Daisies and Devotion

by Josi S. Kilpack

  “All right, no need to press the point. I shall wait here, though I’ll free up the screen for someone else.”

  Maryann helped Deborah to her feet and into a satin-covered chair in another portion of the room, away from the screens. The doctor had said the sickness brought on by pregnancy often lasted only a few weeks, but some women continued to feel ill throughout. She sincerely hoped Deborah would not suffer too much longer; it drained her vibrancy and could not be good for the child.

  Maryann found Lucas speaking to none other than Timothy, as well as some other men, outside the card room. She smiled easily enough and nodded a greeting to Timothy before pulling Lucas away. She whispered to him the situation, and he excused himself in order to fetch the carriage.

  Maryann had taken a few steps back toward her sister when she felt a familiar hand on the back of her arm. She closed her eyes, wanting to remember the exact placement of each finger, how they pressed against her skin and spread warmth so completely through her. She opened her eyes and faced Timothy with a smile.

  “What has happened?” His blue eyes were full of genuine concern.

  “Deborah is not feeling well. Lucas has gone for the carriage so that we might take her home.”

  “You are leaving with them?”

  “I cannot stay at a ball without a chaperone.” Never mind that she’d been attending events unchaperoned for weeks.

  “There is no one else you could go home with? Surely Lady Dominique can take your charge.”

  That was not a poor solution, but Lady Dominique had enough responsibility, and Maryann did not want to stay. That Timothy wanted her to stay would be something to take to Somerset with her. “I must attend to my sister,” she said—an excuse no one could argue with.

  Timothy looked toward the place Lucas had disappeared, then at the dance floor, then across the room at something, or someone. Maryann did not turn her head to see. Then he turned those lovely blue eyes back to her.

  “I should like to dance with you before you leave,” he said in a flurry of words. “It will take some time for the carriage to be ready, will it not?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know how long it takes to ready a carriage.”

  “Wait here, will you, Maryann?”

  She realized then that he hadn’t dropped his hand from where he’d initially placed it on her arm. They were standing very close to one another, and the warmth she’d felt before had taken over her entire person. She should pull away from him and restore the distance. Instead, she nodded. “I will wait here.”

  He smiled, dropped his hand, and left her. She tried to follow him with her eyes, but he’d worn his charcoal coat tonight, and it was difficult to track him among the other attendees similarly attired. Mrs. Forrester and her daughter approached, cutting off her view, and asked after Deborah; they had seen the quick exit. Maryann conversed with them quietly over the particulars.

  News of Deborah’s condition had spread through discreet whispers rather than formal announcements, and the three of them discussed timing and travel arrangements until Timothy’s touch at Maryann’s shoulder drew her attention and seemed to mute every sound in the room. There was something about knowing this was their last interaction that added a vibrancy to every detail.

  She excused herself from the Forresters and faced Timothy. He looked both anxious and excited. She would miss his boyish laughter and the hopeful way he encountered every day. She’d miss his teasing and his eagerness to be always moving.

  “Miss Shaw has relinquished me, and Lucas will hold the carriage until you arrive.”

  Maryann’s chest tightened. “Miss Shaw?”

  “I was engaged with her for this next set, but when I explained, she graciously allowed me to dance with you in her place.”

  In her place, Maryann repeated in her mind. In her place. “I should not want to be the cause of any discord.”

  “You shan’t,” Timothy said, steering her to the edge of the floor. “She understands that when I return to London, you will not be here.” As soon as he said the words, he turned to look at her, surprised as though just now realizing what Miss Shaw had meant.

  Maryann smiled and nodded her understanding before looking ahead.

  Miss Shaw was willing to forgo one dance in exchange for a Maryann-free future. There was nothing to feel but gracious acceptance of what was. And perhaps a bit of validation that though Timothy’s attention to Maryann was not what she wished it was, he had made enough place for her that his beloved had noticed. Perhaps Miss Shaw was even jealous. It was nice to feel on the opposite side of that emotion for a moment.

  The current set ended, and then Timothy escorted her to the floor. Our last dance, she said to herself, realizing they had shared only one other dance this whole season—her first dance after she had come out of mourning. I shall make the most of it, she decided as they moved through the crowd.

  She was attuned to every step he took beside her, the feel of her hand resting on his arm, the smell of cologne that was so very Timothy—she could find no other way to describe it. He was breathing a bit fast, but then he’d made the arrangements with Lucas and Miss Shaw in a matter of minutes.

  While passing between two other couples, he stepped closer to Maryann, and she relished the feel of his arm pressed against hers, his hip a few inches higher than her own. As they took their position for the set, he trailed his hand across her back. It was something she likely would not have noticed with any other man. With Timothy, here at their last dance, she imagined it as a trail of deep purple soaking into her skin.

  They stood facing one another. Other couples smiled and nodded and interacted with one another as best they could with the space between them. She and Timothy only held one another’s eyes. She could not muster a smile, and he had an uncharacteristic solemnity about him. It was too much to hope that he was trying to commit every moment to memory, as she was, but she chose to pretend that was the case. She’d been careful not to let her imagination run away from her in regard to Timothy these last months, but she was leaving. What was the harm in giving free rein now?

  The music began, and they stepped forward to one another, paused, and then stepped back. Maryann executed her hopping steps, then changed places with the woman to her left. Timothy did the same until they were facing one another again. Forward, pause, back. All without breaking eye contact.

  As the dance continued, the rest of the room seemed to fade away until it truly felt as though they were the only two people present. When the dance required that she step around him, she trailed her fingers across his back much as he’d done to her when they had taken their position. When he passed behind her a few steps later, she thought he was closer than was necessary, closer than the other men were to their partners. She swallowed as the warmth inside her turned hot.

  And so they danced. Subtle touches, intense gazes, close proximity. The air crackled like oil in a fire, and she soaked it all in knowing this would never happen again. For the space of the dance, she let herself believe that she was the one he wanted.

  They were facing one another when the dance ended, but as the other partners exited the floor, she and Timothy stood, holding on to the last whispers of intimacy the dance had woven just for them. Reality could not be held back for long, however, and the sounds of the room returned. Timothy led her from the floor along with the last of the other dancers. With the fading fantasy, Maryann deemed Miss Shaw a lucky woman.

  Timothy stayed with her while her cloak was fetched, then led her into the night where Lucas’s carriage was waiting. It wasn’t until Timothy handed her into the carriage that she realized they had not spoken a single word since the dance had begun. She sat on the upholstered seat, across from Deborah and Lucas, who had been waiting. They did not speak either.

  “Thank you, Timothy,” Maryann said in a soft voice.

  “Thank you, Maryann,”
he said from the open door. “I mean it when I say that London shall not be the same without you.”

  She could think of nothing to say that would not reveal too much. As it was, the fantasy was crumpling at the edges. He would go from the carriage to the ballroom and dance with Miss Shaw—his perfect woman. Timothy may never think of this dance ever again.

  She swallowed the rising lump in her throat as she nodded her thanks. He closed the door and hit the side of the carriage, signaling the driver to depart. For a moment, his face was framed in the square of the window that separated them. The carriage jolted forward, and a moment later, Timothy was gone.

  Maryann leaned back against the cushions as Deborah moved from Lucas’s side to sit next to Maryann. Deborah took her hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. Maryann squeezed back and closed her eyes. No one spoke for the ride home, and she did not wonder why her sister and brother-in-law did not ask after her mood. She inhaled and exhaled and focused on the bouncing of the carriage and her sister’s hand in hers.

  Upon arriving at the house, Maryann and Lucas helped Deborah to her room where Maryann first dismissed the maid, and then Lucas, so that she could take care of her sister by herself. She had given similar care to their mother when she was failing and found satisfaction in the ministrations. Purpose. Only when Deborah was in bed with a cool compress on her forehead did Maryann call Lucas back in.

  Maryann returned to her room. Lucy was out for the night, but Maryann did not ring for another maid who could help her undress. Instead, she shut the door, trapping the silence inside and pulling her feelings of loss and abandonment close. She sat at her vanity, put her face in her hands, and gave into the heartache.

  She would not miss London, but she would miss him. So much.

  Timothy arrived at his childhood home on Monday morning via a horse hired by Uncle Elliot for the journey. The weather was perfect, and the countryside could not have been more lovely. He met Julia Hollingsworth, Peter’s soon-to-be-bride, at dinner that evening along with her mother, Mrs. Hollingsworth. Peter’s two daughters, whom Timothy adored, and Uncle Elliott were there to complete the party.

  Miss Hollingsworth was young, beautiful, and quiet, though he didn’t mean the observation to be any kind of judgment. It had taken him by surprise when Uncle Elliott had told him in London that Peter was to be married, but it was even stranger to see his brother watching Julia. The joy that had gone out of him when Sybil had died was ignited again. He smiled, laughed, and engaged in conversation more than he had in years. It made Timothy think back to what Uncle Elliott had said in the pub that day, about the right woman lighting something within you. It seemed Julia Hollingsworth was that woman for Peter.

  The girls were excused to bed after pudding, and the adults retired to the drawing room so they might continue to visit. Timothy heard the story of how Peter and Julia had met, keeping to himself his surprise that Peter would fall for his daughters’ governess. He also learned of Mrs. Hollingsworth and Uncle Elliott’s connection thirty years prior and suspected that the hints his uncle had dropped that day in London were all about her.

  If Maryann were here, she would sniff it out. She was attentive to details in ways he never thought to be. He wondered what she would make of his family and then shook the thought from his mind. What would Miss Shaw think? He was more anxious about the latter, but then he had known her for a shorter period of time.

  Miss Hollingsworth was the first to say good night; she was living with the local vicar until the wedding, which was still two months away, and the carriage had arrived to take her home. Peter walked her out, and while he was gone, Mrs. Hollingsworth claimed herself also ready to retire. Uncle Elliott escorted her, supporting Timothy’s suspicion that there was something between them.

  Alone in the room he barely recognized from his childhood, Timothy took note of the many details that had changed. Telling Maryann some of his history had brought those memories to the forefront of his mind. He would not call his thoughts nostalgic—that implied some level of pining. He did not think much on his childhood because there was not a lot of joy to remember.

  Timothy fingered the sheer blue drapes covering the windows, remembering that they had once been heavy red velvet curtains. There had been soot stains around the fireplace due to a clogged chimney that had gone too long without repair. Mother had kept a large chaise longue in this room and often used it as a bed in the later years, claiming that the upstairs rooms were too cold.

  “They have gone up?” Peter asked.

  Timothy turned from the painting on the wall, a flower garden he thought may have once hung in the upstairs hall but looked much better here. “Just now.”

  Peter nodded and checked his watch. “I suppose I ought to retire as well. Tomorrow shall be a busy day.” He made a face that showed his enthusiasm, and Timothy laughed.

  “I suspected this party was not your idea.”

  “Indeed not.” Despite having said he was ready to retire for the night, Peter moved toward the fireplace. “Amelia is using it as a chance to teach Julia how to hostess a formal party, which is a fair reason.”

  “Amelia is Mrs. Hollingsworth, I presume?”

  “Yes, my apologies. We are rather informal in this odd household.”

  “I like her,” Timothy said, then clarified. “Well, I like both of them. Though they have very different temperaments.” Julia was quiet where Amelia was forward; she was still when Amelia busied about.

  “Thank goodness for that,” Peter said with a slight shake of his head. “Amelia is remarkable, do not misunderstand, but a woman like her will require a great deal of . . . patience. I am grateful for Julia’s more mild character.”

  Timothy laughed. “Our uncle seems rather . . . patient, though.”

  Peter grinned, looking like the boy Timothy had once caught frogs with. During a particularly bad stretch, they had learned how to roast frog’s legs over this very fireplace.

  “They will make a match, mark my words,” Peter said. “But they are taking their time to be sure it is the right course.”

  Timothy smiled and returned to one of the velvet chairs. “And you and Miss Hollingsworth? You have known each other a few months?” Compared to thirty years, it did not seem very long.

  “Remarkable, isn’t it?” He looked into the fire again with soft eyes.

  Heart-to-heart conversations were rare between Timothy and his family members, but as Peter was here and Maryann’s encouragement to ask his advice was still fresh in his mind, he seized the opportunity.

  “I hope I don’t offend you, Peter, but I did not expect you to marry again.” In fact, Peter had told Timothy more than once he would not marry again and that Timothy ought to be prepared to provide Peter’s heir the way their father had provided Uncle Elliott’s.

  “Neither did I.” Peter picked up his pipe from the mantel and packed it with tobacco from a nearby metal box.

  Would Timothy own a pipe one day? And a mantel upon which to store it? Would he walk around a house with as much ease as Peter walked around his? It truly was his. They had not been much of a family here, but Peter had changed everything about this home, inside and out. It was impressive.

  “What made you change your mind? Wanting an heir after all?”

  “I care nothing for an heir,” Peter said as he put a taper into the fire and lit his pipe. “I am certainly not against having more children, and I would enjoy having a son, but that is not my motivation in marrying Julia.” He sucked quickly on his pipe to draw the flame deeper into the leaves. A small tendril of smoke rose from the bowl, and he tossed the taper into the fireplace while continuing to work the pipe.

  “Then what is your motivation?”

  Peter blew out a puff of smoke, turned, and met Timothy’s eyes. “I fell in love.”

  Timothy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Really? This is a love match?
”

  Peter laughed, a rich sound that oddly enough reminded Timothy of Maryann’s laugh. “You are so surprised.” He sat on the settee, lounging against the back that put Timothy further at ease. They were brothers, discussing manly things.

  “Well, I thought that perhaps you were lonely or wanted a mother for the girls. I did not think you of all people would find love before marriage.” He smiled to soften what could sound like an insult. “It is so very modern of you.”

  Peter worked his pipe a few more seconds before he removed the stem from his mouth. “I had no idea you saw me as such an unfeeling stone of a man, Timothy. Let me assure you, however, that nothing but love—not even the loneliness you mention—could have induced me to marry again.” He shrugged lightly. “Julia makes me better.”

  “She makes you better,” Timothy repeated, a question in the tone. Did Miss Shaw make him better?

  “She has guided me toward being a better father to my girls. She has given me hope and purpose and brought a sense of newness and fun into my life.” He looked at Timothy, his eyebrows drawn together. “That sounds like a bunch of honeysuckle, but alas it is true.” He inhaled deeply on his pipe, held the breath, and then blew out the smoke. “Julia and I enjoy the same things, share the same humor, love my girls, and love each other. I don’t know how to explain it any differently, but, yes, she makes me want to be a better man, and I can think of nothing of greater value in a wife. She says I do the same for her, though that is hard to believe sometimes. I feel very much a rough stone in need of smoothing, not one to smooth out another.”

  Timothy pondered Peter’s words. “Do you feel the same for Julia as you felt for Sybil?”

  Peter’s smile fell, or rather changed. “Similar, but different,” he said evenly. “I am not able to fully explain that either. I love Sybil, and I will always love her, and I rejoice to see how she is reflected in our daughters. Somehow I know that she understands what is happening here and wishes me happy with Julia just as I would wish her happy were I the one to be gone.”