by Heather Boyd
It was an astonishing gift, and he couldn’t hold back his happiness at receiving something so unique. “Thank you, Jess. This is the most beautiful gift I’ve ever received.”
“It is my pleasure,” she said, brushing her fingers against the sleeve of the garment. Her fingers moved up and covered his forearm. She squeezed him tightly. “This one will be perfect to wear for the coming winter, too.”
He covered her hand where it sat on his sleeve. “And people always say old bachelors must fend for themselves. I am astonished you remembered my birthday with all the excitement your season must have been. Did your father help you purchase this?”
“No. My brother was in London for a week, and he accompanied me shopping.”
“Which brother?”
“Samuel, of course.” She drew back. “We pretended it was a gift for him so the shopkeeper could not outright refuse to serve me. You’re about the same size.”
“I’ll have to thank him next time I see him, but I have to say, I always worry when you and your brother get together.”
She laughed softly. “Samuel was on his best behavior, I swear, so you have no cause to worry.” She sighed—an exhalation he loved to hear. “It was no trouble to buy you a birthday present for once.”
“Once, but never again,” he warned. It wasn’t at all proper that she had singled him out. He bent close, intending to place a brotherly kiss on her forehead, as he’d done when Christmas gifts had been exchanged in past years. “Thank you, Jess.”
As he dropped his head, and Jessica’s chin lifted high until she was looking directly into his eyes. He froze, inches away from kissing her on the lips by mistake—something he’d never done and never should. His heart started to pound very hard against his ribs as time stood still.
Jessica might be out but she was destined for another. No doubt she’d had dozens of suitors all vying for her hand in marriage—and kisses.
Her eyes widened slowly. There was no way to pretend he hadn’t been about to kiss her, so he cupped her face and tilted her head down to place a chaste one on her forehead as originally intended.
“I should take my leave,” he murmured.
“Enjoy your dinner.” Jessica nodded, but a frown now added a deep groove between her brows.
He resisted the urge to brush the mark away with thumb. “I hope it goes well. Good evening.”
“Until tomorrow, Giddy.”
Gideon hurried out of the greenhouse.
He was nearly home when he realized his mistake. He stopped, looked down at his clothing and cursed. He had rushed from the Stapleton estate wearing the banyan Jessica had given him for his birthday.
He spun about and slapped a hand to his forehead. He’d left his coat behind, too, along with his hat and gloves and new glasses. He didn’t have time to run back to Jessica’s greenhouse now. He’d have to return for them after the dinner or make do without them until tomorrow morning. What an absentminded old fool he must seem!
Chapter 4
Stapleton Manor was home, and yet Jessica felt decidedly out of sorts as she emerged from her bedchamber early the following morning after a restless sleep. She walked the silent halls briskly, increasing the distance between her and the bedchambers of her parents and also of their guests, so she did not disturb anyone.
They had all stayed up very late last night becoming acquainted with the Garlands. Mama had alternated between laughter and tears all night. Mr. Garland had struggled for many years, and it was only because he had met Mrs. Garland that his situation had changed for the better. The couple were very happily matched, and their children polite and charming.
Nevertheless, she rushed down the main staircase and breathed a sigh of relief to be alone. It was not that she disliked the idea of seeing people in the morning; she loved her parents very dearly. But they were newly married, in the habit of kissing and embracing quite often, which could be somewhat awkward to be around.
She longed to know what it felt like to kiss a man, not that she could tell anyone that.
And she had almost been kissed yesterday, she was sure.
The frustration of missing out was painfully embarrassing.
She crossed the hall, singing out a good morning to any servant she passed. They were used to her ways, pleasant to talk to, but they were not her friends. She could not confide in them the way she could her family or closest friends, and that meant she was often at a loose end. In London particularly, she’d had little to do during the day when not attending parties. Hardly anyone to talk to about her hopes and dreams.
She burst out onto the rear terrace and stopped to drink in the view of the manicured gardens. Her first task was to take a brisk walk around the manor, and then to bring her greenhouse plants to order again before they departed for Sunday services in the nearby village chapel at ten o’clock.
She strolled along familiar paths and neatly clipped lawn, smiling at everything and everyone she passed. The gardeners had looked after everything beautifully in their absence, of course, but they did not love her own plants the way she did. They simply refused to talk to them.
The greenhouse was the only corner of Stapleton that was considered her responsibility.
On an impulse, she made a slight detour. She followed the path toward the brook that separated Stapleton estate and Quigley Hill, Gideon’s property, and looked with longing at the stone footbridge that would allow her to cross over. Gideon’s gardens had always fascinated her.
There was always something new to see flowering along the brook’s edge during the warmer months, and she lingered there, starved for familiar sights. Quigley’s gardens were wild and magnificent in spring, and during winter, the walled garden archways dripped icicles that caught the light. She had spent two whole hours roaming those chilly paths on her own at age six and been roundly scolded for the trouble she’d caused everyone who’d been searching for her.
When Giddy had found her standing on his front steps, shivering, she’d been taken inside to warm herself before the drawing-room fire while Father was informed to call off the search. That had been her first trip into Quigley Hill, but not her last. Father did not know how often she’d crossed that boundary following butterflies or birds, and Gideon thankfully never tattled on her.
She crossed the bridge and entered Quigley land. She smiled as she brushed her finger over Gideon’s lavender hedges, planted along the garden paths many years ago, well before the time she knew what lavender even was. He and his father before him had planted so many fragrant plants, and she’d long used the bounty of Quigley gardens for making scented sachets for herself.
She picked some as she went, knowing she had permission if it was not wasted, and looked ahead as the roofline of Giddy’s house came into view. She stopped in the shade of an Elm tree to admire its familiar pleasing shape.
The house was a great deal smaller than Stapleton Manor. Only four bedchambers upstairs, with Gideon as the sole occupant, and five public rooms below—a drawing room, dining room, morning room, Gideon’s study, and another unused room. The servants toiled on the distant east side of the ground floor and slept in the attic space above.
Jessica loved the place for its simplicity and grace. She was always finding something new to look at and smile about. Giddy’s ancestors were more conservative and modest than her own. The gardens, too, reflected their owners’ tastes—a series of walled enclosures, intersected with straight paths but filled to the brim with plants of every description by Gideon and his gardeners.
She crossed two enclosures before she could spy the lower windows of the house.
The French doors to Gideon’s drawing room were open to allow the breeze to enter. Believing him to be home, she decided to speak to him before continuing on her walk.
A flash of blue across the grounds caught her eye and, expecting Giddy, she turned, lifting her hand to wave. She froze instead.
A woman wearing blue, a stranger with dark hair and pale skin, was strolling b
eneath the trees at Gideon’s side.
Jessica darted inside the nearest walled garden before she was seen where she ought not to be without a chaperone.
Hearing no footsteps or anyone calling out to her, she risked a peek around the open archway. She was in luck; Gideon and his visitor appeared not to have noticed her at all. They were still some distance away and not looking in her direction. Unfortunately, there was only one way out of this particular walled garden, and while Gideon would not scold her, Jessica had no choice but to remain where she was until the stranger went away.
Jessica inhaled her scented flowers as Gideon and the woman continued to talk. What they said, she couldn’t hear, but Gideon laughed suddenly.
He held out his hand, and the lady shook it.
And then the woman laid her hands on Gideon’s waistcoat and stretched up on her toes to kiss him full on the lips.
Jessica covered her mouth with both hands to hold in the gasp of shock that would reveal her presence to Gideon and the woman.
She had not believed Natalia’s tale held any truth yesterday. But here it was. Right before her.
Gideon Whitfield was courting someone at last!
“What was that for?” Gideon asked as Mrs. Beck drew back from kissing him without warning.
“I…I thought…” she began, but then frowned, as if unsure how to account for her actions. “We’ve been spending so much time together.”
“Indeed. You asked to see the gardens, and I am always happy to show anyone about.”
“Yes, indeed. They are quite lovely. Everything you promised and more.”
He drew back from her. “I’m glad you like them. I’m very proud of what I’ve achieved so far this year.”
“Yes, well. I do enjoy coming here with the children,” Mrs. Beck promised, although she seemed uncomfortable now. “You have every right to be proud.”
He cleared his throat. “I wonder where your sons have gone? It seems ominously quiet.”
“I should go and look for them,” she suggested. “Unless…”
Unless he was interested in kissing her again? He wasn’t in the least. Better not to raise her expectations. Kissing Mrs. Beck, or having her kiss him, hadn’t been unpleasant, but he hoped she would not attempt to do so again. He was a gentleman, and not one for casual dalliances or leading ladies on. “I had better come along, in case the youngest has climbed a tree again and needs help returning to the ground.”
She settled her hand on her belly and nodded. A blush seemed to be climbing her cheeks, too. Had she imagined an enthusiastic response to her bold behavior? He wouldn’t marry her, so he shouldn’t kiss her. He wasn’t a scoundrel.
“I do hope he’s not stuck again,” Mrs. Beck murmured. “You were so good to help him down the last time.”
“It was no bother to help. Boys are always getting into one scrape after another.” He gestured to the narrow path. “After you, madam.”
When the path widened again, far beyond the limits of his well-tended garden where they could walk side-by-side, he surveyed the green paddock of long grass before them carefully and put his hands behind his back. “No sign yet.”
“They would not have gone home without me,” she said in a worried tone.
“No, I imagine they would not. Perhaps they are playing hide and seek.”
Mrs. Beck drew close until her arm brushed his. “I wanted to thank you again for the pleasurable dinner last night. I almost forgot I was a widow and living with my sister and husband for a while.”
Last night’s early success had soured later on. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I did, too, but I am sorry that your brother-in-law’s consumption of spirits made him coarse when he spoke with you.”
She shrugged. “I will learn to ignore it in due time.”
He sighed. “I promised myself not to meddle, and I know it is none of my business, but after last night, I must ask how long you intend to live with the Napiers?”
“Forever, I fear. My pocket is more than a little empty at present,” she confessed with obvious embarrassment. “I have no other option.”
“You could remarry,” he murmured—and then he blinked. “Oh! Was that why you kissed me? To see…”
She tossed her head. “I can see now that I made a mistake.”
“I apologize if I have made you think I felt more for you than I do.”
She nodded, and then jutted out her chin. “No. The mistake was mine. Let us not speak of it again.”
He sighed and scanned the empty field again for the boys with a heavy heart. He had “bumped” into Mrs. Beck every day in recent weeks. He wondered, not for the first time, if she had planted herself and her children in his path quite deliberately. Natalia Hawthorne had suggested she might but until today they had never been more than just polite to each other. They hardly knew each other. “Tell me how Napier speaks to you at home?”
She shook her head. “There is nothing you can do.”
He shook his head, recalling Mrs. Napier’s recent flattery. “Is he the one urging you to seduce me or is it your own sister?”
“He never suggested it.” She shook her head. “Not directly, but it is plain as day that he doesn’t want us there.”
So not the brother-in-law but perhaps the sister was trying to push them together. Well, he wasn’t having that. “And the boys? How are they being treated?”
“Not well.” Her face contorted with grief but she managed not to shed a tear. “They are both very hard on them. Napier’s always shouting at them for one reason or another.”
“They shouldn’t suffer.”
“I know. There is no help for it. All I can do is keep them busy, away from him, and hope not for a repeat of last evening.”
He looked at her sharply. “What else happened last night?”
Mrs. Beck looked away. “My sons were punished for offering disrespect to Mrs. Napier.”
“I see,” he said. “Did they deserve it?”
“For rushing past her to say good night to me? No, they certainly did not. The punishment far exceeded what was needed to teach them to walk more slowly in the house,” she said through gritted teeth. “All they will learn from him is how to become a monster.”
He looked down at Mrs. Beck, shocked by her confession. “How badly are they hurt?”
“Enough. My brother-in-law has taken a dislike to my youngest son, since he looks most like my late husband.”
“I’d like to see their injuries.” Gideon’s stomach clenched with anxiety, though. He’d known the Napiers were hard people, but the youngest boy was barely six years old. “Should I have owned a cottage in the village, I would have been happy to offer it to you to live in. Since I don’t, I urge you to look further afield for new lodgings as soon as you can.”
She cleared her throat. “You really don’t think that you and I might suit?”
“No,” he said firmly to discourage her. He hardly knew Mrs. Beck, and he was certainly not falling in love with her. He felt compassion for her situation, concern for her sons to be growing up without protection. But he could not replace their father. “I prefer my solitary existence, but I do not mind the occasional interruption, such as their visit today. They are safe here, I assure you.”
She gulped and nodded. “I thought perhaps you might be lonely of living alone.”
He relished his solitude. “No.”
Mrs. Beck moved away to a section of post and rail fence. She leaned upon it, staring into the distance. “I could bear living on my sister’s charity if not for the boys’ unhappiness.”
“Perhaps you could take up a useful profession? I understand you’ve had a good education. There has not been a tutor in the district for quite some time, and there are a great many girls in need of guidance. Letter writing, accounting for the home expenses and such.”
Mrs. Beck’s eyes lit up at the idea but then her smile faded. “I can hardly imagine my sister agreeing to let students into her home.”
&nb
sp; “Ah, I had not considered the matter that far. But you would need only a little space, somewhere quiet.” He frowned as he considered the buildings closest to the village green, the most central point in the district. The tavern boasted a private dining room, but there would be considerable noise to distract any students and the expense of renting the space might be too great. Gideon had more free space at Quigley Hill, but his home was on the opposite side of the village and any potential students for Mrs. Beck. A place in the village would be preferable.
Surely there must be a place somewhere that could be rented.
And then he recalled Lady Jessica had inherited her old aunt’s cottage in the village on her eighteenth birthday.
The cottage was currently empty, but never stayed that way for long. Gideon had no idea what plans Jessica might have for the dwelling. But he could inquire on Mrs. Beck’s behalf. The aunt who had owned it had once offered instruction to the village girls, too, for a time. Jessica might be interested in supporting such a venture; at least until she married and her husband’s wishes took precedence over her own. “Would you leave the matter with me for a few days?”
“You have an idea that might help us get away from my sister and her husband?”
“Perhaps. But I can say no more for now. I will make some inquiries and let you know if there is hope.”
She looked at him curiously but nodded, too. “Very well. I shall place my trust in you, sir.”
A pair of blond heads suddenly sprung up from the long grass. “You didn’t try to find us very hard!”
Mrs. Beck slipped through the post and rail fence and ran to her children. She kissed the tops of their heads, clearly a devoted mother. “I’m sorry, my darlings. Mr. Whitfield and I were talking.”
The youngest clung to his mother’s skirts but cradled his hand against his chest. Gideon took a step in his direction. The little fellow did not smile at Gideon. He never had.