Page 27 of Regency in Color

Lips pressed together, he nodded. “Were you headed somewhere?”

“Yes. Yes, I was,” she replied, wondering why he remained. The man always hurried away from any room she entered, and now when she wished him to go, he suddenly became interested in what she was doing.

“I was about to inspect the garden. I did not wish to disturb your prayer time, so I was about to leave.” She motioned to George, who scratched at the back door. “Then the cat tripped me.”

“I see,” he said and glanced to where he’d been standing. “It looks as if it were once a very well-maintained garden. Hardly any weeds.”

“Yes, well, I do believe Mr. Yarnsby had his staff keep it in good order.” Mary took a step toward the garden, astonished when Thomas walked alongside.

“My mother loves gardening,” he said.

“Is that so?” Mary replied, astonished at his willingness to share something with her. “My grandmother did as well. Of course, Jamaica has wonderful year-round weather, which lends itself to growing plenty of things.”

“Were you born there?”

Mary smiled at the memory. “Yes, in Jamaica. My father, who is English, brought mother and me to live in London when I was very young. Thankfully, we have returned several times to visit grandmother. The last time was only about three years ago.”

They fell silent as Mary walked through the walled area. A few plants, she recognized as flowers were just beginning to sprout. There were several trellises that stood bare, waiting to be draped with whatever would be planted at its base. Along the top of the wall, clay pots of various sizes were lined in. In each one, a different herb seemed to have been recently planted. She guessed by Moira or Lottie.

Not wishing to continue any type of conversation, Mary took inventory of the space, committing to memory where she’d plant what. The garden was on the north-facing side of the house, which meant, it would get sun most of the day.

George the cat strolled past her and gracefully jumped atop the wall to sun himself. Its large green eyes pinning her with daring.

“I do not think he cares for me,” Mary murmured. “I have always liked cats, but this one may prove to be a challenge.”

Thomas moved to where George sat and rubbed the cat’s head. “I think he prefers to be left alone. Cats are fickle creatures who do not need our validation.”

“Very true,” Mary’s lips curved. It was strange in a way to have such a superficial conversation with the Irishman. Despite the fact Thomas avoided her most days at the moment, he seemed perfectly comfortable, alone with her in the garden. When George lifted its head for Thomas to continue to scratch, she wondered if the reason the cat allowed it was because they were kindred spirits.

Both seemed to be fickle when it came to others.

“I best go see about preparing for the trip into town,” Mary said turning away. She hesitated for a moment and then turned to Thomas. “Don’t forget to get the list from Moira.”

At his nod, she hurried inside.

* * *

Vivian Yarnsby,her mistress, was a beautiful young woman, whom Mary adored. Recently married, Vivian glowed with happiness. She and her husband, Alexander, were a love match, which in Mary’s estimation was the best kind.

Mary, who’d been Vivian’s companion for almost ten years, enjoyed seeing her mistress’ excitement at the start of every day. In her opinion, it was only a marriage of love that brought on such anticipation and enjoyment of life.

Now as they settled into the carriage, Vivian leaned forward and peered out the window for a long moment. “I’m both excited and nervous about this trip to the village. I have no idea who anyone is.

Mr. Yarnsby had decided to ride ahead on horseback so he could then ride to the Torrington’s estate. When very young, he’d been taken in by Duke and Lady Torrington. He’d grown up with their son, William, with whom he owned several businesses.

The passing landscape was dull, as winter had yet to fully end and all the trees were bare. The sky was grey, giving the impression that it would snow at any moment.

“I am sure you will enjoy meeting the constable’s wife and the other ladies who have invited you for a visit,” Mary said hoping it was true.

Vivian covered Mary’s hand. “I am so glad you are with me. I tried to get my sister to come with me,” she said referring to her sister Clara, who was married to Viscount William Torrington. Although to be fair, Clara lived a lot further from the village, which would mean several hours of travel there and back.

“I look forward to meeting whoever works for the constable’s family. Hopefully, both of us will make new friends,” Mary said assuring her mistress.

Vivian let out a breath. “You’re right of course, it is time that I do things on my own. I am a married woman after all and must forge ahead.”

Less than two hours later, the village came into view. Much larger than Mary expected, it was situated between sloping hills on one side and farmland on the other. Horse drawn wagons traveled the narrow roads and people hurried into buildings to avoid the chilling wind.

They passed several shops, the shingles informing them there was a shoemaker, a baker, a butcher shop, a candlemaker and an apothecary.