Chapter Thirteen

O nce she'd returned from her eye examination (but what was so much more) the rest of the rainy day passed uneventfully, and Pippa spent as much time as she could in the orangery deeply in thoughts of the dashing oculist. Even the next morning, she pruned the vines, plucked off yellowed leaves, and pressed some flowers to dry between the pages of Sir Ellington's treatise. But she couldn't focus on any task at hand without thinking of the handsome doctor, and his breath on hers when she'd held the glass lens to his eye. And then there'd been the cocky smile when he'd looked her over from top to bottom. Even though it only existed in her memory now, the intensity of his stare sent a shiver through her every time she thought of it.

Despite the awful loneliness, Pippa had been delighted to come into the orangery this morning. It was just after eight and her father had taken the carriage to his quack, Wife Six was busy with her face massage, and the staff had started their usual busy Monday. Not that the afternoon callers on weekdays were any more pleasant, but the late evening gathering and dances on weekends really did Pippa in.

John Nash, a prominent British architect of the Georgian and Regency eras, had been an acquaintance of Pippa's maternal grandfather. Before he became famous and became one of the royal architects, he left an indelible mark on Silvercrest Manor's landscape. Her mother's favorite design had been commissioned in 1789 and the design and construction of the exquisite orangery had been completed just before Pippa was born. Even though Nash's designs were characterized by grand proportions and a heightened sense of space and light, this orangery had been an experiment to make the building especially airy by setting glass panes into the roof. It was a magnificent continuation of the sky and let Pippa look out at the stars from the comfort of her cherished indoor space. How often had she sunk up against her mother to watch and listen to the rain pattering against the glass while repotting shoots or drying bulbs for the next season.

Even though the orangery inevitably had seasons during which the plants grew or rested for the next growth period, most of the plants it contained defied the hasty rhythm of the outside world. Above all, here, Pippa could shut out the laughter and criticism, the gossip and lies. This was her space and only peace was allowed in here.

How delightful the silence was when Pippa shut the door to her orangery and took in the scent of the plants. The morning mist gave made the glass panes sparkle in hues of pink and white. As if the plants were exhaling perfume at this hour, the orangery smelled like mulch, fresh leaves, and tropical fruit.

Pippa sighed and watched the raindrops on the glass of the orangery. From her perspective from the inside, each droplet looked like a little circle, aimlessly running down a path until it hit another and formed a larger glob. The pitter-patter of the rain on the glass roof whispered sweet nothings. There was nothing to do for Pippa but hide, waiting for something to hit her and catapult her into motion like the little drops on the other side of the windowpanes.

"Where have you been?" Bea asked when she walked into the orangery and Sir Hoppington jumped into her arms. She cradled him and stroked his fuzzy little back.

"I had an eye exam and was fitted for glasses." Even though that was the truth, it wasn't the friendly nurse with the white apron who'd left an impression with her, but the gorgeous young doctor with hair the color of wheat and eyes the color of roasted chestnuts that occupied her mind.

"I came to feed the bunny," Bea said, but Pippa noticed the same number of apples and carrots as there had been earlier that day. The sifter for the barrel of rainwater Pippa had harvested was full of popping bubbles and showing much movement.

"I see that you checked on the mosquito larvae?" Pippa chuckled.

"Are the round one the ones that have pupated?" Bea bent over the barrel.

"Yes."

"It's such a dastardly plan, Pippa," Bea said, and leaned on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back. "Only you would think of using insects as weapons to antagonize your enemy. It's quite clever." She giggled. "How long now?"

"They will be able to fly in two or three days now," Pippa said. "All I need to do is hide them in Wife Six's bedroom. The maids are very willing to help, of course."

"Not a minute too soon then." Bea cocked her head to suppress a mischievous smile. "Just in time for her ball."

"Yes." Pippa smiled. She was going to sting Wife Six where it hurt her most, her vanity.

"It's justice considering how many times Wife Six had contributed to your embarrassment," Bea said.

"I'm thinking that putting the bowl under her bed will be the perfect place for them. Hopefully, they'll swarm during the night. In the morning, the maids can shoo them out the windows. Some of them, anyway."

A knock on the glass door sounded then, startling her just as she was feeling for the prickly bulb of the pineapple. She cut herself on one of the sharp palm leaves.

Instinctively, she stuck her finger in her mouth. Then there was another knock and Pippa saw a tall figure behind the glass door. Of course, the raindrops broke the light into tiny rainbows surrounding the gorgeous blond figure behind the glass door.

It was him.

"Let me!" Bea walked to the door and just when her hand touched the handle, she cast Pippa a knowing smile over her shoulder. "He's sweet!" She said it just so that Nick could hear her the moment she opened the door. She gave Nick a once over as she left without making an introduction.

Pippa fumed as Bea left, and lowered her gaze to her plant. How embarrassing .

"Ouch!" Pippa cursed under her breath when she examined the cut on her finger.

"You are bleeding." He rushed toward her, setting down his doctor bag and rummaging around. "I have a clean muslin but where are my scissors. Let me see… how much shall I cut?"

"Of what?" Pippa took her finger out of her mouth just for long enough to speak, then stuck it back in.

"The muslin. For the bandage." But he'd stopped rummaging around his bag. Instead, his gaze had affixed to her mouth.

"Take this," Pippa turned and reached for the long knife hooked onto the column behind her.

His eyes grew wide, and he jerked his head back.

"Oh, it's just my mother's machete."

"Your mother's machete. Oh good. I thought it was a sharp weapon."

Pippa stifled a laugh and took her finger out of her mouth. She couldn't see red oozing brightly against her pale skin so the cut must have been small, and the iron taste of blood had subsided. Her finger was fine. "It's for the pineapple—it's ripe. It's not your muslin."

He arched a brow and surveyed the raised bed.

*

Nick found her irresistible, yet he couldn't bask in her charm. His career hung in the balance, and a patient's vision was at risk. So, he'd chosen to deliver Pippa's glasses himself.

"I need the machete to cut the pineapple," she said, flipping the rather large knife in her hand if it were nothing but a ruler. "It's ripe today, I was just about to harvest it."

She pushed the sharp long leaves aside as if they were nothing but blades of grass, careful to touch the flat blades rather than the sharp edges. She moved with such dexterity that Nick was amazed. Most people with a vision deficit like hers would be rather clumsy, but Pippa was so intelligent that she must have sharpened her other senses to make up for the diminished vision.

With her left hand, she grabbed a bulb twice the size of her fist and tilted it. Then, with her right hand, she cut the thick stem off from which it protruded. It was a funny-looking prickly thing, rather fat and shiny, and had a pattern on its surface like a closed-up pinecone.

"Is this a cone from a palm?" Nick asked, intrigued by the fruit of this little spiky plant.

"It's a pineapple."

"Apples don't grow on pines," he said, trying not to sound so ignorant.

"You don't know much about botany, Dr. Folsham, do you?" she said with a smirk, a testament to her intelligence, Nick thought. She was witty and easy to talk to. Come to think of it, he'd never had such a pleasant time speaking to girls besides his sister.

"I'm afraid my studies of human anatomy left me little time for the world of flora."

"There!" She exclaimed when the thick bulb fruit finally broke off. She laid it on the wooden plank on the side and whack! With a clean cut, she removed the green spiky hat from the top.

"It's the perfect fruit, Dr. Folsham. Would you like to try it? I only got one this year, this is it."

It didn't seem right to accept. There could have been others in the house who enjoyed the fruit. After all, he'd never tried it and didn't know what he was missing anyway. "Are you certain you wish to share your only pineapple of the year with me?"

She straightened her back and gave him a quizzical look. "Yes."

It would be rude, then, to reject the offer a second time. "Then it would be my honor." Nick gave a curt bow and his most charming smile.

That determined, she set the widest part of the machete onto the cutting board, then, like a seesaw, pushed it down and with one clean cut, split the pineapple in two.

"I thought the inside would look like an artichoke," he marveled when the bright yellow flesh oozed the rose-and-orange-scented aroma that was quite refreshingly unlike anything else he'd ever smelled before.

"It's not a Cynara and not even a little bit in the genus of thistle—like plants, Dr. Folsham. An artichoke is an in the family of Asteraceae . They come from the Mediterranean, but pineapples hadn't been brought to Europe until Christopher Columbus discovered them in South America. The pineapple is also called ‘ananas' and it's part of the Bromeliaceae family."

Nick swallowed. He didn't understand a single word of the Latin she spoke but he was in awe for the intelligent tone that Pippa had assumed, speaking of such complex taxonomy of plants as if it were nothing more than a distinction between a rainy day and a sunny day. It was not unlike how he and his colleagues and sister discussed medicine, he supposed, in discussions peppered with Latin and Greek terminology. After all, botany was just another branch of science—just one he'd never really considered, before this. And to think she'd garnered her knowledge by herself, without a university education, made him admire her even more.

He realized she was waiting for him to speak. He wet his lips with his tongue before saying, "I just thought that it has a rather large stem, like an artichoke and a similar shape."

She raised her eyebrows with interest. "When have you seen artichokes growing?"

"In France. Also, in Italy."

"Fascinating. You have traveled quite far, haven't you?"

Nick shrugged. "Not as far as some of my colleagues."

"Well, let me give a taste of South America then, Dr. Folsham." She made another cut and sliced a wedge of pineapple off. "Try it."

Nick picked the slippery fruit up and brought it to his mouth. It smelled fantastic. Then he opened his mouth to take a bite.

"Stop!" Pippa's hand wrapped around his and pulled the wedge of fragrant fruit away. "You don't eat the skin!"

"Oh," Nick managed to croak as his body hardened as soon as she'd touched his hand. Although the moment was brief and fleeting, he cherished the contact. It had been just like at his office, when he'd examined her eyes. Touching her sent a jolt of power through him, awakening his senses.

"Like this," she said as she lifted the fruit from his fingers and moved it to her mouth. Her pink lips opened, and the tip of her tongue emerged as she bit into the fleshy yellow fruit. Nick swallowed as his mouth suddenly grew dry. Moments later, juice rolled down her wrist as she bit down and slurped at the fruit. His head swam. But then she raised the remaining piece of pineapple back toward his mouth, holding on to the rind. His knees nearly buckled as he saw how her mouth glistened with the sweet-smelling juice of this exotic fruit. He wasn't quite sure how not to stare. Second, he'd usually not bite into a fruit if another person had already taken a bite; Felix would hang him for that.

Yet, he didn't mind in the moment. It was her only pineapple of the year, after all, and he ought to be grateful that she was sharing it with him. Except that wasn't it either.

He gulped.

He wished not for the piece of pineapple on the rind but the drop of its juice on her lips… No. He mustn't even think it. It was wrong. He and she were of two different classes. He needed to—.

And before he could complete the thought, Pippa squeezed the elongated wedge open, holding the edges of the rind together and offering him the yellow flesh. "Here. Try it." Obediently, he opened his mouth to receive the sweet taste of the fibrous pulp. He was surprised at the tang.

He bit the piece off and Pippa let go of the rind. Nick wasn't sure how much time had passed when he noticed that she'd shifted from one leg to the other, picked up the machete and sliced another piece.

"I can't give you more than a third, I promised a piece to my cousin Bea," Pippa said as she laid out another wedge for him.

"I wouldn't dare infringe upon more than you are willing to give."

She gave him a stunned look. "I beg your pardon."

Nick shut his eyes. "My apologies, what it sounds as though I meant is not what that sounded like."

"I wish it were," she mumbled, probably unaware that he'd heard her. But he had.

His heart began to pound even harder. He needed to get away from her as quickly as he could before… No. Don't even think it. He cleared his throat and opened his eyes, focusing on a point over her shoulder. "I have something to give you, however." Nick pulled out the leather etui holding her new glasses from his pocket. He opened it and revealed the delicate spectacles. Wendy often made them for him since she'd mastered the craft just as well as he, but not this pair. These were special. "I made these myself and hope they will fit you well."

"I don't expect any glasses to suit me, Dr. Folsham," Pippa said with audible reservation in her voice.

Understandably. She had no idea her world was about to change. "It's not about that as much as the actual fit. They need to sit just right on the bridge of your nose and behind your ears. The temples of the glasses mustn't press too hard behind your… May I?" He flipped the temples of the glasses open and brought them to her face. She blinked at him shyly and then shut her eyes, trusting him. The exotic scent of the tropical fruit, the shimmering light that had dried the mist on the windows, and the thin, flyaway hairs around her face that Nick brushed behind her ears before he fitted the aluminum-framed round glasses on her added to the allure of the moment.

Seconds stretched into moments of far greater importance than the fleeting fractions of a minute and Nick wished this moment could last forever. If only he could make it so.