What Darcy said stuck with Nick, who tried not to eye the ladies’ as-yet unfinished buns. “It’s true, though. Closed minds’re blind. The truth could be right in front of our noses, and we wouldn’t see it.”
Alex, who had started out eating as slowly as the other ladies at the table but had given up all pretension of delicacy after three bites, pushed her empty plate away. “Remember how ye told us about the rector’s wife, how she takes care of all of them graves? I wonder if Mrs. Brown has someone like that.”
Lord Matlock shrugged. “It would take no time at all to have a look.”
“The cemetery might tell us something,” MissRothschild said. “My detectives learned nothing at the asylum, though I should like to make inquiries myself.” If she did not attend to her bun soon, Nick was tempted to offer to help her with it. Would that be considered rude in his present company? Probably.
“It is as good a place as any to start,” Lord Matlock agreed.
Nick thought they had too little to go on. Then again, this mystery—if, indeed, there had been a crime committed—had been kept silent for nearly thirty years. They couldn’t expect the clues to be loud.
CHAPTER 39
Elizabeth ran her finger over the strands of her ring, her attention arrested by the token Fitzwilliam had made her over the scenery her father constantly pointed out to her, Alexandra, and Emily through the carriage glass.
“It takes a lot of effort to make something as fine as that. Braidin’ and splicin’ twine with blistered, calloused fingers be no simple task,” Alexandra commented.
Emily turned away from the rolling pastures to admire Elizabeth’s ring. “I think it is romantic.”
Papa chuckled and rolled his eyes at the simpering females surrounding him. “I am pleased to know my daughter is engaged to a thoughtful gentleman. You know, I tried being thoughtful once with your mother?”
Elizabeth guffawed. “Only once?”
He wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Perhaps I should give it another go?”
All three ladies replied in unison, “Yes!”
Alexandra, who was less inhibited than her two friends, asked, “What’d ye do for yer missus?”
“I gave her a handful of wildflowers,” Papa answered proudly, as he ought to. Elizabeth was rather partial to wildflowers.
“That is lovely,” Emily said with a sigh.
“I am relieved to know it. All these years, I thought my gesture insufficient,” Papa said, his tone sad. Summoning greater sarcasm, he added with a sardonic smile, “Mrs. Bennet told me she prefers hothouse flowers. They are more exotic. More costly.”
Emily furrowed her brow, looking uncomfortably at Elizabeth. “Perhaps your wife equates your willingness to spend money on her with love.”
Papa chuckled in earnest. “How unfortunate for my purse. I do believe you are right, young lady, and I shall advise you to have pity on your poor future husband by appreciating the small gestures as well as the grand ones.”
She shook her head firmly. “Forgive me for speaking so plainly on the subject, but I have a great deal of money, and while it undeniably makes my life more comfortable, it has never made me happy. True happiness, I have come to believe, comes from the friendships we make and the people we are generous to. I could never attach myself to agentleman who did not feel the same.” She closed her mouth and looked down at her clasped hands, her cheeks in high color.
Elizabeth leaned forward and rested her hand on top of Emily’s. She had spoken with so much passion, her voice shook, and Elizabeth wondered how long Emily had held her admission inside her without anyone in whom to confide.
Alexandra wrapped her arm around Emily’s and rested her head against her shoulder. “I think it’s more about knowin’ that a gentleman was thinkin’ of his lady than the flowers.” She sighed, her eyes staring off into the distance. “When I’m away from land for ages, I love the sight of flowers. They’re one of the few things I miss. Nick, too. He’s partial to roses.”
Emily unclenched her hands and relaxed into Alexandra’s side in the same way Elizabeth did with her sisters. “My French maid has been teaching me the language of flowers. Did you know that every flower has a meaning ascribed to it?”
Papa groaned. “You ladies have too many secret languages as it is. Handkerchiefs, fans, parasols … now flowers! Mrs. Bennet tried to teach me the language of the fan, but I never caught on. When she signaled me to flirt or ask her to dance, I thought she wished for me to send for the carriage.”
“If yer missus knows these Frenchie languages, ye might’ve offended her with yer choice of blooms.”
“What flowers did you give her?” Elizabeth asked.
“Daffodils and daisies. It was spring.”
Alexandra turned to face Emily. “What’s their meanin’?”
“They are both excellent choices. Daffodils symbolize regard and unequaled love.”
