointing to a plain box on the table by her place.

  She vacillated a moment between the sugarplums and the wrapped gift, then tore open the small parcel, struggled with the little leather box within, and eventually lifted out a dainty golden heart-shaped locket on a fine chain.

  “Jewelry!” she cried, her eyes big as saucers. “I never had any real jewelry before. Thanks, Harry!” She ran and wrapped her arms around his knees, as she could not reach his neck.

  Harwell looked in alarm to see her hands were clean.

  Sukey released him and said, “Put it on me, Miss Rafferty.”

  Miss Rafferty did as she was told.

  “Don’t I look nice?” Sukey asked proudly, stroking the locket.

  “Fine as ninepence,” Harwell assured her.

  “That was very sweet, Harry,” Rosalind said, smiling softly.

  “I thought you might ring a peal over me for giving a young lady jewelry. I wanted to buy her a doll, but she mentioned that you were already giving her one.”

  “I can see my gift was a great surprise.”

  “Let’s eat the cake now,” Sukey said.

  “First there are sandwiches,” Miss Rafferty told her.

  “I want my cake.”

  “And you shall have it,” Dick said, “as soon as you’ve eaten your sandwiches.”

  Sukey took one bite, then fed the rest to Snow Drop.

  “Where is Sandy today?” Harwell asked, looking around for the dog, which usually accompanied Sukey.

  “Sandy and Snow Drop cannot seem to get along,” Rosalind said. “Sandy is in the stable.”

  “Ah well, a showy new pet will always replace an old dog—for a while.” He glanced to see if Rosalind was finding any second meaning in his speech.

  “I expect it’s the inability to teach old dogs any new tricks that makes us lose interest in them,” she replied.

  “There is a facer for me!”

  “Oh, but we were only talking about dogs, Harry.”

  She sliced the cake, and the servants passed it around. Sukey had lemonade, and the adults had wine.

  “You should make a toast, Mr. Lovelace,” Miss Rafferty suggested.

  “A toast!” Dick agreed, rising and lifting his glass. The others rose. “To Sukey’s sixth birthday. May she have many more of them.”

  They all repeated the toast and drank. By the time the cake was consumed and a little light chat indulged in, Sukey decided she wanted to take her doll inside to play house. She did not forget to pick up her sugarplums.

  “I’ll go with you,” Miss Rafferty said, rising. Dick accompanied them, while Rosalind stayed behind to oversee the servants, who came out to clear away the debris from the party.

  “They can handle it,” Harwell said. “Let us go for a little stroll, before the rain comes.”

  He took her arm and led her off.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The azure sky of morning had lightened to pale blue by afternoon. It was now white, rapidly darkening to gray, but the storm didn’t seem imminent. They walked through the park, toward the gazebo.

  “A nice party,” he said.

  “Yes, that was a lovely gift
, Harry. How did you come to think of it?”

  “I remember my mama telling me her first jewelry was a golden locket from her papa. She cherished it until the day she died. As Sukey has lost her papa, I decided to give her the little trinket as a keepsake. No doubt it will end up decorating Emmaline.”

  “It’s not like you to be sentimental,” she said, but she said it in a fond, smiling way.

  “Perhaps there’s more to me than you know,” he replied, and immediately changed the subject. “Did Sylvester get off to London all right?”

  “Yes. Actually he remained a day at Fortescue’s but has gone on to London now.”

  “I noticed him buttering up Fortescue at the party. Did he get any money out of him?”

  “A thousand pounds.”

  “That should stave off bankruptcy for a few more months. The fellow could sell ice to Esquimaux. But then, I don’t have to tell you what a salesman he is,” he said quizzingly. “You’ve bought his goods.”

  “On the contrary, he’s bought mine,” she retorted.

  When they reached the gazebo, a Gothic structure of old stone, he took her elbow to lead her up the stairs. She looked up at the darkening sky and said, “I ought to be getting back before the rain comes. You don’t have to walk me home, Harry. Just cut through the park to the Abbey. Or did you ride?”

  “I walked, and I shall walk you home.” He peered down at her and said archly, “What was that about not being able to teach an old dog new tricks? I am no longer the ramshackle sort of fellow who abandons a lady in distress.”

  “Just as well. I was used to be your cohort in the old days. I shall no longer be here to abet you. I am not in distress, however, but I shall be if I get caught here in the rain. If you insist on playing the gentleman, let us go on home.” They headed to the house.

  “Still determined to go to London?” he asked, taking her arm in an effort to slow her dash.

  She looked at him in surprise. “Yes, certainly. Nothing has happened to change my mind.”

  “Dick tells me Miss Fortescue has taken poor Miss Rafferty in violent dislike. I cannot imagine why. She seems the ideal governess. My thinking is that Sukey will need you if she loses Miss Rafferty. Sukey makes no secret of her dislike of Dick’s choice of bride.”

  “I doubt Dick will turn Miss Rafferty off. Annabelle is becoming overbearing in her behavior.”

  “Dick showed me her note. Have you read it?”

  “No. Is there something in it—”

  “An ultimatum. Turn Miss Rafferty off, or else. He thinks this jaunt to London is to trim him into line. It seems Dick failed to show up for a date last night.”

  “It was no date! She demanded that he go. He didn’t oblige her.” She shook her head in vexation. “I oughtn’t to be discussing these things outside the family.”

  “Don’t be a ninny. We’ve discussed more intimate secrets than this before now, Roz.”

  “Yes, and I know I can trust your discretion.” They stopped a moment by a rustic bench but didn’t sit down. “The thing is, Annabelle is jealous of Miss Rafferty, I think. Not entirely without reason. Dick is fond of her. Not that there is anything improper going on! But a natural affection is growing, perhaps into something more.”

  He looked at her a long moment, with what looked like pity, or some tender emotion. “Yes, I see how that could happen,” he said softly.

  “It is hardly surprising, I suppose. Miss Rafferty is so thoughtful, and very pretty, too, in her own quiet way.” She opened her budget, for she wanted some more objective person to discuss it with, and could think of no one more suitable than Harry, her oldest and dearest friend.

  “Any possibility of Annabelle’s calling the wedding off?” he asked.

  “You think the marriage is a bad idea, then?” she asked eagerly.

  “I wouldn’t have the wench if she came with all the gold in the mint. An underbred, scolding nag— and that before the wedding! Only imagine what a tyrant she will grow into once she is mistress.”

  “I’m glad to hear you say it. I thought it was only I who felt this way—because of her dangling after Sylvester, you know. Not that he cares for her in the least. It is the papa he is courting.”

  “Hardly an endearing quality.”

  “Oh, but for Camena! It is not for himself. He cares nothing for money. But really this is not about Sylvester. It is about Dick and Annabelle. I think Dick is beginning to realize what a mistake he’s made. But how can he get out of it? The man cannot cry off.”

  “You say she’s adamant that you leave Apple Hill. If you stayed . . .”

  “No,” she said firmly. “Dick is a man now. Let him solve his own problems. It’s not for me to handle them—and what would I get for my pains? As soon as Annabelle was turned off, he would decide he loved her after all. I am always the one who puts her foot down, and look where it’s got me. Annabelle won’t have me in the house. Everyone thinks me a shrew, always carping and scolding.”

  “Someone’s got to do it.”

  “It doesn’t always have to be me. Dick has got to do it this time. It is his problem.”

  As she spoke, she spotted Dick striding toward them. His angry scowl announced trouble. She noticed he was carrying a white card. Annabelle’s note, she felt sure.

  “I didn’t want to spoil the party,” he said, “but have a look at this, if you please.”

  Rosalind took the card with trembling fingers and read:

  Dear Dick:

  Sorry I cannot make Sukey’s party. I have gone up to London with Papa to begin shopping for my trousseau. While I am gone, I wish you to dispense with Miss Rafferty’s services. I will not have that woman in my house. As you are dead set against not sending Sukey to school as you ought, perhaps she and Miss Rafferty could make their home in London with Rosalind? Just a thought. See you tomorrow. Love, Annabelle.

  “Her house!” Dick said, fulminating. “Upon my word, she goes too far. It ain’t her house yet. First she orders you out, then Miss Rafferty, now Sukey. I begin to wonder how long she will allow me to remain. Or how long I will want to.”

  “If you are waiting for me to say I will take Sukey and Miss Rafferty to London—”

  “Dash it, that’s not what I’m saying. This is Sukey’s home.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ve got to tell her who runs things here.”

  “No, Dick. You have got to tell her. I shan’t be here to tame Annabelle for you after you are married. Begin as you mean to go on.”

  “Truth to tell, I thought it would be getting rid of you that would be the problem.”

  Rosalind’s nostrils thinned in annoyance. “I’m glad I could help you there.”

  “It ain’t a help.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t want to marry her. Dash it, ever since the betrothal, she’s turned into a demmed shrew. How can I get out of it if you leave?”

  “I don’t know, Dick. It is your problem. You’re the master of Apple Hill. It’s time you grew up and looked after yourself—and Sukey.”

  Dick first looked offended. Then he straightened his shoulders, assumed a mannish air, and said, “So it is. You have kept me a boy too long.” He turned abruptly on his heel and strode manfully toward the house.

  Rosalind looked after him with a wistful expression on her face, then she looked at Harwell, who was smiling cynically.

  “There’s gratitude for you,” he said. “You have kept him a boy.”

  “What really hurts is that it’s true, at least in part. I’ve always made the hard decisions for him. I felt such a horrible urge to say I would take Sukey to London with me, but it won’t do.”

  “This is her home.”

  “Yes, what would there be for her to do in London? She is so happy here, with her pony and dog.”

  “And Snow Drop.”

  “You remembered the name.”

  “Perhaps I’m growing up, too.”

  “Yes, everything is chan
ging,” she said, blinking away a tear, and turned to leave.

  Harwell didn’t follow her. He stood, watching with a bemused expression as she hurried after Dick. He found it odd that the sly, practical Annabelle would issue an ultimatum before the wedding. Why not wait until after? The wedding was only a few months away.

  Was it possible she had a trick up her sleeve? And if that trick was Lord Sylvester, would it break Rosalind’s heart? She was as sentimental as an adolescent, beneath that sensible exterior. If her poems hadn’t told him, the tears gathering in her eyes when she left would have done it. She actually loved that popinjay. And despite her defense of him, she feared he would be seduced into offering for Fortescue’s fortune.

  Chapter Sixteen

  When two days passed and still Annabelle had not returned to Croydon, Dick announced that he was going to London to speak to her.

  “Perhaps you should, or at least write,” Rosalind replied. “It would be too bad if she wasted a fortune on a trousseau when there is to be no wedding. They usually put up at the Pulteney Hotel.”

  “What shall I say in my letter?”

  “That you are in receipt of her note and regret you cannot oblige her. You are not turning Miss Rafferty off as she gives excellent satisfaction and would be impossible to replace. You might as well tell her I have no intention of taking Sukey to London with me while you are about it.”

  “I’ll do it this minute,” he said, and stomped to his study, murmuring, “Regret I cannot oblige you” and “Excellent satisfaction,” lest he forget the words, which had exactly the haughty tone he wanted.

  He had just finished the letter and brought it for Rosalind’s approval when Miss Rafferty and Sukey came in. They had been to Croydon to purchase muslin for a new gown for Sukey. Sukey was her usual voluble self, but Miss Rafferty seemed strangely quiet. The parcel was opened, the pink sprigged muslin approved, and Miss Rafferty began to bundle it up to take it abovestairs.