Each rustle of skirts. Every shift of slipper. The removal of silk gloves before eating. The rise of her dusk-rose-coloured bodice which plumped her bosom to perfection.
All in all, twenty people dined at the sumptuous table situated, a little oddly, in Mrs Tait’s conservatory-cum-orangery. It abutted the house, taking up a good quarter of the garden and was a sight to behold: the candles reflected off the panes of glass in the tall windows, bouncing light around like stars, and if one cared to look overhead, the real celestial entities could be seen between the struts of wood and glass that made up the – surely very expensive – roof.
The scent also seduced, of tiny green oranges and lemons peeking from their lush foliage and fierce thorns, while the flowers of thePassiflora alataburgeoned with growth.
So he should cease being churlish over one of his dinner companions.
This morning, he’d met with the hobbling clerk at the Regiment Office but frustratingly, the ledger containing the address for Mr Cecil Webb was being held by the commanding officer. The clerk had promised to send a message forthwith.
Then there was the other man he wished to locate. One Jacob Dempster.
A cornet within the dragoons, he’d been transferred and demoted upon Miles’ testimony for inciting violence in a Spanish tavern – rather than on the battlefield. After Waterloo, he had, according to the file, been admitted to one of the London army hospitals that were full of such wounded men. But which hospital, it failed to say. He would–
“You bear a most pensive frown, my lord.”
He turned to a smiling Mrs Tait at the head of the table.
“My apologies, I was thinking on the many wounded soldiers.”
Dair groaned.
This was why he didn’t do dinner occasions.
He’d make amends with compliments. “You have a magnificent conservatory, Mrs Tait. With such a fine specimen ofPassiflora alata.”
Dair rolled his eyes.
Mrs Tait’s brow creased. But in a polite way.
“The red-flowered climber,” supplied Miss Seymour, “with the unusual blooms and sweet scent.”
“Ah.” His hostess’ eyes gleamed. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea of their names, my lord, as I simply ask the gardener for plants that are glorious, fragrant and colourful.”
“And itisglorious, Mrs Tait.”
She beamed. “From you, my lord, that is indeed a compliment as I’ve heard you are a keen botanist?”
“I have an avid interest, indeed. Whilst serving on the Continent, I pressed and catalogued the plants I found. Soon, I hope to publish my findings.”
Dair scrubbed a hand over his face.
“It’s truly remarkable and dedicated,” said Miss Seymour softly, “how you managed to catalogue any plants at all given the circumstances.”
Miles twisted. And glared at her.
Her skin gleamed in the candlelight, especially her decolletage which was low and something he endeavoured not to stare at. Short-puffed sleeves and a tight sash under her bosom completed a frock that would cause a monk to reconsider.
And he was a few rungs lower than a monk.
“Army life,” he finally responded, “is either utter chaos or utter tedium. Botany has been my passion since I was young and so I turned to it whenever I could.”
Mrs Tait gave a tentative cough. “Was it a… I hope you do not find this too personal, but was it a dichotomy? The beauty of nature when war surrounded you?”
“Not too personal at all. And no. It calmed me, in truth. I once had a musket wound to my leg after a skirmish in La Nava.” Dair shook his head. “Nothing too grave but I was laid up for a while. We were camped in the middle of the countryside and as soon as I could walk, I’d head for the surrounding meadow, couldn’t bear to stay idle. I’d collect roots and plants for the surgeons to make use of and specimens for my own enjoyment. Some of my fellow officers considered me peculiar, limping around with a coat-full of greenery, but…I myself believe the time spent in meadows healed me quicker than any surgeon’s poultice. I cannot explain why or how, only that being alone yet surrounded by the hum of nature and the scent of earth…helped.”
“The physician treats, but nature heals,” Verity said quietly.
Miles grimaced. She’d always been able to explain his ramblings.
