LOVE IS A FLOWER THAT GROWS IN ANY SOIL… BLOOMING FAIR AND FRAGRANT ALL THE YEAR
“You’re crabby again, Verity.”
“And peevish.”
Verity could do naught but nod and agree as the full complement of Scandalous Scarlet Spinsters bowled along in Mrs Tait’s open barouche, which comfortably seated four. “And it’s solely been a sennight since Miles left.”
Sephi patted her hand, her touch warm even through the thick woollen blanket. “Soon you’ll never be apart again, I’m sure.”
With a chew of lip, Verity stared to the sky as the cold of dusk briskly descended. Sephi surely spoke the truth, but there had been no definitive avowal as yet between Miles and herself, just snatched conversation, duty, obligation and now distance.
Martin Chambers had been committed to Newgate by the magistrate to await trial, but there’d been depositions to be given and evidence to be provided by them all. Then Miles had come to her with news that a wing of his country manor had suffered a fire, which demanded the earl’s immediate attention.
This morning, her relatives had declared there would be no more irritable mubble-fubbles and, since the weather had turned mild – that’s to say, only a single pelisse was required – Mrs Tait had arranged a visit to the tea gardens on the corner of Buckingham Palace Road. They’d spent a charming day just chatting and walking, and now they trundled their way home in the gathering dark of eve.
“You’d be welcome to come for tea tomorrow,” said their neighbour. “Juliet and Jeremy will be there also.”
Verity smiled but knew it did not quite reach her eyes. The abrupt separation from Miles pressing upon her.
For at night, in that hour when lucidness and reveries weaved, erstwhile doubts that appeared illogical by day took on a semblance of reason, shadows of the past making themselves known once more.
What was required was belief. And trust. Trust in Miles.
So with a deep breath, she broadened her smile, at her thoughtful relatives and the kind Mrs Tait, who would all no doubt prefer to be in a warm closed carriage rather than a barouche with the canopy down.
Sephi rubbed her hands together as the coachman brought them to a halt outside their homes, lamps in the doorways bright with welcome. “Phew!” she puffed as the steps were lowered, breath misting in the dark. “I can’t feel my ears anymore.”
Verity winced. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be a goose,” Sephi teased, linking her arm through Verity’s once they’d stepped down onto the pavement. “For now there’s nothing better than thawing out in your conservatory.”
“You don’t like my conservatory. You say it makes your skirts wilt and your hair curl.”
Aunt Theo linked her other arm, a smile tugging at her lips. “I agree with Persephone, darling. A hot toddy in your conservatory is just the elixir one needs to defrost.”
Mrs Tait waggled a glove. “Can I join you?”
Verity frowned but with her relatives gripping her like stakes to a sapling and her neighbour to the rear, Verity had no choice but to be dragged through the door, down the hallway, pelisse and all, and out to the dark garden.
The conservatory door was swung open by a grinning Jenkins and…
Oh my.
For a moment, she simply stared, breath catching.
Then she twisted. “You sneaky, kind, lying, adorable, underhand…”
“We love you, Verity.” Sephi patted her arm. “Enjoy!”
Aunt bussed her forehead. “My brave girl.”
Mrs Tait beamed. “Let’s have that hot toddy at mine, shall we?” And the three of them linked arms to depart, leaving Verity within her conservatory.
One that had been transformed whilst she’d been hoodwinked into attending the tea gardens.
Ornamental urns now intermingled with her beloved plants, filled with exotic blooms that she’d only seen in books, while high above, a series of bracket shelves had been fixed to the wall of the house. Upon them, porcelain vases were crammed with hothouse flowers, enriching the conservatory with their vibrant shades, shapes and rich scent.
A myriad of lanterns hung from hooks in the roof struts, their candles casting a soft drifting glow upon leaf and flower.
