Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

So, please tell me if I understand this Will situation correctly,” Lizzie said as she lay on a blanket on the grass beside Angelika. “Well, not the part regarding where he came from. Vic has promised not to create any new love interests for you until the situation is resolved.”

Angelika glared. “He took full credit for Will? Typical.”

It was a warm afternoon, and both women were barefoot in their muslin underdresses. Even prim, proper Will had stripped down to his sleeveless cotton undervest long before they had set up their afternoon-tea picnic, and the heavy muscle definition in his arms had caused both ladies to squeak and giggle in unison.

Now the sweat was running down his body, the vest dark and clinging.

“Even better than I remembered,” Angelika said, her voice garbled with desire.

“He’s been working hard,” Lizzie said, her tone deliberately bland, but she had eyes and was looking, too. Then she swiveled her head, scanning. “Are you sure Belladonna won’t bite my nose off?”

Angelika patted the broom she had brought along. “I shall protect you.”

Will was halfway through hacking away the ivy that had taken hold of the side of the house. In the background, a few local boys he’d hired were cutting, pruning, digging, and burning. There was even someone on a ladder, painting the window casings. From another open window, one of the new chambermaids was beating dust from a rug. From this exact spot, lying on the cut grass, Angelika could see the shape of the house reemerging, and it struck her as a kind of reclaimed dignity for the old building.

It also made her miss her parents.

“What’s this old book?” Lizzie asked, picking up the leather-bound book that Angelika had brought outside. She read the spine. “Institutiones Rei Herbariae by Tournefort. Oh. It’s botany.” She gave the pages a cursory flip to admire the illustrations of blooms, buds, and pods.

“It’s a present for Will. I’m taking a guess that it’s what he’s been searching for when he walks in his sleep. This is his passion.” Angelika took it back before Lizzie could read her inscription.

To my love: One day I will write your true name here.

With all that I am,

I am always,

your Angelika.

Will bent down to gather vines from the ground, but when he straightened he put a hand on the wall, the greenery dropping back down. His shoulders were rising and falling on deep breaths.

“Are you all right?” Angelika called, but he shook his head in irritation and ignored her. “He looks like he’s about to faint.”

Lizzie nudged her back to the conversation. “I know Will was your work, because Vic can’t do what you do. You’re more clever than you realize. Promise me if Belladonna trips me on the staircase and breaks my neck, you’ll bring me back, too.”

Will was still bent over and struggling in some way. Angelika laid the book aside and debated getting to her feet.

“There is a risk of total memory loss, be warned. You’d have to fall in love with Vic all over again. Maybe you’ll choose someone more normal next time around.”

Lizzie sniggered. “I doubt it. I could tell you things about your brother that would scar you. He is utterly . . .” She searched for an appropriate word for an uncomfortably long time, settling on: “Inventive.”

“I beg you, please, do not ever, ever elaborate. I don’t know how you bear to kiss his apple breath.”

Angelika was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She was glad of Lizzie’s company, which only seemed possible when Victor was riding his horse in the forest, searching for his creation. And even then, Lizzie just wanted to drone on and on about her brother. People in love were tedious.

She watched Will resume work. Her chest was still tight from fright; was he often feeling dizzy? “What else has Vic told you about Will?”

“I can see for myself that he is very handsome. Oh, don’t get those sharp eyes with me.” Lizzie exhaled heavily on her new diamond ring and polished it on her neckline. It was apparently a frequent impulse. “Are you sure you don’t mind me having this?” She’d been awkward since Victor mentioned that the ring had previously resided in Angelika’s jewelry box.

“Quite sure.”

“Because I can give it back.” Even as Lizzie said that, her hand curled into a fist. It would be cut from her cold dead finger.

To Angelika, that ring looked like a lump of glass. She had no idea why Lizzie loved it so. “Since the moment he met you, it’s always been yours. It looked hideous on me, and perfect on you.” She smiled as Lizzie leaned against her in silent thanks. Larkspur Lodge flashed behind her eyes when she blinked. “Back to the topic. Will is desperately handsome, and perfectly endowed. I made sure of it.”

Lizzie snorted. “He thinks you are rather beautiful, and he’s right. You glow with a new magic, fairy queen. I have never seen you look so well.” She rubbed a hand between Angelika’s shoulder blades. “The gardening lads think so, too.”

Angelika reapplied herself to shredding dandelions into sour-smelling piles of yellow. “Yes, he does find me fair, but he doesn’t remember any other women. I am his current and only favorite.”

Lizzie kept going. “You are of marrying age.”

“Maybe too old.”

“You’re not. When he kisses you, you feel like pulling his clothes off.” Lizzie tossed a dandelion in Angelika’s face.

“Definitely yes.”

Lizzie revealed her point: “And you are spending your time attempting to find his wife. I don’t understand it. He should be crawling on hands and knees to win you.” She raised her voice on this last part, and Will’s head turned. “Good, he should listen,” Lizzie grumbled, putting her forearm across her eyes.

Angelika bristled with protectiveness. “Leave him be.”

“I hate seeing you this way, Jelly. You are in your old pattern of falling in love with men who will never notice or return it. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that ancient bookbinder.”

Angelika screeched, “You swore we’d never speak of it!”

A boy up a ladder dropped his paint tin.

Lizzie continued. “Will is a handsome, polite man, but I don’t see any fire in his heart. You need someone who will fight to the death for you, and I’m sorry, my dear, but I think that person will be Commander Keatings.”

“It was your idea to invite him to our grand dinner.” It was confirmed when Lizzie’s lip curled. “You wench. Mary’s having conniptions over it. Sarah is polishing all the silver, looking like she could cry.”

Angelika dropped down to lie flat on her stomach and closed her eyes, feeling the warm sun on her back and the wool blanket on her cheek. “It’s not going to be grand, though, is it, with Victor running the show. It’s going to be odd, and Christopher will know we are . . . odd.”

Lizzie sounded thoughtful. “You care what he thinks. He must be the first suitor you’ve had that you did.”

“Christopher is not my suitor. Will is.”

“So, if I am understanding you right, Commander Keatings is the first gorgeous man in your entire life you didn’t fall in love with at first sight? He is the exception. Isn’t that interesting? If I were Will, I would be very worried.”

Angelika sniffed. “He doesn’t have to worry about a thing.”

Lizzie kept pushing. “I want you to know what it feels like to be desperately wanted. That is what love is, Jelly. Knowing that he will fight for you—and I do not see Will fighting. Do you know what Vic would do if another handsome man was sniffing around my skirts at a dinner?”

Angelika considered the question. “He’d most likely break his own hand in a fistfight, and then I wouldn’t see the pair of you for two days.”

Lizzie’s dark eyes flared with energy. “Three days. I don’t see that passion in Will. I see him calmly trimming overgrown ivy and being polite at breakfast.”

“All love is different.” Angelika could still feel the squeeze of his hand on her waist and the indecent rock of the carriage. “He doesn’t kiss in a polite way.”

“Why should he even get to kiss you?”

“His situation is complicated. I revived someone with no memory but very high morals and ethics. Anyhow, is this how engaged ladies occupy their time these days? Entertaining themselves with their friends’ affairs?”

Her temper was hidden cleverly in this little jibe. Will burned for her; she knew he did.

Lizzie said, “I want us to be married at the same time, then waddle around with matching stomachs. This time next year, we could have our babies lying out here with us, and we could learn how to be mothers together. Believe me, Vic is hard at work on that project.” She exhaled strangely and grew flushed. “I wish I could tell someone about what goes on between us. It’s too much to keep to oneself.”

“Please be quiet.”

“Everything is such a theatrical production. Oh, and his muscles. His. Muscles. He took off his shirt, and I could not speak for ten minutes. He’s absolutely—”

“Please don’t confide,” Angelika said with her hands over her ears. “Tell the pig, not me.”

“But you’re my best friend.” Lizzie was frustrated, and scowled in Will’s direction. “Can he even have children? Or were his nice big bits dead for too long?”

That was a question that kept Angelika up at night as she found herself stroking her pillowcase. Silk was soft . . . but not as soft as a baby’s cheek. Even if Will did give her such a gift, the child would not have its father’s beautiful amber eyes. Absolute sadness hollowed her out, and she knew she deserved it.

“We have no idea if it’s possible. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

Lizzie leaned back on her elbows, closing her eyes to the sun. “If Commander Keatings fully applies himself to courting you, I want you to let him try. Remain open to that option. You’d have a herd of neat blond boys in no time. Imagine their nursery. The little blighters would keep it spick-and-span.”

Angelika imagined it. Then she pictured a quieter child, with messy hair, and an affinity for plants.

“I think you forget who you are, Jelly. You’re the most eligible young woman in this county. Men should be fighting over you.” A shadow fell across them both. Lizzie said in a different voice, “Oh, how very sweet.”

Angelika rolled onto her back to see Will, hot and sweating, standing over her with loose flowers in his hand. Some still trailed roots and dirt. She was touched that he understood her so well, and was gratified to have Lizzie as a witness.

“Did you almost faint before?” When he said nothing, she prompted, “I will always prefer wildflowers over hothouse roses. Oh! I have a gift for you in return.” She held up the book to him, and he took it and read the spine with a dawning recognition in his eyes.

“I think . . . I know this book,” Will said, looking disturbed, holding the now-forgotten flowers tighter. With some difficulty, he opened the cover and flipped straight to the illustrations. He read out loud as he turned pages, “Momordica . . . Pomme de Merveille . . . Xylon . . . Coton . . . I know these drawings.”

“Jelly, you clever little thing,” Lizzie praised her. “I have to say, you are the world’s best gift giver. I need more of that apple soap; it drives Vic wild.”

“Hmm,” Angelika hummed noncommittally, glum that Will hadn’t noticed her heartfelt inscription.

Will looked up from the page. “Yes, this is a book I have owned, I am certain of it. I can read this.”

“French and Latin. Excellent.” Lizzie beamed. “We are narrowing down your background, and you are undoubtedly educated. Perhaps you were a botanist. Is it exciting to star in this mystery role?” She picked up her notebook and began to jot. “A play about someone with no memory. Intriguing. Do I have your permission to be inspired?”

“If you think of an appropriate end for my character, please advise me.” Will closed his book like he was reluctant to stop reading, and to Angelika he said, “Thank you so much.”

“You’re so very welcome. Anything and everything you could ever want, I will give you.” Angelika really wanted her flowers now. “Are they for me?”

He appeared to be greatly embarrassed, glancing to Lizzie. He had overheard her earlier words. “They are not a fitting return gift.”

Angelika frowned. “They are from you, so of course they are.”

“They’re not mine to gift. They belong to you, like everything here.” Ignoring her outstretched hand, he laid them on the blanket beside her, in the same way one might put flowers on a grave. He was gone before another word was said.

“Poor man,” Lizzie said with empathy. “He tried his best.”

Angelika gathered up her flowers. “He picked each one thinking of me. Can’t you see that is something that cannot be bought? All I ever wanted was someone who thinks only of me and will let me spoil him. I was right about the book. I think he can rest easier now.”

As she sorted the blooms into a bouquet, she noticed there were dozens of rich purple larkspurs. She wondered if his subconscious knew it, or if it was a sign from the cosmos.

It was time to do something scary.

“Lizzie, I want to talk to you about something important to me. Something that probably belongs to you now.” Lizzie was already clutching her ring in fear. Angelika rushed to clarify, “Larkspur Lodge.”

“I don’t know where that is,” Lizzie said, perplexed. “I haven’t heard of it.”

“It is our lake house, six hours by coach. It is terribly overgrown and unloved and has been sitting out there alone with only a caretaker for many years. I can relate to it very well,” she added, trying for humor. She didn’t quite succeed. “I am possibly destroying a very large surprise, and I do apologize.”

“A surprise?”

“When you are married, it will be your gift that you can rightfully accept, but I want you to know that I love it desperately, and it is the only place where I think I can decide what to do with the rest of my life. Becoming a scientist is Victor’s ambition. I want to use my talent,” she explained haltingly, “for something that is mine.”

Lizzie patted her notebook, titled IDEAS FOR PLAYS. “When you find your role, the rest of your life will fall into place. I promise you.”

“I don’t like to ask for anything, but if you should decide that six hours is so very far away—”

“You wish to have Larkspur.” Lizzie clasped her hand on Angelika’s. “I will talk to Victor. It would be my honor to see that gift go to you. But in exchange, I wish for you to be open to being courted, by either man. Let them compete. And think of what meaningful occupation you will take up in your new home. That is our deal. Promise me.”

With larkspurs in her hands, Angelika found herself saying, “I promise.”