Private Passions

by Felicia Greene

  ‘Oh, but we must go to her. As soon as possible.’ Henrietta rose, fixing Henry with a steely gaze. ‘Your Grace, we were raised rather more haphazardly than you when it comes to social niceties. How long is one expected to wait before retrieving someone from a scandalous union? Would after breakfast be preferable to before it, or does drinking coffee together rather compound the sin?’

  ‘Wasn’t he meant to be leaving? That’s what Susan was telling the guests, at any rate.’ Richard Westlake looked at his wife. ‘What’s to say they haven’t left together while we have been discussing the whole affair?’

  ‘He was obviously leaving thanks to the news being spread about Agnes’ marriage.’ Henrietta clicked her tongue. ‘Why do men have no head for gossip? Now that she has gone to him, of course, or that he has gone to her, they would not leave immediately. Not when there are things to be understood, hearts to unburden, and so forth…’

  ‘I imagine they may have finished unburdening their hearts at eleven o’clock.’ Anne looked at Henry. ‘We will dress, and tell Susan of what has occurred, and then leave together at—’

  ‘No.’ Henry folded his arms, determined to look authoritative. ‘No, no, and no. I am going alone to divine the truth of this whole business, and none of you will be accompanying me.’

  He braced himself, expecting a battering ram of wounded voices, but was surprised to find none. The Herefords were merely looking at each other with a kind of loving exasperation; the look that mothers and fathers gave each other when their child insisted on pulling the cat’s tail, or pretending to run away to sea.

  ‘Of course, my dear.’ Anne took hold of his hand, gently squeezing it, only the tiniest hint of mocking humour glimmering in her eyes. ‘You are the duke, after all.’

  ‘Yes.’ Henry brought his wife’s palm to his mouth, kissing it. ‘And sometimes, it is as if this fact remains widely unknown.’

  As the gentle sounds of breakfast continued through the closed door of the drawing room, Henry hurried to put on his boots. Still reeling from the news, attempting to construct a suitably blistering speech with which to castigate both Isaac and Agnes, he almost ran full-length into the black-clad, slowly-walking figure of his sister.

  ‘Susan!’ Henry gripped his sister’s shoulders, grateful for her sudden appearance. Perhaps the lack of surprise as to Agnes’ whereabouts was simply a Hereford disease; the Colborne excitability would surely raise its head, even in eccentric Susan. ‘Agnes has allowed herself to fall into a disreputable association with Isaac!’

  Susan looked up from her seed-heads, her expression beset with the usual irritation that came with having to deal with human concern. ‘Agnes? Isaac?’

  ‘Yes!’ Henry nodded, pleased that someone was asking the correct question. ‘Agnes, Anne’s youngest sister! Isaac! The Head Gardener!’

  ‘I see.’ Susan looked down, continuing to count her seeds as Henry waited hopefully. ‘Agnes and Isaac. Well.’

  ‘Well, indeed.’ Henry waited for another beat,before it became apparent that the reaction he craved would not be arriving. ‘Is it not—is it not astonishing?’

  Susan suddenly gripped his arm. Henry, almost smiling in his happiness that someone had finally understood the gravity of the whole business, was newly disappointed when she spoke again.

  ‘Then he cannot leave, yes? Anne would never allow it. He cannot leave. He must stay here, with Agnes, and continue to be Head Gardener.’ Her shoulders lowered, her face reaching the closest it ever came to relaxation. ‘That is a tremendous relief.’

  Henry blinked. Perhaps depending on the outcry of his sister had been something of a forlorn hope. ‘And… and you have nothing else to add?’

  ‘Has Agnes learned that she is not to leave letters in trees?’ Susan folded her arms. ‘I assume Isaac will have told her.’

  ‘I… yes.’ Henry gently patted his sister’s shoulders, reflecting that Susan’s priorities were often different from those of the common herd. ‘I am sure it was the very first thing that they discussed.’

  ‘Good. It cannot help but mar the tidiness of the gardens.’ Susan sighed with relief. ‘Thank you for this news. Now leave me to my counting.’

  ‘Of course.’ Henry watched her go, head bent over the seed-heads, and shrugged. Perhaps he was the only mad one. ‘Enjoy.’

  As he walked down the sunlit, tree-lined path that led to Isaac’s cottage, Henry couldn’t help but feel a tinge of foreboding. He had never been one for physical combat—why, the most spirited brawl he had even been involved in had ended with little more than a cut lip… and Isaac, for all his gentleness with the flora and fauna of Longwater, was what Henry’s good friend Richard Westlake would refer to as a ‘bloody enormous brute’.

  Still. Some sort of response was certainly called for; gardeners could hardly kidnap the sisters of dukes in the middle of the night, however willing the sister in question had apparently been. Perhaps a swift punch to the mouth would be enough to surprise the man—or simply give Isaac enough reason to squash him like a fly.

  If things looked thoroughly bad, a duel would be expected. Henry, who hated duels even more fervently than he hated brawls, hoped with all his heart that there had been an enormous misunderstanding.

  Isaac’s cottage stood on the edge of the estate, near-surrounded by the woodland where Henry had spent his childhood catching frogs and having picnics. Briefly struck by the beauty of the ivy-covered roof and roses trailing around the door, Henry felt his palms sweating as he knocked on the polished wood.

  Why hadn’t he brought Anne with him? Even when expecting, his wife radiated more gentle authority than Henry could ever hope to exude. He would quite happily have carried her here, belly and all, if his own foolish instinct to protect and cherish hadn’t reared its head at the most inconvenient moment.

  Footsteps sounded inside the cottage. Henry, breaking out in a cold sweat, hoped that Isaac was much smaller than he remembered. He puffed out his chest, adopting the most threatening scowl he could as the door opened—only for it to fade away as soon as he saw Agnes.

  His sister-in-law looked… different. That was inescapable. Henry, his rakish days long-gone but fondly remembered, recognised at once the dishevelled dress and contented air of a woman who had spent time in company she found more than agreeable. Agnes was leaning on a carved wooden stick; she had been hurt, then, but had apparently suffered no ill-effects.

  ‘Oh.’ Henry knew it was a stupid thing to say; a very stupid thing. As they stared at one another, the air thick with embarrassment, he realised with a start that Agnes wasn’t blushing.

  ‘I am not going to marry the earl of Ashton. I am not.’ Agnes spoke in a sudden rush; Henry tried to keep his own mouth closed, shocked at the level of fire in her voice. ‘I do not love him, and I have never loved him, and if you make me marry him for reasons of decorum then I will drown myself in the lake.’

  Henry, not knowing what else to do, nodded. That seemed to clear the air a little. Agnes sighed, leaning more heavily on the stick, a few more uncomfortable moments of silence passing before Henry hit upon something necessary to say.

  ‘Miss Hereford, I must ask if you have been—’

  ‘Compromised? Thoroughly.’ A soft patch of red appeared on the bridge of Agnes’ nose, but spread no further. ‘I am most completely and utterly ruined.’

  ‘Hurt.’ Henry spluttered out the word, pointing wildly at the stick as Agnes’ eyes widened. ‘I was going to ask if you have been hurt. If you require the attentions of a doctor.’

  ‘... I see.’ The blush on Agnes’ face deepened a little; Henry nodded, wondering if he was about to become the blushing kind of gentleman. ‘I turned my ankle, tripping over the roof of a tree, but do not believe anything is broken.’ Her voice softened a little. ‘Isaac bound it for me.’

  Isaac. Things were certainly critical; it was one thing to call a servant by his first name if you were giving an order, but quite another if you were standing in said servant’s ho
use with bare shoulders. Henry, searching desperately for the correct words with which to broach the subject, was blindsided once more when Agnes opened her mouth.

  ‘We have already discussed it. We will be married as soon as possible, and—and if Isaac can no longer continue in his current position, then he shall seek a new one in another part of the country.’ She paused, swallowing, and continued. ‘I am quite willing to—to no longer frequent Longwater, and see my sisters less than I am currently accustomed to seeing them, if my choice of husband will cause undue damage to their reputation. I do ask, however, that I still be permitted to send and receive letters from them.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Henry, blinking, could barely believe what he was hearing. ‘Have you completely taken leave of your senses?’

  Tears were appearing in Agnes’ eyes. ‘But what harm could there be in correspondence?’

  ‘No. No.’ Henry, moving forward, tentatively took hold of Agnes’ bare shoulders. ‘I… oh, Lord, Agnes. Just listen, for goodness’ sake.’

  Agnes, her lip quivering, remained silent. Henry, full of a gentle pity he hadn’t known he could possess, tried to speak as kindly as possible.

  ‘Of course Isaac will not lose his position here. Why would he? If this decision has been made with mutual sentiment, mutual conviction, then the man has no blame to take. You forget that I am married to Anne—I know you Herefords are as stubborn as mules when it comes to affairs of the heart.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course, Isaac’s position would change. He would be, to all intents and purposes, the brother of a duke. That would probably entail the cessation of Head Gardener duties, and moving into a slightly more appropriate residence.’

  ‘No.’ Agnes shook herself from his grip, folding her arms. ‘If we are to stay, then Isaac will remain Head Gardener. And I adore this cottage.’

  ‘Fine.’ Henry gave a short, exasperated sigh. ‘It’s hardly as if I can stop you. Anne would have my head, as would Lydia, while Henrietta would do torturous things to the rest of me. I assume you have already realised that your social life would be vastly reduced—the Colborne name has enough weight to take the blow, but lesser names will flee. You will receive far fewer invitations to teas and dances.’

  ‘Good. I despise both.’ Agnes nodded briskly. ‘I consider this aspect of my future marriage an enormously positive one.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Henry couldn’t help but feel a little curious. ‘And what will you do, when your sisters are whirling around a glittering ballroom without you?’

  ‘I will look at my ordered house, my sleeping children, and the husband I chose, and feel joy at every one of the choices my sisters and I have made.’ The quiet dignity with which Agnes said the words made Henry feel ashamed of having asked. ‘And then I shall meet them at breakfast-time, and they shall tell me all of the most salacious gossip as I quietly eat my bun.’

  Henry, thoroughly defeated, could do nothing but nod. She had managed to make everything seem so sensible; what had sounded so utterly absurd an hour ago now had the ordered air of a dull Sunday, or a church service. He should have brought Anne; she would at least have had something of use to say, apart from the most basic platitudes…

  He restrained the urge to gulp as Agnes looked over his shoulder, her eyes softening. Turning, trying not to wince, Henry took in the tall, broad form of what looked like a very angry Isaac.

  ‘I have already explained everything.’ Both Henry and Isaac turned to Agnes; she nodded primly, for all the world as if she were holding court at afternoon tea instead of standing on swept earth in a state of near-undress. ‘We are to be married, and nothing else of any import is to change. I will dress now, and wash my face, and we will return to Longwater together as soon as I am ready.’

  With a grave curtsey, she disappeared inside the cottage. Henry, still reeling from the conversation, stared at Isaac in open, frank amazement.

  If the silence with Agnes had been awkward, it was nothing compared to the excruciating silence he now shared with Isaac. Drawing himself up to his full height, wondering how the man gave off such an air of strength even with a bunch of roses in his hand, Henry tried to affect his usual, arrogant drawl.

  ‘That’s a Hereford for you. Generals to a man—well, woman.’ Henry sighed, wondering why he was trying to play a part. ‘They do rather tend to organise everything. One believes one has a plan, and firm ideas on how to do things, only to find out that you have agreed to do the complete opposite.’

  Isaac slowly smiled. Henry couldn’t help but find it incongruous, like a lion munching on a lettuce leaf. ‘Yes. Agnes is like that.’

  ‘Well. I thought I’d at least warn you.’ Henry shrugged, searching in his waistcoat for his cigar case. ‘We are to be brothers, after all.’

  Isaac’s smile faded. ‘I know my place, your Grace. I’ll stay here, and pay you no mind.’

  ‘That would be far more comfortable for both of us, yes, but the sisters will never allow it.’ Henry chewed on the end of a cigar, smiling contentedly as the acrid taste of tobacco filled his mouth. ‘Anne wouldn’t speak to me for a year. Lydia would speak to me far too much. And Henrietta…’ He shivered, a shadow falling over his soul. ‘Lord knows what she would do to me.’

  Isaac nodded darkly. ‘I once saw her in the woods with a hawk on her wrist. We don’t even keep hawks here—the bird wasn’t even hooded.’ He took a cigar as Henry offered one. ‘I still wonder how on earth she managed it.’

  ‘Yes.’ Henry nodded eagerly, grateful that the enormous, ferocious-looking man was trading anecdotes instead of snarling. ‘With Henrietta Hereford, there’s always something troubling to wonder about.’

  Four weeks later, Agnes sat alone in her Longwater bedroom. With reverent hands she traced over the green folio, the pressed blooms giving up the ghost of their scent as she gently closed the pages.

  ‘Are you closing it?’ Isaac’s voice came from the door; Agnes couldn’t help but smile as he walked in, his steps still tentative. For all the enthusiastic welcomes the Hereford sisters had given him, the man still had the air of someone more comfortable out-of-doors than inside. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it must be packed.’ Agnes went to him, smiling as he kissed her. ‘Everything must be packed—and a good deal must be thrown away, if the cottage is to fit me.’ She looked lovingly back at the green folio. ‘Of course, that will never be thrown away. Even if it is to no longer be used.’

  ‘And who is to say that it will no longer be used?’ Isaac’s voice had a note of humour in it—one that Agnes could not understand until he produced, with a flourish, the flower that he had hidden behind his back.

  Peonies. Two perfect, white peonies. Agnes looked at them, briefly overcome, her hand to her mouth.

  ‘One of them for the folio. One of them for your hair, now.’ Isaac gently tucked it behind her ear; the flower held perfectly. ‘And I picked one for myself, and it is currently sitting in a glass of water on my desk—’

  ‘Will Coal not eat it?’ Agnes frowned. ‘He is a curious rabbit. I would not leave any flowers in his vicinity.’

  ‘I left it out of his reach.’ Isaac kissed her forehead. ‘Now, I don’t want to keep you from your dreaming, but—’

  ‘Agnes! Isaac!’ Lydia appeared at the bedroom door, bonnet askew, with Andrew and Henrietta following after. ‘You must know that seeing one another before the ceremony is bad luck, yes?’

  ‘Oh, goodness.’ Agnes looked guiltily at Isaac. ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘Come now, Lydia.’ Henrietta rolled her eyes. ‘They have broke every rule that can be made, I think. This is merely a formality—they clearly did not even think of it.’

  ‘Henry, Susan and Anne are already at the church, and Richard is attempting to saddle the angriest horse in the stable.’ Andrew winked at Isaac; Agnes saw the small gesture of friendship, and appreciated it immensely. ‘It is time for us to leave.’

  ‘Yes.’ Lydia beamed. ‘Come now! You are ready to be married!’

&
nbsp; Ready to be married. Agnes could barely take in the words as Lydia, Henrietta and Andrew began to make their way to the stairs. Everything she had hoped for, dreamed of, everything she had tried so hard to dismiss as unrealistic; it was all to happen, and more beautifully than she had ever expected.

  ‘Well?’ Isaac’s voice pulled her from her dreaming. ‘Are you ready to be married?’

  ‘Yes.’ Agnes smiled up at him. ‘Sooner, rather than later.’

  ‘You are remarkably impatient.’ Isaac smiled back. ‘You didn’t speak a word to me for months.’

  ‘I shall remind you that you spoke no words to me either.’ Agnes moved closer, whispering in his ear. ‘And my impatience… there is a reason for it.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Isaac’s brow furrowed—and abruptly relaxed, his mouth falling open, when Agnes gently but firmly placed his hand on her stomach.

  ‘It is early, but… there has been a delay. And I am quite sure of it—I feel it.’ Agnes gasped as Isaac kissed her, the force of it near-lifting her off of her feet. ‘We shall have to wait and see.’

  ‘I’m a gardener. We’re masters of waiting and seeing.’ Isaac cupped her face, his eyes full of a love that Agnes could still hardly believe.

  ‘Good. Then let us get on with marrying, and dancing.’ Agnes ran to the door, her hand held tightly in his. ‘Then will come sickness, fatigue, growing and growing and growing…’

  ‘And I will love you all the more.’

  ‘Good.’ Agnes laughed. ‘Because I do not intend to have a single flower… I intend for you and I to grow a whole garden.’

  THE END

  Queen of the Garden

  An unusual quiet reigned over the Longwater estate. It was as if the birds had ceased singing in the gardens; the servants worked as if underwater, slow and clumsy, sneaking confused glances at one another. Most of the rooms lay empty; no guests had come for the previous week, even the most regular visitors… and the door to Susan Colborne’s room remained tightly, deliberately locked at all hours of the day.