Daisies and Devotion

by Josi S. Kilpack

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “I had hoped that you and I would be able to make an arrangement,” he said in a voice she could barely hear above the noise of the carriage and the crowds.

  “You had planned to tell me, then.” She didn’t necessarily believe him, but it was nice to think he would not have lured her into such a torrid arrangement without her knowledge. What a gentleman, she thought sarcastically. For the briefest moment it crossed her mind that if it were not herself involved in this situation and if Timothy had not been the one to have introduced the colonel to her, Timothy and she could have talked about this for hours. She pushed the thought away. It was taking all her focus to keep her confidence for the tasks she had to execute today. There was no room for anything but the business of it.

  “Yes,” he said, regret heavy in the single word. “I’m sorry.”

  She wondered if he were sorry for not having told her yet or for thinking she would have agreed to his arrogant and asinine plan. “I would never marry a man who kept a woman.”

  “She is not my woman,” he said quickly. “Not in the degrading sense you are using it.”

  “You love her, then?” If he didn’t love her, it would be nothing for him to have left her and his illegitimate child in Spain. But the information Lucy had found was very different than that of a military man bidding adieu to the distraction encountered within his service. It had not come to the surface of the gossip earlier because much of his staff had come from Spain with him. They spoke a different language and worked hard to protect the true identify of his “maid,” who did not know how to make a bed. A member of the English staff had sniffed out the truth and brought it to Lucy, who had been asking questions two weeks earlier.

  Maryann spoke to fill the silence. “You wanted to make a life for her here and . . . be with her when you could. That is why you made such a point of all this travel for business your wife would need to expect.”

  He swallowed. “There is nothing like this in Spain.” He waved his hand through the air to indicate all of London. Streets. Parks. Laws. Security.

  “And how do you imagine she will manage in a country so different from her own? And with a child you cannot claim?”

  “They are safe here,” he said resolutely. “That is my priority.”

  The fact that the words sounded almost sweet proved to Maryann that her heart had never been engaged upon Colonel Berkins. But she could not grant him immunity from the consequences of his actions.

  “My prospects are not so low that I would share my husband, and I suspect you will have a very difficult time finding any Englishwoman who would. If you are sincere in your goal to be upfront about your situation, I believe you shall find yourself run out of this city entirely, and what will become of her and your child then? A better choice, I believe, is to find a way to return to Spain.”

  “Spain is a disaster,” he said miserably. “Ferdinand has compounded the nightmare begun by Napoleon. It is not safe.”

  “Then perhaps Naples, or even Spanish Florida. My father has a friend who has settled there. You could raise your family in a place new to all of you.”

  “It is not that simple,” he said. “We cannot marry because she is Catholic and I am not.”

  “Convert, then.”

  He paused, as though he’d not considered that. She did not imagine he was particularly devout to the Church of England. Never mind that it was ridiculous to choose an immoral and illegitimate relationship over religious differences. Surely no church would sanction that.

  “You can hire someone to manage your affairs in England so that you have a livelihood to support you elsewhere. Or sell your land completely and invest wherever you go. I better understand why you were so amenable for me to live in Somerset, and so determined that I understood that you would be gone so much.” She shook her head, pushing down her embarrassment and anger. “You ought to solve your own situation before you attempt to pull someone else in to cover your tracks, Colonel.”

  He was quiet, the carriage barely moving though the park entrance was coming closer. “I am sorry, Miss Morrington.”

  She appreciated that for what it was and reached into her reticule to extract a piece of paper. “I have listed the names and addresses of a few contacts of my father who have international business experience, including the solicitor who helped his friend immigrate to America. I suggest you speak with one or all of them and see what arrangements you might be able to make.”

  She did not think her father would mind her sharing the information, but she hoped to never need to tell him she’d done it.

  She held out the card, and he transferred the reins to one hand as he took it, holding her eyes as best he could in the process.

  “Why are you doing this?” he whispered.

  “People deserve to be happy.” It seemed that her lot in life was to help everyone else find happiness while her own lay just out of reach.

  He slid the note into his coat pocket, then slowed the horses to allow another carriage to cross in front of them. The park entrance was just across the road. “I should take you home.”

  “If you do, my family will be suspicious, and I would prefer that no one know what your intentions with me were. To be the woman you believed would stand for this leaves me terribly embarrassed.” She had kept her poise until now, but stating her embarrassment made her cheeks flush. She swallowed and reminded herself that she was doing the right thing. She was being kind and forgiving and helpful. Everything would be all right.

  “When I learned of your fortune, I began to lose hope of having your compliance, but by then I had come to enjoy your company and thought that—”

  “Do not insult me further by trying to explain yourself,” she cut in, her chest getting hot. If he hadn’t known of her inheritance until Timothy told him, then he’d based his whole plan on her age and plainness making her willing to enter any match. “You were wrong in a hundred different ways, let us leave it at that.”

  They entered the park in silence. She forced a smile as she passed Lydia Henry walking with her sister. Maryann had taken pride in the first carriage ride she had enjoyed with Colonel Berkins, feeling triumphant and validated in being seen with him. This drive was sheer torture.

  “You are not going to tell anyone, then?” Mr. Berkins asked after a few silent minutes.

  “Unless I learn that you are courting another woman, no. Should I hear that you are attempting to make an arrangement with someone else, however, I will tell everyone.” She held his eyes a moment to make sure he knew she was serious. He nodded, and they both faced forward again.

  When they returned to the house, Colonel Berkins produced a short ladder from beneath the seat of the carriage, and though it was not as efficient a descent as him lifting her down, it was a welcome option. He walked her to the door, thanked her, and promised her an update after he had sought out the contacts she’d given him.

  She entered the house while mentally crossing off “Confront Colonel Berkins” from her list of unpleasant tasks she had to do today. It wasn’t her last task, however.

  “Milton,” she asked the footman as she took off her gloves. “Is Mr. Landsing at home?” Lucas had been staying closer to home since Deborah had begun feeling so poorly.

  “In your father’s study, miss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lucas had his feet on the desk and was reading a letter when she entered. He quickly corrected his position, his feet thumping to the ground as he sat up straight. “Oh, uh, good afternoon, Maryann.”

  “I wondered if I might have a word,” she said, smoothing back the hair that had been mussed from her bonnet.

  “Of course,” he said.

  She sat in a chair across from him and insisted to her emotions that she would stay strong. If she could confront Colonel Berkins on his situation, she could talk to her brother-in-law about
this one.

  “I feel that Deborah would benefit by removing to Somerset before her pregnancy becomes more advanced and your mother convinces her to not to go to Orchard House at all—you know that is where Deborah wishes the child to be born.” Lucas opened his mouth, but she put out a hand, not yet finished. “Additionally, I have had my fill of London and would like to attend her back to our home. I’m wondering how you and I might manage to make an exit happen without upsetting her about my leaving before the season is finished. What are your thoughts?”

  When Maryann appeared at the entryway into the Thornocks’ drawing room Thursday evening, Timothy nearly went to her before remembering that he was in the middle of a conversation with Miss Shaw, Mr. Hawthorne, and the two Miss Callifours. He forced his attention back to the group but kept glancing her way, his eagerness to talk to her making it difficult to be attentive. He had not seen Maryann since the ball last Saturday—no one had—but he’d heard a rumor just this evening that she was leaving London. Miss Shaw had told him, and then seemed to watch his expression closely for a reaction, which he tried not to show. Timothy had worried he’d not have the chance to speak with her before he left London for Peter’s engagement party.

  Once Maryann finished greeting the hosts, she turned to face the room. He smiled brightly at her and nodded toward his group so she might know she was invited. She seemed to hesitate until the elder Miss Callifour excused herself and met Maryann partway. The women linked arms and spoke quietly with their heads together as they crossed the remainder of the room. The circle opened to admit Maryann, and she greeted everyone in turn. Mr. Hawthorne complimented her dress before Timothy thought to do it himself.

  She did look elegant in a rich blue gown with black lace across the bottom and a sheer ruffle that brushed the floor. She wore diamond earbobs, a blue and diamond pendant that rested at the base of her throat, and elbow-length silver gloves that caught the light.

  Amid his notice, Miss Shaw stepped closer to him, and he felt her shoulder brush across his arm. He looked at her, and she smiled back. She looked very well tonight, too. He had already told her as much, and she’d ducked her head and blushed demurely. He couldn’t take his attention from Maryann for long, however.

  “Miss Morrington,” Timothy said as soon as there was an adequate lull in the conversation. “How are you this evening? We haven’t had the pleasure of your company this week.”

  She smiled politely but did not hold his eyes. “I am well, Mr. Mayfield, thank you.”

  “You have not been about society. We feared you were ill.”

  “No, I am quite well, thank you.”

  The elder Miss Callifour spoke, drawing everyone’s attention. “Mr. Hawthorne was just telling us of the opening night for Macbeth at the Royal Theatre. Who played the lead roles?”

  Mr. Hawthorne continued his report, and the Callifour sisters announced they would be attending the play next week. Miss Shaw confirmed that she was awaiting her mother’s arrival in London before making plans to see the play.

  “What of you, Mayfield?” Mr. Fetich said. “You are a great lover of the theater, are you not?”

  “Indeed,” Timothy said. “I hope to see the production, but have not yet decided when.” Mostly, he was out of additional funds until his next quarterly allowance that would come at the end of June. He had enough to meet his needs, of course, but he had already spent through the portion dedicated to entertainment this quarter.

  “Perhaps your schedule shall become better secured once Mrs. Shaw arrives in London,” the younger Miss Callifour said, sharing a glance with Miss Shaw.

  Timothy noted the slight flush in Miss Shaw’s cheeks and knew she hoped he would attend the play with her and her mother. Though he’d been very attentive to Miss Shaw of late, he was uncomfortable with the idea that his attention had not only been noticed but dissected. And yet, he was interested in furthering his connection with Miss Shaw, wasn’t he?

  “And you, Miss Morrington?” Miss Shaw said, rather more boldly than Timothy was used to from her. “Have you plans to attend? I understand it will be the last production of the Parliamentary season.”

  “Sadly, I will not be attending,” she said. “I’m afraid my sister and I will be returning to Somerset sooner than we’d planned.”

  Even though he’d heard the whispers, Timothy was shocked to hear her confirm it. Why had he not been informed of this ahead of everyone else?

  “You are returning to Somerset?” Timothy said without hiding his surprise. “The season is not yet finished.”

  “I miss the sea,” she said with a shrug.

  “But, I had thought you and Colonel Berkins were getting on.” Timothy wasn’t sure he liked Colonel Berkins and had not sought him out since having let slip that Maryann was an heiress.

  Maryann wouldn’t meet his eye. “The colonel had some unfinished business in Spain, I’m afraid. I have wished him well.”

  Timothy opened his mouth to say more, then stopped himself at the uncomfortable looks on the faces of the other people in their group, specifically Miss Shaw, who was looking up at him with as close to a scowl as he’d ever seen on her face. He’d already been more eager than was polite. He felt his neck heat up as he fumbled through his regrets.

  Mr. Hawthorne drew out the topic. “I am also surprised to hear you are leaving so early in the season, Miss Morrington. I hope it is not anything any of us have done to send you away.”

  The group chuckled, except for Timothy, who stared at her and kept his teeth clamped tightly together to keep from saying more than he should. He would have a private conversation with her later and ask then what he could not ask in front of all these people.

  “My sister is, ah . . .” She shared a look with the elder Miss Callifour, who nodded her encouragement. “She is entering her confinement soon and will benefit from the country air.”

  Timothy startled. Deborah was expecting? How had he not known that either? It irritated him to be left out of such important happenings in the lives of people he cared so much about. Miss Shaw slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow, bent as he held his drink. It embarrassed rather than thrilled him to have her attention, but he only mildly wondered at it. His mind was too scattered with everything else he’d learned tonight.

  “You will return next season, of course,” the younger miss Callifour said.

  Maryann smiled with polite regret. “No, actually, I do not expect I will.”

  “Whyever not?” Timothy blurted.

  She looked at him, holding his eyes but clearly ill at ease. “Perhaps I am being hasty to say I shan’t return. Only I shouldn’t want to leave my sister at that time; the baby shall only be a few months old. We shall see.”

  She didn’t mean it. He could tell by her tight ears. What had happened between her and Colonel Berkins? She’d been sneaking out of ballrooms with him last week and now . . . Timothy felt heat rush through him. Had the colonel compromised her in some way? Was she leaving in shame and regret? Timothy had never called out another man, but if the colonel had taken advantage . . . He clamped his lips tighter to keep the words from spewing forth.

  Maryann shifted her attention to Miss Shaw, still on his elbow. “How are you enjoying London, Miss Shaw?”

  “Oh, I am enjoying it very much,” she said, casting a featherlight look of adoration at Timothy that made him swallow. “Everyone has been so kind and attentive, and there is so much to do in the city.”

  “I am glad to hear you’ve settled in well,” Maryann said, a sincere smile on her face. “What have been the favorite events you have attended so far?”

  The party continued, and in time, Maryann moved on to converse with other groups. Timothy tried to find distraction in cards, music from the young ladies, a light supper, but he could not keep his thoughts away from Maryann and what had changed in the last five days.

  Miss Shaw
was everywhere he turned, which only added to his irritation, and then made him feel guilty for being irritated. He had paid her a great deal of attention, and he should be flattered she was returning it. Still, he was planning how he might have a private conversation with Maryann when Mr. Fetich stood to make an announcement regarding his engagement to the elder Miss Callifour. The room lifted with polite applause, and the guests took turns congratulating the happy couple. Maryann did not seem surprised by the announcement, which made Timothy wonder if the announcement was why she’d come tonight. She was so removed from him, as though she’d erected a wall between them. It made him more eager than usual for her attention.

  Timothy was talking with Miss Shaw and her aunt when he saw Maryann slip through the doorway toward the entry of the house.

  “Would you please excuse me, ladies?” he said with a smile. They agreed, but he was aware of Miss Shaw watching him as he left the room on Maryann’s heels.

  She was standing in the foyer, waiting for her cloak when he approached her.

  “You are leaving early.”

  “Not so early,” she said lightly. “The engagement has been announced, and I ordered the carriage to return for me at ten thirty.”

  Ten thirty was early, but since their time was limited, he jumped to the heart of the matter. “Why are you leaving London?” It was sharp and too direct, but he did not need to tiptoe about things with her as he would with someone else.

  “As I said, Deborah is expecting and anxious after what happened last time. I am doing all I can to support her.”

  “That is not the only reason,” he said. “Is it Colonel Berkins? Did something happen that—”

  She laughed, but it did not bother him anymore. She sobered quickly and fixed her golden-brown eyes on him, her jaw tight. “It is all of it, Timothy.” She waved her hand to indicate the foyer, the street, the city as a whole. “Save for Colonel Berkins, who did not want me after all, I have found no men interested in anything more than my money, and I am exhausted by it. I am out of prospects and out of patience.”