by Tuft, Karen
She doubled over, darkness crowding out the sights and sounds around her.
“Lizzie!” she heard.
And then the darkness won.
***
Kit had sensed that something was off when he’d first arrived at St. George’s and seen Elizabeth hiding beneath the brim of her bonnet, her shoulders slightly hunched over. Lady Elizabeth Spaulding did not hunch.
He had already known that attending church services today with Lady Walmsley was going to be difficult for her. It was an appropriate step for her to take, however, and Lady Walmsley had been wise to suggest it. Church was a place of solace and, while public, was completely acceptable. Had Elizabeth shown up in any other public setting, tongues would have wagged ferociously.
But rather than settling into the service, as Kit had expected her to do, her body had become more rigid, her face, already pale, tinged with gray. He’d caught her looking at him a time or two and had thought it amusing at the time, until she’d literally begun to shake. As soon as she’d bounded from her seat and had made her way past him, he’d risen and followed.
It was a good thing he had, too, for the moment he’d walked through the doors of St. George’s, he’d seen that she was beginning to crumble to the ground. He’d called out to her and then rushed to catch her.
“What has happened?” he heard Lady Walmsley exclaim behind him, not at all surprised that the good lady had followed them out of the church as well.
“She fainted,” he said. He was crouched on the ground, cradling her.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” Lady Walmsley murmured. “Poor, dear girl. Well, we can’t stay here, with you holding her in your arms like this. I don’t carry smelling salts; I don’t put much stock in them myself, as I’ve never been much of a fainter. But I will after today. Oh dear.”
Elizabeth moaned, and Kit shifted her so that he held her more securely.
“Can you see your coach and coachman?” Kit asked Lady Walmsley. He had arrived at church by hackney, so there was no help to be had in that quarter.
“I don’t . . .” Lady Walmsley cast her eyes up the street and down. “Yes, there it is, thank goodness! Partway down the street.” She pointed in its direction and then started toward it. Kit slid an arm beneath Lady Elizabeth and stood, holding her securely, and then followed Lady Walmsley toward the curb. She raised her hand to signal the coachman. “We arrived early for service, you see,” Lady Walmsley explained as they went, “so that Lady Elizabeth wouldn’t have to deal with so many people face-to-face. Good thing, too, or I doubt my coachman would have found a place so near the church.”
By the time they reached the curb, the coachman had the door open and Elizabeth had begun to rouse.
“Where . . . ?” she mumbled.
“Hush,” Kit said gently. “Let’s get you situated inside first, and then I’ll explain.” He climbed into the coach and carefully set her on the seat so she could recline against the side. Then he sat opposite her.
“Thank you, John,” he heard Lady Walmsley say while the coachman assisted her into the coach. She sat next to Elizabeth, who was now beginning to revive and was sitting quietly with one gloved hand covering her eyes, the other hand clutching her middle. Kit knocked on the roof of the coach to let the coachman know they were ready to leave.
The coach took off with a slight lurching movement, and Elizabeth moaned. Kit leaned forward in case he was needed, and Lady Walmsley patted Elizabeth’s shoulder gently.
“Oh, my dear girl. I’m sorry if taking you to church was ill-advised. Perhaps waiting another week or two would have been more prudent. But I truly thought it would do you good to get out of the house and be around other people. You were isolated from others for much too long.” She looked at Kit and shook her head. “You see?” she said softly.
He nodded. She was referring to their need for haste when word of Marwood’s death had come. He understood completely now.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked Elizabeth gently.
“I . . . we were at church . . .” she said in a barely audible voice.
“You fainted outside the church, Elizabeth. We are taking you back to Lady Walmsley’s house so you may rest,” he explained.
“I fainted,” she murmured. Her hand still covered her eyes.
“Yes, dear,” Lady Walmsley said, taking Elizabeth’s other hand in hers and patting it soothingly. Kit wanted to be sitting where Lady Walmsley was and holding that hand and comforting Elizabeth himself.
Instead, he sat where he was, watching her closely for any decline in her condition and waiting impatiently for them to arrive back at Lady Walmsley’s, where he would be the person who assisted her from the coach and supported her physically as she made her way into the house. He needed to do something. He needed to touch her, feel for himself that she was well, and search her eyes for a sign—anything to explain what had happened.
Instead, he was forced to sit and watch and wait until the horses came to a stop.
“Are you steady enough to make it inside the house?” Lady Walmsley asked.
“I won’t hear of it,” Kit said before Elizabeth had an opportunity to reply. “I am carrying you into the house, if only to assure myself that you do make it inside safely and comfortably.”
Elizabeth’s hand dropped from her eyes, and she sighed weakly. “Very well.” She sounded defeated, and it tore at Kit’s heart.
Once Lady Walmsley exited the coach, Kit helped Elizabeth toward the door, stepping carefully out of the coach himself as he worked to keep her secure. Once his feet hit solid ground, he slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her out of the coach. As he carried her inside, she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. The protectiveness he’d felt seeing her wearing his clothes came flooding back with a vengeance. He carefully made his way into Lady Walmsley’s house with her.
“Follow me,” Lady Walmsley said to him. “Foster, tea, immediately.” She led Kit down the hallway as the butler hurried in the direction of the kitchen. She opened a door and allowed him to precede her through it.
It was a comfortable room with large french doors—one he’d been in many times. A chaise longue with cushions and pillows piled upon it stood near those doors. Lady Walmsley hurried over to remove some of the pillows that were on it.
He set Elizabeth gently onto the chaise, and Lady Walmsley buzzed about him, adjusting pillows and tucking a soft-looking coverlet around her. “Where is Foster? Where is that tea I ordered?” she lamented as she continued fussing around Elizabeth.
“We only just arrived; I’m sure he is doing his utmost to bring it quickly,” Kit said.
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth said. She was still pale, but her voice sounded a bit stronger. She tried to sit up.
“You’re not allowed to sit up yet,” Lady Walmsley said, gently pressing her back into the chaise and tucking the coverlet around her again. “I want you to rest, dear. You gave us quite a fright—well, I don’t know if you actually frightened Cantwell, brave sort that he assuredly is, but you certainly frightened me! I have never had to worry about a young person under my roof in such a situation before—well, not since my niece Julia lived with me, but that was years and years ago. Shall I call for a doctor, do you think, Cantwell?”
“I don’t need a doctor,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not ill.”
“You aren’t well either,” Lady Walmsley said in return. “Ah, Foster, here you are at last! And let Cook know Lord Cantwell will be joining us for luncheon.”
“Very good, my lady,” Foster said, setting the tea tray on a table near the chaise and turning his attention to Elizabeth. “Can I get anything for you, Lady Elizabeth?” he asked.
“Not right now, thank you,” Elizabeth said.
“You have only to ask, my lady,” Foster said and then took his leave.
“Well, I say! The man never
ceases to amaze me,” Lady Walmsley exclaimed. “He rarely speaks more than a word or two, and yet here he is, practically making a speech and fussing about like a worried uncle, to boot.”
“Not unlike the lady fussing about like a worried aunt,” Kit pointed out. He selected a biscuit from the plate on the tea tray and took a bite.
“I suppose you’d like tea with that,” Lady Walmsley said with a huff.
“I believe that was the point of requesting it,” Kit said.
“Fine. Let’s see, you take milk, if I’m not mistaken. What about you, Elizabeth?”
“Lemon, thank you.”
Kit helped Elizabeth sit upright while Lady Walmsley poured a cup of tea and added lemon before handing it to Elizabeth; he was relieved to see her take a few sips. She wasn’t nearly as pale now, but Kit wanted to be alone with her and find out for himself what had disturbed her. “Lady Walmsley,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I believe I would like to invite Elizabeth for a short stroll in the garden after she has enjoyed her tea. What say you, Elizabeth? Do you think you could manage a few steps outside? Get a bit of fresh air?” He gestured toward the scene beyond the french doors.
“Are you sure you’re up to it, my dear? I don’t want you fainting again; I don’t think my heart can take it,” Lady Walmsley said.
“All the more reason to do it now, then,” Kit said, hoping to make a persuasive argument. “For the fresh air will do her good, and as I am here, I can walk with Elizabeth and watch over her, which will give you the opportunity to rest, my lady. You need to keep up your strength as well.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind a few quiet moments to myself, I suppose, but only if Elizabeth feels up to it. I mean it, my dear. Your well-being comes first.”
They both turned to look at Elizabeth.
She took a deep breath, and Kit held his own breath while awaiting her answer.
“Perhaps for a few minutes,” she finally replied.
He quickly finished his tea and waited impatiently for her to do the same.
***
Kit wasn’t precisely sure what he should say to Elizabeth, so he simply gave her his arm and allowed her to lead the way as they walked through Lady Walmsley’s garden. Elizabeth was quiet too, but Kit hadn’t really expected anything different.
Lady Walmsley’s garden was generous in size for a London townhouse, with pleasant paths offering varying prospects. Additionally, a small section of ground had been parceled out for the kitchen, and as he and Elizabeth walked by, he stooped briefly and ran his fingers through some of the herbs planted there, releasing their oils and fragrances. They strolled slowly through the kitchen garden and then through the formal garden.
“I believe I enjoy the kitchen garden best,” he said finally, after a great deal of walking in complete silence. “What is your opinion?”
“I like them both,” she said.
“I like them both too,” he replied. “But that is not what I asked you, is it?”
“If I like them both, can I not enjoy them both?” she asked, sounding slightly irritated.
For some reason, he liked that she was irritated. He’d been shaken by what had happened at St. George’s. “A person can like many things and still get more enjoyment from one than another.”
“You are splitting hairs.”
“Perhaps, but it really isn’t a difficult question. Is it?”
She didn’t reply.
He was struck by sudden insight. “It is a difficult question. For you, at least.”
She released his arm and walked down the path, away from him. He decided to give her a few moments to collect her thoughts—it wasn’t every day he encountered a young lady who stumbled over a simple question regarding her preferences.
He quickly retraced his steps to the kitchen garden and plucked some rosemary and thyme and then a stem of lavender and ran each beneath his nose individually, breathing in their distinct scents, and then returned to Elizabeth, picking a daisy and a rose on his way. She was standing by a birch tree near the border wall when he found her. There was a marble bench under the tree, but she had chosen not to sit.
“Elizabeth?” he said quietly, not wishing to startle her, especially after the upset she’d already gone through today.
She turned to look at him, her eyebrows furrowed. “I was thinking about your question. I don’t even know where to begin,” she said.
“Begin wherever you like,” he said.
“But that is precisely the problem!” she exclaimed.
“Have you never been allowed to have your own opinion?” he asked gently.
She said nothing and turned away from him. Her silence spoke volumes.
He gestured toward the bench. “Shall we sit?”
She obeyed him—without considering that he’d posed it as a question for a reason—and he sat next to her, and even though he’d only been courteous and sitting was undoubtedly a good idea since she was still weak, it bothered him that she’d submitted so easily.
“I like the formal garden with its precision—the rendered lines created by the hedges, the blocks of color,” he said, deciding not to force her to speak. There was a fine line between encouragement and bullying. “It is orderly and elegant and shows great workmanship on the part of the gardener.”
“Yes,” she said.
“Here, under the birch, a lighter hand has been used to create a more natural setting. One can sit and imagine one is in the country, despite the wall behind us and city noises in the background—carriages make their share of noise, do they not? But it is distant, so the shade and the mingling of the shrubbery and flowers make the spot a pleasing one.
“But the kitchen garden—ah, the kitchen garden reminds me of Cantwell Hall and the fine soups and stews our cook made while Phillip and I were growing up. Savory dishes and fruity desserts. The kitchen garden is simple and earthy and practical in its beauty, and its fragrances do more than please and enhance; they also soothe.” He handed her the lavender, rosemary, and thyme. “So, you see, for me, because of my life experiences and memories, the kitchen garden is the one I enjoy most.”
She smelled each herb in turn. “I was supposed to marry Alex in St. George’s. Today was the first time I’ve been back since . . .”
Since Alex died.
Kit finished the sentence in his mind. As non sequiturs went, it was a disquieting one. “Is that what upset you?” he asked, working to keep his composure. Kit missed Alex and grieved for a life lost too early, but he had always presumed that Alex’s arranged marriage to Elizabeth was nothing more than precisely that. Alex had occasionally joked that he was actually marrying the duke and duchess, and Kit had laughed. But despite his jokes, Kit knew Alex had cared for Elizabeth, and it had been obvious to one and all that Elizabeth had been enamored with Alex. It only made sense to conclude, especially after what he’d witnessed today at St. George’s, that Elizabeth had loved Alex more deeply than he had realized.
“I grieve for him,” Elizabeth said. “I grieve for Papa too.”
A knot formed in Kit’s stomach. Her words reflected his thoughts exactly. And he was reminded of his own parents’ deaths. Those had been dark times, but it had been nearly seven years now, and Kit was through the worst of it, at least most days.
“If I must choose, I suppose I would say I enjoy the kitchen garden as well,” she said, changing the subject back. “I had a little garden back home, you know, and I planted these very things.” She brushed the herbs against her lips and breathed in their scents. “And beans and cabbages and a few other things. In case we needed them.”
Insightful words indeed.
“I think that when you take care of something, you come to love it more—even a garden,” she said thoughtfully.
The conversation was altogether too somber. “Well done,” he said, conjuring up a smile from somewh
ere deep inside him. “Despite your initial reluctance, you have successfully chosen the garden you enjoy most,” he said, hoping to lighten the mood . . . and lift his own plummeting spirits. “I will also point out that on a different day, under different circumstances, you are allowed to enjoy either of the other gardens the most.”
She actually smiled back at him. Not much of a smile, but a smile nonetheless. It was a small victory, and he’d take it.
“We shall play a game now,” he said. “I will name two things, and you will choose one of them.”
Her smile wavered.
“It’s all hypothetical, Lizzie. There are no right and wrong choices.”
“You may think so, but it’s difficult to do, especially when the choices one has made in the past have led to terrible circumstances,” she replied.
“And what choices are those?” he asked, although he already knew at least one of her answers. He shouldn’t have asked her the question; he should have ignored her comment and changed the subject, knowing where it was leading.
“I chose to give Alex the time he said he needed before we married, and I chose to give his brother Anthony his freedom. And look what happened in both situations.”
Kit buried his face in his hands. He didn’t want to talk about Alex and Anthony—he especially didn’t want to talk about Alex. Kit may have missed the death of his parents, but he’d been there, holding his friend’s hand, when Alex had breathed his last breath.
***
Elizabeth watched Kit cover his face after her comment about Alex and Anthony. Kit had been so thoughtful to her all day. He’d taken care of her after she’d fainted at St. George’s, and here he was again, trying to provide a distraction for her in the garden, and she’d refused to answer a question as simple as, What part of the garden do you enjoy most?
It was the word most that had thrown her. “Most” always seemed so . . . irrevocable.
