The Orchid Hunter

by Jill Marie Landis

  Dismissing him, she picked up her pen, dipped it into a pot of ink, and began drawing again.

  “If Janelle stops in to see you, please tell her for me that she needs to hurry.”

  “I will.”

  He lingered, longing to say something, anything, that would make things right. He knew of contracts, of shipping schedules, of the price of tea from Rangoon, teakwood from China, rice from the Philippines, and tobacco from America. He could classify and identify every orchid species known to man. He could hack a trail through the jungle as easily as he could waltz around a ballroom.

  But until he knew he meant them, until he was certain he would not hurt her ever again, he could not say the words his wife needed to hear.

  * * *

  Joya waited until he closed the library door and then pressed her hands to her lips and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

  She had not seen Trevor in two days and with every passing hour she had missed him more. How in the name of Kibatante was she going to find the courage to leave in a few days, knowing she would never, ever see him again?

  Her hands were shaking as she gathered her drawings together. The clock chimed the half hour. Joya drew aside the curtain. A light mist had been falling all afternoon and now it had turned to a hard rain.

  Suddenly, a different kind of emotion shook her, a wave of anxiety and frustration, along with something more, a confusion she could not describe. Her thoughts were immediately centered on her sister. Where was Janelle?

  Just as she was about to leave the room, the library door opened again and Sims appeared. She admired his uncanny ability to move through the house without making a sound.

  “You look very upset, Sims.

  “Miss Mandeville has not yet returned. I am afraid she will not be here in time to go to the reception.”

  “I hope she is all right,” Joya said, glancing out at the rain-soaked street again.

  “Mrs. Billingsley said that Mrs. Mandeville is growing anxious. She is concerned your sister’s delay will ruin the evening.”

  “Anxious is probably not the right word, is it, Sims?”

  “No, madam. She is in the midst of throwing quite a tantrum.”

  Joya frowned. What if Janelle was detained until well after time to leave? Adelaide would never forgive her sister.

  “Couldn’t Trevor simply tell the queen that his wife has taken ill?”

  Sims shook his head. “This is, perhaps, the most important thing to ever happen for the Mandevilles.” He was staring at her as if trying to silently communicate some unspoken thought.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “If I might be so bold as to make a suggestion, madam?”

  “Surely. What is it?”

  “You could go in your sister’s stead. No one would be the wiser.”

  “You mean that I should pretend to be my sister pretending to be me?”

  “Exactly. I can have Mrs. Billingsley tell Mr. Mandeville and his grandmother that Miss Mandeville has returned and is dressing, while you slip into her room where Mrs. Billingsley will attend to you herself.”

  “But I will still have no idea what to do when I get to the palace.”

  “Simply watch and do what everyone else does.”

  “What if I don’t go along with this plan?”

  “I hate to think what Mrs. Mandeville will do if Miss Mandeville, in some form or another, does not appear.”

  * * *

  As dusk gathered, rain beat down on the roof of a hired carriage stranded a few miles from London. The conveyance sat at a lopsided tilt, its rear left wheel mired in a muddy field bordering the country road. Inside, Janelle sat opposite Garr Remington, thinking that if looks could kill, he would surely have died a mercifully quick death by now.

  “I could murder you for this, Garr.”

  “You mean to say you would rather be curtsying to the queen than stranded with me? Think of how romantic this is, the two of us alone here in the countryside while the coachman is off searching for someone who can help him hoist the back wheel out of the muck and the mire.”

  “You should have helped him. Perhaps we would already be on our way.”

  “What? And get dirty?”

  “You are the most infuriating man alive.” She crossed her arms and glared at him.

  “A short while ago you told me that your brother was the most infuriating man alive.”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Now I’m certain all men are equally infuriating.”

  “It is not my fault that the owner of Nevillewood is an idiot with more money than sense.” He stretched out, crossed his long legs at the ankles, and seemed perfectly content with the situation.

  She wished he had not mentioned the estate of Nevillewood or its owner. The house was a fine example of Georgian architecture complete with formal gardens and wonderful furnishings. The viscount had sold one of her paintings to Lord Covington, the owner of the estate, and had invited her to accompany him—not as the artist, of course—but as a friend, when he delivered the painting.

  Of course, Lord Covington had no notion that she was J. Mandeville, so when she asked him what he thought of the idea of women pursuing the arts, he gave her his most blunt and honest opinion. He had been so blunt and so honest that she almost told him that he had just paid an exorbitant amount for a painting that she, a woman, had produced. But she held her tongue when she remembered just how far her percentage of the price would go to feed the poor of London.

  “Stop scowling,” Garr ordered. “I thought it rather cleverly put when Covington said the only art that women should be allowed to engage in is the fine art of seduction.”

  “You would. How did you happen along in the first place?”

  “If you must know, I begged my uncle to let me meet him there and drive you home. It isn’t my fault we hit a rut and the driver has left us stranded.”

  “I am beginning to suspect you paid him to leave. Especially since he seems to have disappeared altogether and we are alone out here in the dark.”

  “Are you afraid, Miss Mandeville?”

  She stuck her chin out at him, as a show of bravado. “Of course not.”

  “You don’t sound positive.”

  “I am more afraid of the tongue lashing I’ll get from Grandmama when I get home.”

  “If you had your own home, you would not find yourself embroiled in your brother and sister’s marriage squabbles, nor would you be having to jump to your grandmother’s tune.”

  “I do not jump to her tune. She drives us mad at times, but I love my grandmother. She raised Trevor and me after his father died.”

  “I didn’t say you don’t love her, just that you are old enough to marry and establish your own household.”

  “No, thank you.” She realized what she had inferred and felt her cheeks blaze. The interior of the carriage was growing darker by the moment, which made her increasingly uncomfortable.

  “That was not a proposal. When I propose to you, I’ll do it properly.”

  “And I will politely refuse.”

  “There is no way you would be able to turn me down.”

  “You are a pompous ass.”

  She turned aside and looked out the window. The rain had become a downpour. Dear God in heaven, what had she been thinking when she let the viscount talk her into returning to the city with Garr? Now she was not only caught in a highly compromising situation, but she was never going to get back to Mandeville House in time to attend the reception in Joya’s place.

  When she turned away from the window again, she was startled by the sight of Garr on bended knee, wedged into the confining floor space between the seats.

  “What are you doing?” She braced herself, prepared for an attack.

  “I’m proposing. Give me your hand.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be, ma’am.” Mrs. Billingsley stood back and surveyed Joya from head to toe, nodding in sat
isfaction as she reached out to straighten the sleeve of Janelle’s chosen gown. A three-foot-long train attached to a loop that hung from her wrist made walking a greater challenge than the crinoline.

  “I can’t see a thing through these spectacles,” Joya complained, squinting, then crossing her eyes. Nothing helped. “They make me so dizzy I am afraid if this train doesn’t topple me over, these spectacles surely will make me fall.”

  “Janelle would not be wearing them if she were posing as you, so take them off as soon as you can and give them to Mr. Mandeville to carry.”

  They were still in Janelle’s room, where Mrs. Billingsley had helped her change into the formal gown that her sister had planned to wear. Joya walked over to the mirror. The housekeeper and Janelle’s maid, Betty, had done her hair to perfection. She prayed the intricate tucks and curls would stay in place for the entire evening. Thankfully, her skin had faded somewhat, and Mrs. Billingsley had bemoaned the fact that the almond paste they had applied had no time to work. A layer of face powder helped to hide what Adelaide always referred to as her heathen skin coloring. Mrs. Billingsley told her not to worry, that she was supposed to look like herself anyway.

  Dressed in the English finery, she took one last look in the mirror. The image brought to mind the first time she had seen Janelle and had so admired her sister’s clothing. She remembered wondering what it would be like to be a proper English miss. She knew now that clothing did not make one English. Far from it. She doubted that she would ever truly belong, even if she lived here for the rest of her life.

  She took a deep breath and turned away from her reflection. Mrs. Billingsley politely reminded her that she still pronounced some words slightly differently than Janelle did. Together they decided the less said, the better. Still, she would have to communicate. She wondered how long she would be able to hide the truth from Trevor.

  A quick knock at the door startled her so badly that she jumped. She would have her answers soon enough.

  “Don’t worry. That’ll be Sims,” Mrs. Billingsley whispered as she hurried across the room.

  To Joya’s relief, the housekeeper was right. Sims stood at the threshold, gave her the same thorough onceover that Mrs. Billingsley had, and then smiled. “You are wanted downstairs, Miss Mandeville. They are waiting for you.”

  Joya saw him wink before he left. She reached for her small amulet pouch, tied around her waist beneath her gown. Closing her eyes, she touched the amulet and whispered a hushed prayer to Kibatante, asking for guidance and protection. She thought of her mother and asked for her to help, too.

  “Come, ma’am,” Mrs. Billingsley whispered. “There’s no putting this off any longer.”

  * * *

  Trevor watched Janelle slowly descend the stairs. She clung to the banister, walking very cautiously, carefully placing each step. Except for what he thought was a bit too much face powder, his sister looked delightful tonight. She resembled Joya more than ever, lovely in a pale lavender gown. Mrs. Billingsley had worked wonders, somehow even managing to make his sister’s skin a shade darker beneath her powder.

  When she reached the bottom of the stairs she took off her spectacles, folded the stems, and handed them to him. “Please carry these for me, will you?”

  He slipped them into his pocket. “Are you ready?”

  Sims brought her wrap and handed it to Trevor, who slipped the heavy velvet cape over her shoulders. “The rain has stopped momentarily, so we will not get drenched,” he said.

  Without comment, she nodded and took his arm. Together they walked past Sims. The butler wished them good evening before he closed the door behind them.

  Adelaide was already seated inside the carriage. Trevor helped Janelle up and then waited until she was settled before he climbed in and sat beside her.

  “It took you long enough,” Adelaide snapped. Impatience and anxiety had sharpened her tongue.

  When Janelle offered their grandmother no more than a soft-spoken apology, Trevor stared at her. “Are you all right?”

  There was a long, silent pause before she said softly, “Yes. Why?”

  “You don’t seem yourself.”

  “She is not herself,” Adelaide reminded him. “She is supposed to be your wife. This is a foolish situation at best, but at least this way I won’t have to spend the entire evening worrying about being embarrassed.”

  “I would thank you to remember that Joya is my wife, Grandmother,” Trevor reminded her firmly. He was more than uncomfortable with this entire charade now that it was under way. There seemed to be something about Janelle tonight, some indescribable essence she exuded that made her seem too much like Joya. It was more than disturbing.

  And what of Joya tonight, he wondered. Would his wife stay shut up in her room? Would Mrs. Billingsley see to it that she ate dinner?

  His thoughts were interrupted when his grandmother asked Janelle, “What kept you so late? I feared you were not going to be ready in time.”

  “I’m sorry you worried. I mean, were worried.”

  Trevor continued to watch Janelle closely. Something was not quite right. She was visibly uncomfortable and far too quiet. “Are you certain you are all right? Are you coming down with a cold?”

  “I am fine.” She sat with her hands folded demurely and spoke without looking at him.

  Trevor folded his arms. Shifting with the sway of the carriage, he frowned in the semidarkness, certain that something was definitely wrong with his sister. He had no idea where she had gone or with whom she had spent the day, but that was not unusual. He rarely questioned her about her comings and goings. Now he found himself wishing he had.

  He wondered if her strange demeanor had anything to do with Garr Remington? If the man had done something to hurt her, then the rake would pay the consequences. Unwilling to speak about such a volatile matter before Adelaide, Trevor decided to wait until he and his sister had a moment alone, and then he would try to get to the bottom of her submissive silence.

  * * *

  Joya, trapped in the charade, had to force herself to breathe. When the carriage hit a deep pothole in the street, she was thrown against Trevor and practically landed in his lap. Ever the gentleman, he helped her back to a sitting position, but all the while he watched her closely.

  She was grateful for the darkness and for the fact that she had been there to hear him defend her to Adelaide. My wife, he had called her. Hearing him say those words had filled her with a bittersweet longing. If only he had spoken his marriage vows out of love and pride and not some sense of obligation or duty. If only he knew how to love her along with his desire, then their marriage might have stood a chance.

  The carriage reached St. James’s Palace, and soon they were inside a huge hall mingling with the crowd assembled there.

  Trevor naturally introduced her as his wife, Joya Penn Mandeville, to many members of the Orchid Society. Not one person among them had not heard of Dustin Penn. Everyone was very much in awe of her father’s reputation and discoveries and held him in great esteem.

  The society members included men wealthy enough to hire hunters willing to risk their lives for enough money. There were orchid hunters in the far corners of Mexico, Brazil, Peru, Madagascar, India, Africa, and New Zealand.

  Before she realized what she was doing, she was discussing many of her father’s most famous finds and even the exciting news that John Lindley, one of the founders of the Gardeners’ Chronicle, was undertaking an intensive study of the genera and species and was working on a series of monographs of all orchid genera identified so far.

  It was not until she looked up and saw Adelaide standing nearby, tight-lipped and watching her with barely concealed anger, that she realized through her excitement and knowledgeable comments that she had given herself away.

  Just then, an announcement was made at the far end of the hall. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert had arrived. Trevor pulled her close just as the crowd started to move into a receiving line.

 
; “What made you change your mind, Joya?”

  She was vastly relieved at having been found out.

  “How did you know?”

  “When did I know is more the question. I thought something was wrong with you, or rather, with Janelle, on the ride over. I was almost certain when you fell over me in the carriage, but it became evident when you were able to add so much to the conversation. My sister knows next to nothing about orchid classification and nothing at all about your father’s most famous finds.”

  He glanced over at Adelaide, who was headed toward them. “Grandmother looks as if she has swallowed a bad beetle,” he said.

  When he actually chuckled softly, Joya almost smiled. Oh, how she wished they could turn back time to the point where things had been uncomplicated by honor and obligation.

  “When Janelle did not come home, Mrs. Billingsley and Sims suggested I take her place,” she said.

  “Where is Janelle?” His expression instantly darkened with concern.

  Joya had not intended to cast Janelle in a bad light. As yet she was not overly alarmed about her sister. “I think I would feel it if she was in any real danger. She went to the country with the viscount to meet a man who bought one of her paintings. I have no idea why she did not return on time.”

  Before they could say more, the crowd began moving in a calm, orderly fashion, the way the tide slowly creeps toward shore. There was no stopping the inevitable.

  Joya grabbed his sleeve. “Oh, Trevor, I am so afraid I will do something wrong.”

  “You will be just fine. You look absolutely beautiful tonight. Something told me it was you the minute I saw you on the stairs. I should have listened to my heart.”

  When Trevor’s admission brought her to a complete standstill, the woman in line behind her walked right into her. Joya apologized and then Adelaide appeared and fell into step alongside them.