Elizabeth poked her father’s arm. “Not bad, Papa.”
“And daisies are associated with innocence and loyal love.” Emily twisted her lips to the side. “Were you to make another attempt at thoughtfulness, perhaps she would prefer roses. Red or pink blossoms. Or any color really—with the exception of yellow. That implies jealousy or infidelity.”
The carriage jolted to a halt, and they piled out of the conveyance, their minds full of flowers and hidden meanings. Lord Matlock, Fitzwilliam, Richard, and Nick waited nearby.
“This is Mrs. Brown’s final resting place?” Lord Matlock asked.
Emily nodded. “According to my detective, it is.”
“Then, let us go inside and see what we find,” he said.
With a wink, Papa left Elizabeth at Fitzwilliam’s side to join the earl at the head of their retinue.
Ahead of Elizabeth and Darcy walked Nick and Alexandra, and behind them, the colonel and Emily. The latter made a handsome couple, in Elizabeth’s estimation.
She squeezed closer to Fitzwilliam, tugging his arm so he would lean down for her whisper. “Far be it from me to interfere, but if the colonelwishes to please Emily, I have it on good authority that she likes flowers and thoughtful gestures. She is also aware of the language of flowers, so he ought to take care which bloom he presents to her.”
Fitzwilliam’s eyes twinkled. “You wish for me to relay this information to Richard? Without interfering?”
Elizabeth laughed. “I trust you to find a way.”
He straightened to his full height with a cackle. “You trust me more than I do myself.”
“Ah, but you are not too proud to fix your mistakes or to overlook mine. A beneficial trait to have in a marriage, do you not agree?” she teased.
“So long as you continue to minimize my errors with your humor, I shall continue to humble myself.”
Lord Matlock stopped beside two men digging a grave. They pointed down a tidy row of grave markers, and Elizabeth’s mood grew more somber as they walked deeper inside the cemetery’s grounds.
They came to a stop, and their group circled around the grave at a respectful distance.Martha Brownread the stone. There were flowers covering the dates of her existence. Richard moved them aside, confirming they had the correct Mrs. Brown.
After their conversation in the carriage, Elizabeth could not help but fix on the blue violets and pink carnations. They were wilted and dry, several days old. Looking at Emily, Elizabeth asked, “What do those mean?”
“Blue violets represent faithfulness.” Softer, Emily added, “I shall never forget you. That is the meaning of the pink carnation.” Her gaze met Elizabeth’s. It was a clue. A significant one if the giver knew the significance of his choice.
“A relative?” Elizabeth wondered aloud.
“More likely, a lover,” Alexandra suggested. “Yer detectives uncovered nobody significant in Mrs. Brown’s life?”
Emily’s brows furrowed. “She had no family, and though she was called Mrs. Brown, she was never married.” Such a disparity in address was common enough. Many spinsters preferred to allow others to believe them widowed than unwanted. One would be hard pressed to find a companion or governess who did not claim to be a missus rather than a miss.
“Somebody cared enough about her to tend to her grave,” Fitzwilliam observed, taking off down the row until he joined the two gravediggers. Clever man. If anyone could tell them anything about the flowers, it was them.
One of the men took off his cap, and Elizabeth was close enough to hear his reply by the time she caught up. “I’m happy to see the flowers again.”
“Again?” Fitzwilliam prompted.
“Aye.” The man scratched his head, saying, “I thought the man had fallen ill or gone traveling. It must be two, maybe three months he didn’t show when it was his custom to leave a new bunchevery Sunday.”
Sunday. That was tomorrow.
His companion added, “‘Tis sorrowful work, ours is. It’s nice to have something pretty to look at in this place.”
“I imagine so,” Fitzwilliam acknowledged with a bow of his head. Elizabeth loved how he sympathized with the gravediggers.
“Every Sunday, you say?” Lord Matlock asked.
The man wiped his cap over his brow. “Like a clock. He shows up between ten in the morning and a quarter after the hour.”
