by Wendy Vella
“My parents do not hold the same view as you, Mr. Hetherington. They believe no man will want a wife who, in their words, exhibits signs of an unbalanced nature.”
“You are the least unbalanced person I know, and believe me, I’ve met a few.”
“Thank you.” She had lovely dimples. “Oh, I….” Her words fell away as Mr. Jeremy Caton walked by them. He lifted his hat and smiled at her, then carried on into the village.
Tall and lean, the man was an acquaintance but nothing more. Comfortable to converse with, third son of a viscount. He made his own way in the world.
“Miss Fullerton Smythe, are you all right?”
She gave her head a little shake, almost as if she had been in a daze.
“I am, thank you, Mr. Hetherington.”
Interesting. Ben doubted Lady Fullerton Smythe would approve of her daughter within ten feet of a man third in line for a title.
“Please ensure that whoever you marry knows what you do beforehand. Not many men could resist a woman who does wood carving.”
She laughed.
“My mother has lectured me for many hours on just that subject, so I fear you are teasing me.”
“She’s wrong. Now, my next suggestion to you is that you make friends with Miss Ainsley. She too has some interesting hobbies.”
“Does she?” Miss Fullerton Smythe shot a look at Primrose’s back. “My mother….”
Her words fell away as she blushed.
“Has no wish for you to associate with her.”
“She has very particular ideas about most things.”
“As do most mothers, from what I gather. Come along, I shall introduce you.”
“Oh, we’ve met.”
“But have you actually conversed on anything other than the weather?”
“It’s the safest topic.”
“I know. However, I want you to tell Miss Ainsley about your hobby; she will love it.”
“Thank you, Mr. Hetherington.” Her words were softly spoken.
“For what?”
“For being genuinely interested in my wood carving.”
Ben felt ashamed of himself for not taking the time to speak with this woman before. Not taking the time to see that these young ladies had desires and interests just as he and his brothers did.
“It was my pleasure.” He increased his pace, and Miss Fullerton Smythe kept up with him, and soon they drew alongside Primrose.
“Miss Ainsley, I believe you have met Miss Fullerton Smythe?”
Primrose’s smile was wide and welcoming, even after what she’d just endured.
“Of course. Good day, Miss Fullerton Smythe.”
“We are to sample the local bakery fare. I have heard there is none finer,” Ben said.
“We just ate!” Primrose and Miss Fullerton Smythe said at the same time.
“I am a growing man.”
“If you continue eating like that, some parts of you will grow faster than others,” Primrose said.
Miss Fullerton Smythe looked shocked and made a choking sound. Ben swallowed his smile.
“As charming as this conversation is, I’m sure it’s about to turn into frills and trim, so I shall leave you two ladies alone. I need to speak with my brother.”
As he walked off, he looked over his shoulder to see Miss Fullerton Smythe lean toward Primrose and say something. He had a feeling these two women could become friends. Ben just hoped her mother didn’t step in to stop that happening.
Chapter Ten
Primrose frowned at the back of Benjamin Hetherington’s head. What was he about, leaving her with this woman? They had barely spoken two words in the time they’d known each other, and those were about the weather.
She did not want to listen to more insults carefully veiled behind polite words. Primrose understood the order of things; she was beneath the other young ladies in society, and they wanted her to know that. She didn’t have to like it, however, or stand idly by listening to those insults.
Yet more people who didn’t like her. If she was not immune, this continual rejection would be unsettling.
Miss Fullerton Smythe’s father was an Earl, and her mother very full of her own importance; she doubted either wanted their precious daughter to converse with someone like her.
“Miss Ainsley, will you walk with me into Two Oaks?”
“We are nearly there, Miss Fullerton Smythe.”
“The short distance left then?”
“Of course. Thank you for asking, but I must be honest, shouldn’t you be speaking with those other ladies?”
“I’m so terribly sorry, Miss Ainsley.”
“Pardon?” Primrose looked at the young lady. She was beautiful in that flawless way some women had. Delicate bone structure, long curling lashes over soft brown eyes. Masses of lovely brown hair that was always styled perfectly. Her clothes were cut to perfection to sit on a lovely, delicate figure. Primrose could never be like that. She only had to walk three paces for a shoe ribbon to come undone or lock of hair to escape its confines.
“For not making more of an effort to speak with you when clearly I should have.”
“Oh no, I completely understand,” Primrose replied. And she did. She was not one of the favorable young ladies in society. She was here at the charity of another. Her family was not the type to inspire enthusiasm among ambitious parents and their offspring.
“You shouldn’t. Did you know I like to do wood carvings, Miss Ainsley?”
“I—ah, no, I didn’t know that.” That was a shock.
“You think I’m quite mad no doubt for saying such a thing, but Mr. Hetherington told me to tell you. He said you had hobbies also that you may like to discuss with me? It is really quite a liberating feeling to speak about it, as before I have told no one.”
Primrose looked at his back again. Broad, with wide shoulders encased in deep green. Did he introduce this woman to Primrose because he believed she had no friends? Which she didn’t, but it was a humbling thought just the same, and one that made her feel warm inside.
“I’m sorry, I should just leave you alone.”
“No!” Primrose took the arm of Miss Fullerton Smythe as she began to walk away. “Really, and I am interested in plants. I take cuttings wherever I go and hide them under my bed wrapped in something damp. The gardeners at Lady Jane’s house help me.”
Miss Fullerton Smythe’s laugh was a great deal fuller than it usually was—and, Primrose thought, genuine.
“How wonderful. I make small woodland figures.”
“Do you really? That’s intriguing.”
“Yes. My mother hates it, Miss Ainsley. My father tolerates it, and my siblings think I’m mad.”
“My name is Primrose.”
“I am Heather.”
They shared a look, and then Heather squeezed Primrose’s hand and they walked together over the stone bridge and down into the quaint town of Two Oaks.
“Heather, please come with me.”
Lady Fullerton Smythe appeared at their side as they reached the first building. The militant look on her face did not bode well for her daughter.
“No, Mother, I am talking with Primrose, and quite happy doing so.”
The woman’s lips pursed, but she said nothing further, not wishing to make a scene, and walked away. But Primrose doubted the matter would be left there.
“I have no problem if you wish to follow her, Heather.”
“No, I am asserting my independence, Primrose. It will do her good to see that I can do that occasionally.”
People walked about Two Oaks at a slower pace than they did in London, where the streets were lined with horses and carriages and people bustling from one place to the next.
“It is lovely,” Primrose said, noting the splashes of color coming from the window boxes. “I miss Pickford, even if it is not as beautiful as this.”
“I’m always happiest at one of Father’s estates,” Heather said. “I wish I could stay there, but Mother
would have conniptions if I even mentioned that fact. She pines for London when we retire to the country. It is my hope that one day I will marry a man who likes the quiet life as I do.”
Primrose certainly understood that sentiment.
“I overhead the Duchess of Rossetter saying this morning that they have someone here in Two Oaks who does amazing carvings of birds. I believe they have a shop in the village.”
“Let’s see if we can find it then.” Heather sounded excited.
They walked passed a milliners and a bootmaker. The Rossetter party drifted in and out of shops ahead of them, while Heather and Primrose kept searching for the carving store.
Thankfully she had lost sight of the disturbing Benjamin Hetherington.
“Miss Fullerton Smythe, do come and look at this bonnet. It will be quite lovely on you!”
“My mother put her up to that,” Heather said out the side of her mouth to Primrose. “I will come soon, Miss Robbins,” she called, waving to the young woman as they continued on down the street.
“Oh, but—”
Heather kept walking, dragging Primrose with her. They eventually located the shop. It was tucked away down a side lane darting off the main street. The only indication it was there was a small arrow with one word painted on it.
“Carving,” Primrose read. “Not a great deal of thought went in to that sign. One wonders how just that simple word would lure people down that lane?”
“It’s going to lure us, Primrose. But how can we duck down there without my mother seeing, I wonder?” Heather looked behind them to see if Lady Fullerton Smythe was close.
“Ladies, can I be of any assistance?”
Mr. Hetherington was smiling at them in a knowing way that suggested to Primrose he was quite happy with the fact he had instigated their union.
“We wish to go down there to see the carving shop. To do that, we need a distraction,” Primrose said, pointing to her left.
“Of the motherly intervention kind?” His eyes twinkled.
“The very one, Mr. Hetherington.” Primrose tried not to smile, but it was difficult.
“Leave it to me. But give me a few minutes, and I will also expect some kind of carving as recompense. Perhaps you could pretend to look in that shop while I create a diversion?” He nodded to the confectionery shop window. “Not a terrible hardship, I imagine.”
“No indeed.” Heather tugged Primrose’s arm. “I wonder if they have any of that toffee that everyone is talking about at the moment.”
They were inspecting the window in detail a few minutes later when a loud shriek filled the air.
“Get it off!”
Turning toward the scream, Heather and Primrose found Lady Fullerton Smythe doing some kind of odd dance in the street while flapping her hands about. Beside her was Benjamin Hetherington.
“If you’ll just come with me, I shall attempt to help you, Lady Fullerton Smythe.”
They didn’t wait to see just what he had done to Heather’s mother; instead they hurried down the lane. The shop was tiny, a narrow place that was hard to walk into two abreast. The counter was manned by a wizened old man who looked them over as they entered.
“Good day to you.”
“Good day. We hear you have some very fine bird carvings in your lovely shop,” Primrose said. Heather, however, was already heading to the first shelf.
“Me and my Anne make them.”
“Anne?”
“Women carve also, miss.”
“Why yes, sir, they do,” Primrose said loud enough for Heather to hear.
“’Tis rare to find such a place,” Heather said, her voice filled with wonder.
“Well, be quick about it. Select what you wish, then purchase it so we can hurry back before we are missed.”
Primrose’s eyes fell on a small, scruffy owl. Its hair seemed ruffled, and it looked grumpy and disheveled. She didn’t know why she thought of him while looking at it, but she did.
“I will take this,” she said, giving herself no time to think.
Heather purchased three carvings, and soon they were leaving the shop.
“Oh, Mr. Caton, good day to you,” Primrose said to the man entering.
“Good day. Did you find something to purchase? I have heard great things about this place.”
“I-I, ah….”
Primrose shot her new friend a look. She was rigid, hands clenched into fists, and her face was now flooded with color.
“Oh indeed, we have found just the thing,” Primrose added quickly. “We shall see you at the boat race, Mr. Caton.”
His smile was gentle and directed at Heather. Was that longing she saw in his eyes?
“You shall.”
Minutes later they were back out on the main street once again, and Primrose held the purchases in case Lady Fullerton Smythe questioned what her daughter was carrying.
“What happened in there, Heather?”
“With what?” Heather was looking down the street.
“Mr. Caton. You couldn’t speak in his presence.”
“I was worried Mother would arrive, Primrose.”
She didn’t think that was the entire truth but didn’t press her further. After all, they hadn’t known each other that long, and Primrose didn’t want to destroy what could be a wonderful friendship.
“The birds in that shop were very detailed, Primrose. I so wanted to chat with that man about his techniques.”
“Perhaps we can return before you leave Rossetter ?”
“There you are!”
“Hello, Penelope,” Heather said to the young woman who called to them.
“Your mother has had a terrible fright. It seems a spider dropped into her bodice. Mr. Hetherington saw it crawling down her chest. Luckily it was gone when she looked, but it was terrifying, as you’ll understand. You need to come and see her, Heather. She was distraught.”
Penelope, Miss Haversham, gave Primrose a look that suggested she’d just crawled out from under a rock.
“Come along, Primrose.”
“No, Heather, you go, and I will see you later.”
She didn’t want to go, but she did… reluctantly. Primrose would be sure to drop off her purchases later.
“You owe me for creating that diversion.”
“Miss Fullerton Smythe owes you,” Primrose corrected the large, smug male now at her side.
“But you owe me for finding you a friend who has strange ways as you do.”
“Collecting cuttings and having a love of botany is not strange.”
“Your clicking jaw is strange.”
“It’s something I was born with, I can hardly help that. Besides, you have this issue with loud noises and people chewing, surely that makes you strange also, if not more so?”
“Me, strange?” He pressed a hand to his chest, his face a picture of innocence. “Many women would refute your claim.”
“No doubt, but only because they see a handsome façade and not the complexities beneath.”
They had started walking back toward the river that ran beneath the bridge. This would be the vantage point for the boat race, she’d been told. Rossetter guests were already gathering there.
“I am handsome? Why thank you, Primrose. I am also an open book.”
“With many smudged pages.” Primrose snorted, then looked about them to see if anyone had heard.
“You are safe, only I heard.”
“You don’t matter.”
“Charming.”
“I have given some more thought to your suggestion, and I believe it has merits.”
“I thought you might.”
“I will add smug to your list of faults.”
“I am only smug when I am right.”
“So clearly not often then,” Primrose snapped.
“Ouch. I do believe you wound me, Miss Ainsley.”
People had gathered on either side of the bridge, villagers and guests. Some had wandered down underneath to line the bank.
He had walked away before she could say anything further. Primrose refused to watch him, so she walked to where Lady Jane stood, unfortunately, with Lady Fullerton Smythe.
“Are you enjoying yourself, Primrose?”
“Indeed, Lady Jane. Thank you.”
“My daughter is the epitome of elegance, Lady Jane. Highly sought, and of course has all the right connections.”
Bitch.
“Did you know that Primrose is the granddaughter of an earl, Lady Fullerton Smythe?”
Lady Jane may make Primrose grind her teeth regularly with her constant harping about society rules and the correct way to do things, but she could be extremely loyal.
“Oh… ah, I had of course heard something—”
“Yes. The current Earl of Pennworthy is her cousin.”
Lady Fullerton Smythe looked like she’d swallowed that spider. Her mouth was opening and closing and her large chin wobbling. Primrose should not be enjoying the spectacle quite a much as she was.
“How unusual you did not know of the connection.”
“Oh well… yes, of course I did, but had forgotten.”
That was a big fat lie.
“Heather, dear,” she called, looking around for a distraction. “Come here.”
Heather arrived, eyes twinkling, and moved to Primrose’s side.
“Yes, Mother?”
“Did you know that Miss Ainsley is the cousin of the current Earl of Pennworthy?”
“I didn’t. How wonderful.” She clapped her hands, making her mother’s eyes narrow. “Come, Primrose, I have just the vantage point from which to watch the race.”
Primrose let herself be pulled along the bridge.
“Here. We can see up and down the river. And how wonderful that you found an earl to make you acceptable to Mother. Now we shall not need to hide our friendship.”
“I don’t think it’s made me that acceptable, Heather. Those other ladies know about it, surely. In fact, peers know everything about other peers; it’s a rite of passage.”
“And watch out for my carving, Primrose. You just knocked them against the stone of the bridge.”
