"Master Radcliffe was an apprentice under Sir Benjamin Rowley, until that gentleman retired, and since then he has designed some of the most beautiful gardens anyone has ever seen. He is not yet thirty, has never been married, and went to sea when he was only just twelve. He lives nowhere permanently, but travels about the country working on his gardens, wherever he is needed."
"A gypsy," Persey murmured. "I imagined as much. A wanderer. One can never depend upon a man whose feet itch to be constantly moving. People who cannot be satisfied in one place are generally trouble."
Honoria frowned. "But mama, you once told me that Holbrooke has been your home longer than any other, and that you had never liked sitting in one place until you came here. That you were always restless."
She frowned. "Exactly."
"Is it not hypocritical then, to disparage Master Radcliffe for being so well traveled too?"
"It takes one vagabond to know another. That is my point. I never said my life was one anybody should emulate."
"I think," the girl announced tartly, "you were merely decided against him from the start, mama, and, like any cause you take to heart, that dislike has taken its stubborn grip upon you at the cost of all reason."
Shocked by this brisk assessment, Persey exclaimed, "A man of no fixed abode is entirely unsuitable for you. Remember your dear papa, and what he would have wanted for you, Honoria." They walked on for a moment and then, quite nonchalantly, her temper calmed, she added, "So...what else have you learned about this infamous gardener?"
The girl was eager to tell her. "That he sometimes gets his ideas from dreams. That he came from a large family where there were many mouths to feed. He retires to bed early, but is often up before first light of dawn. He likes to go off on his own to contemplate his designs. He once hand-reared a baby owl and—"
"Gracious, Honoria! He told you all that at dinner yesterday evening? The fellow must like to talk about himself a very great deal. As I suspected. Typical."
"No, he said very little actually. But I read about him in Minty's Lady's Magazine, when she didn't know I took it."
She sighed. "Honoria, your sister-in-law does not care to be referred to as Minty."
"You call her that."
"Yes, but she is your elder, so mind what you say in her presence. The marchioness has a habit of taking her displeasure out on people in some very unpleasant ways. I would not like to see you fall foul of her temper." Shaking her head, she added, "As I have told you before, don't do as I do. Although I try, my behavior is not always something to imitate, I fear. It ought to be a cautionary tale. I have too many failings." And she really ought to fix that.
But Honoria barely listened, too caught up in the throes of her "love" for Master Radcliffe. "His first name is Josias. Is it not the most splendid of names? It reminds me of the chivalrous knights of old."
"Chivalry is not the first impression that comes to mind in the company of that gardener."
He terrified her.
He intrigued her.
He made her feel sixteen again, and that was not nearly as pleasant a sensation as it sounded. Sixteen year-olds could be vastly stupid.
"See! You have taken against him from the start, mama! It is just as I said. You will not keep an open mind. You are so stubborn!"
"I prefer the term tenacious, dear." She took a deep breath. "As for Radcliffe, whatever my thoughts and feelings, your brother is unlikely to condone such a match for you."
"You have always said I should marry for love."
"Not only for love, Honoria. One must be practical too."
Her stepdaughter looked at her with a mixture of amusement and skepticism. "Practical?"
"Indeed. What can a gardener provide for the daughter of a marquess? And he is nothing more than a gardener, when all is said and done. He might be fashionable now and in a position to charge well for his services, but how long can that last? As you said yourself, he has no home at present, but wanders about like a gypsy. Does he have an attachment elsewhere?" She paused, shaking her head. "Several no doubt."
"He said he does not. Minty already asked him, of course, in her usual officious manner— as if she has some right to know everybody's business. He said he's been too busy to consider a wife."
"Well, there you are then! He is too absorbed in himself." Persey gave an extravagant sigh. "It is the worst sort of man, who pursues fortune and success at the expense of a family and personal happiness."
Honoria was quick to set her straight about that too. "I heard him say, quite distinctly, that he might like a wife one day and he has no objection to marriage if it is undertaken wisely. There! Those were his very words."
"But... is he a kind, generous man? Does he have a bad temper?"
"Like yours, mama?"
She ignored that. "Does he drink to excess? Is he patient? Does he manage his finances well? These are all things you must consider, Honoria, for he will not always be rising in his career. Times are not always favorable. Health and youth does not last forever. It is all well and good to be falling in love, but what happens once you've fallen and hit the ground?" She paused, thinking of his arms holding her so firmly, sweeping her off her feet.
Round and round he spun her, the skirt of her gown fanning out. When she remembered it, the movement slowed in her mind and she could hear nothing but birdsong merrily chirping, her own breath stopped even while her heart thumped at reckless speed, an over-wound clock.
She shook her head again and marched onward. "Will you still love him when you are no longer eighteen and romantically inclined? When he no longer has his looks— his vitality? His teeth and hair? Muscle, one must not forget, does go to seed eventually. Will he love you the same when the grey hair comes and items that once pointed skyward droop regrettably to the grass?"
"Mama!"
"Does he gamble? Does he flirt with housemaids? Men have some terrible habits. It comes naturally to their sex. You must learn all his disgusting behaviors, before you know whether you can love him despite those inevitable failings."
Honoria exhaled a soft groan. "Juliet didn't ask Romeo about his prospects."
"And what happened there? Hardly a recommendation, Honoria dear. In my opinion a good romance does not end with everybody dying abruptly, by their own hand, at the first sign of rough weather. Passion is important in a match, of course, but you must have the foresight to look beyond that. Many a hot candle fizzles out under a leaky roof."
The girl looked askance. "A leaky roof?"
"Hard times can strike anybody and then, when troubles press upon you, it is not easy to retain that first flush of romance. You must be prepared for any eventuality, and it is my duty to see that you are."
After a while, Lady Honoria gave a hearty sigh and said, "Master Radcliffe is certainly a prospect more attractive than those other gentlemen my brother chose for me."
"My dear child, I daresay any man of moderate youth and good looks could tempt you to think of escape when compared to Albert's unfortunate choices." Persey linked her arm with Honoria's and smiled. "Don't give up, darling. All is not lost. Your brother remains inflexible for now, but although he has his faults, I do not believe Albert will force you to marry against your will. Besides, he has me to battle against." She winked. "And you know how formidable I can be. You know what happens to gentlemen who disagree with me and there is space yet in that garden."
Honoria said nothing more about Radcliffe for a while, but Persey was not deceived into thinking him dismissed from the young lady's mind. How could he be? If she herself were twenty years younger, and not so knowledgeable about men and life, he would quite distract her from anything practical too.
It would be wise to stay out of his way, give the fellow a wide berth. She'd still keep an eye on these "improvements", but direct contact with Josias Radcliffe was something she had best avoid. For the good of them both.
Before too long, the subject of Honoria's desires came up again, proving that Persey was rig
ht and he had not wandered too far out of the young lady's thoughts.
"It may be true that I have only just met Master Radcliffe, mama, but he will be here for quite some time and we shall become better acquainted. You might like him too, eventually. At least give him a chance. If I cannot fall in love so quickly, you surely cannot dismiss him so quickly either."
"We shall see, my dear Honoria." Perhaps it was fortunate that this gardener would be living on the estate for a lengthy period. There would be time enough for Honoria to observe all his bad habits, and discover he was not the chivalrous knight she imagined in her dreams. Honoria had been her dear stepdaughter for eight years now—since the girl was a meek ten-year-old— and Persey was extremely fond of her. As she had said, of course she wanted to girl to marry for love, but she also wanted to be sure it was a stable relationship, that Honoria's husband was no flirtatious fly-by-night, with an eye and a saucy suggestion for any housemaid who passed his line of sight. That he was dependable for more than a pair of strong arms and a heart-pounding smile. Because, really, where would that get her stepdaughter? To hell and heartache in a hay-cart, in all probability.
But yes, his kiss was extraordinary. There was no denying it.
She thought of Albert's face that morning when she had spoken to him of passion and yearning. Poor Albert, he thought such things were sinful and never to be mentioned in company, or probably even thought about in the seclusion of one's own mind. But she wanted all of that for Honoria, as long as it was tempered with good sense, because sooner or later the couple must have conversation outside the boudoir, and manage the dull, everyday necessities of life.
So although Albert thought her a foolish airy-headed woman, led solely by her passions, Persey was more than capable of practical considerations too. The truth was, teasing the prudish Albert had become an easy pastime and she was tempted into it far too often these days by something dangerously akin to boredom. Another weakness she ought to fix.
Willpower was noticeable by its absence from her life of late.
As they approached the gate to the lodge, Honoria suddenly said, "You would not leave Holbrooke, mama, would you?"
She stared in surprise. "Why on earth would I leave?"
"Minty said you're bound to marry again, now that you're out of mourning for papa. I heard her tell Albert so."
That, naturally, was Minty's deepest wish— to be rid of her for good. "I promise you Honoria," she took the girl's hand firmly, "if I leave Holbrooke on my own two feet, it won't be until I have seen you happily married and settled elsewhere."
"But she says you have many gentlemen already eager to take you away."
"Yes, I know she would like to auction me off along with the Chinese vases she finds so ugly, your father's mechanical monkey in the glass case, and the carpet that she accuses of deliberately tripping her up in the morning room. I, however, have no immediate plans to marry again and I do not know for sure that I ever shall. To be happy twice in marriage seems remarkably fortunate— more than I deserve— and perhaps I should not take the risk a third time. My life is quite complete now, and the only thing I could really desire is a darling little pony and phaeton for my own use around the park."
"Albert says you would only drive too fast and recklessly, putting everybody in danger."
She laughed. "Especially certain humbugs should they happen to cross my path." Then she leaned over her basket and gently patted her stepdaughter's cheek. "Don't fret. Your future must be settled next and that is my only purpose now."
For twenty years she'd striven to help others, to make amends for the sins in her past, and she was not done yet.
Honoria looked satisfied and as she turned to enter the house, passing the butler who opened the door for them, she said cheerfully, "I knew Minty must be mistaken about another husband, for you are much too old now to think of romance for yourself. If you are in want of daily companionship— which you shouldn't be, because you have me— you ought to get a lapdog or a plain little spinster. Because what on earth would you want with a husband at your age?"
With some effort, Persey kept a straight face and when the butler looked at her enquiringly, she said, "Shawcross, kindly put these in water will you, oh and bring in some extra coal for the parlor fire? Because I anticipate the imminent onset of rheumatism."
"Very good, madam," he replied somberly, taking the basket of flowers from her. "Anything to help, as long as it's not a lapdog to clean up after."
"Or a plain little spinster."
"Quite, madam. I could not say which would be the greater trouble."
As she followed Honoria into her parlor, the girl said, "How old are you in any case, mama? Minty and I had a debate about it, and I said she must be quite wrong."
Persey laughed. "A wise lady should no more confess her age at any particular moment in time, than she would tell what she has spent on shoes, what she is truly thinking, or where the bodies are buried. Secrets are a woman's stock in trade."
Later, when Honoria was gone, leaving her alone with her thoughts, Persey found her mind returning to her latest secret— the sensations brought about by the gardener's kiss. A multitude of emotions, too numerous to name had been unleashed by that impertinent young man. She couldn't recall any other kiss causing her quite the same tremors. No doubt she was out of practice. But was that how young people kissed these days?
It had left her quite out of sorts.
Perhaps she was too old now, as Honoria had said, to think of men and romance for herself. It had been a very long time since passion first ruled her head and she made a fool of herself with a man. Seventeen years, in fact.
Chapter Eight
Norwich 1763
He was a sailor. A naval Captain. Handsome, loud and suitably brooding. He made her think of a thunderstorm, that powerful surge of energy that could make a girl's skin tingle whenever he approached.
At first he came to the theatre to see Kitty Waddenhoe perform, but when he brought the actress flowers, he encountered Long-Legged Meg, or "Persephone" as she was now called, instead, getting in his way with a bundle of folded petticoats in her arms. After he had knocked them all out of her grip and watched her pick them up again, he said, "Well, you're a pretty thing." But he sounded surprised, stern and a little bit cross. "A very pretty, sweet young thing."
Persey blushed for the very first time in her life, because he seemed to accuse her of a crime. And although she might indeed be found guilty of several things, being pretty and sweet were not among them. At least, she didn't think they could be. She hadn't yet completely rid herself of plain, long-legged Meg.
So she replied, "Don't talk daft."
He had laughed then, quite suddenly, throwing back his head to do so, no doubt vastly amused by her innocent blushes. Before she could get away, he had stolen her clammy and reluctant hand to kiss it, causing her bundle of petticoats to spill again.
A few weeks later, after bringing her gifts of stockings, lace-trimmed handkerchiefs, kid gloves, perfume and sugared fruits, he succeeded in stealing away more than her hand. She had no excuse other than to say she was young and curious, overwhelmed by the attention, longing to erase the fetid memory of Doctor Woodruff's sweaty paws on her skin. It had to be done sooner or later, she supposed, for she did not want to go all her life with nothing but that in her mind, her first instinct being to shrink away from any man's touch. She would not give that foul-breathed, villainous groper the satisfaction of taking every chance of future pleasure away from her.
Lady Kitty warned her to proceed with care. "He is a sailor, my dear girl, and they do wander." But she had nothing more to say than that. What could her mistress have said without being a hypocrite? And the lady seemed to think it was a rite of passage to have one's heart broken— that it was inevitable and best done sooner rather than later to allow for healing.
Meg soon trembled at the mere thought of her handsome lover, waiting restlessly for his every visit, while pretending she did not c
are if he came or not.
Of course, the day came when he did not.
With nothing more than a short note, carried by a messenger lad, he told her he was called back to sea. According to him it was not his choice, but his duty.
"Cheer up, missus," chirped the lad who brought the note to her. "I'll marry yer, if 'e won't." He couldn't be more than ten or eleven, his dirty face cheekily beaming up at her, his scrawny ankles protruding from galligaskins that were too short in length, but several inches too large in width, necessitating the use of a belt that thrice circled the urchin's waist.
"I appreciate the thought," she replied wryly. "Give me a few years to think about it. Until you've grown into your trousers. If you can wait that long."
"Alright. But beggars can't be choosers."
"I'm not begging."
"You will. When you see I'm the best you can get."
"And what good would you do me? I could snap you like a twig."
Scowling, he put up his small fists and readied his stance on the doorstep. "Go on then. Give it a try, woman."
"Charmed, I'm sure." One hand to his forehead, she pushed him back off the step and shut the door.
Only a few weeks later, she saw her captain in the market square with another girl on his arm. He pretended not to see Persey at all.
In cold shock, her heart thumping hard and painfully in her breast, she ran all the way back to the theatre, before the tears broke. Lady Kitty saw how she suffered and attempted to cheer her the only way she knew how, with marzipan comfits and a considerable amount of good wine.
"It could have been much worse, my dear. He could have left you with a far greater burden than a wounded heart. And your heart will mend in time. All you need is another lover."
But men would never be interchangeable to her as they were to Kitty. It seemed impossible to Meg that she would love again, for it hurt too bitterly. All the things he had given her on his route to seduction she burned in the fireplace. She could not bear to think of his name. No other man would ever tempt her into his bed again.
The Peculiar Folly of Long Legged Meg Page 9