Chapter Twenty-Nine

L awrence arrived home to find the cottage empty, the aroma of fresh bread and roast mutton in the air.

Where was Bella? She needed to be the first to hear the good news. Mr. Trelawney had agreed to hire him, provided he could finish the designs to satisfaction. He hadn’t felt this elated since…

Since he’d been hired by Dunton to landscape his garden.

And look how that ended.

“Bella! Children!”

There was no sign of them. Even if the children had been in the garden, he’d have heard their continuous buzz of noise and laughter.

Perhaps they were still at school, though they should be home by now—it was past six.

Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he set off for the village, retracing his steps toward the inn until he reached the fork in the road that led to the school.

He found his children sitting on the wall outside the schoolroom.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Mama’s inside,” Roberta said. “Mrs. Chantry wanted to see her.”

Lawrence sighed. “What have you done?”

“Nothing!” Jonathan cried. “Mrs. Chantry’s a witch, and she smells!”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” Lawrence said. “Is that why your”—he hesitated—“your mama is speaking to her?”

“She’s shouting at Mrs. Chantry!” Jonathan replied. “ You never shout at Mrs. Chantry.”

“That’s because she’s your teacher.”

“ Told you,” Roberta whispered at her brother, giving him a sharp nudge.

“What’s happened?” Lawrence asked.

Jonathan opened his mouth, then shut it again. “Nothing.”

With a sigh, Lawrence entered the building. There was no need to search for Bella—her sharp voice echoed from one of the schoolrooms, and he cringed at the memory of hearing Lady Arabella admonishing a servant.

Then Mrs. Chantry’s voice filtered through the door, and he froze.

If your husband’s carrying on with a doxy…

How dare the woman say such a thing!

Then Bella rose her voice in her defense of doxies, laying the blame at the feet of errant husbands.

He allowed himself a smile. Millie—who’d loathed Lady Arabella—would have liked Bella, even if Bella was the reason he’d rejected her advances.

As he reached the door, he heard Mrs. Chantry’s voice.

No wonder you can’t keep your husband…

Shaking with fury, he pushed open the door.

Bella and Mrs. Chantry stood facing each other. The teacher, a heavily built woman, dominated the space, but Bella held firm, her body rigid with determination.

“I’ll thank you not to insult my wife,” he said.

Bella stiffened and turned toward him, her face flushed. “L-Lawrence…”

He held out his hand. “Come here, Bella.”

She stared at it, then met his gaze, and his heart ached to see the sorrow in her eyes.

Where was the firebrand—the harpy?

“Mrs. Chantry, why did you refer to my wife as a…” He could hardly bring himself to utter the word.

“Are you blind?” the teacher replied. “We’ve heard the stories. Not that we blame you .”

“What stories?”

“Lawrence, no,” Bella said. “Not here. The children—”

“Are outside and can’t hear us. What stories, Mrs. Chantry?”

“A-about your wife.”

“My wife?” He stepped toward the teacher, and she moved back.

“Perhaps I was mistaken,” Mrs. Chantry said. “I-I heard your wife had abandoned you—and you came to Brackens Hill with your children, but no mention of a wife. When they first came to school, they said they didn’t have a mother—that she was dead.”

Bella drew in a sharp breath.

Shit. Had the day of reckoning arrived?

“Then,” the teacher continued, “she turns up showing neither remorse nor repentance. What was any reasonable person supposed to believe? When a woman abandons her husband and children, there’s only one reason. She ran off with a lover.”

She turned her spiteful gaze to Bella. “She won’t even deny it. And to think, she’s living among respectable folk here—who knows what influence she’ll have on us? I’ve seen the influence she’s had over your children! It’s not virtuous. It’s not—”

“Will you stop, you damned harridan!” Lawrence roared.

“Well!” the teacher exclaimed. “I’ve never heard anything of the like.”

“Then it’s time you did, Mrs. Chantry,” he said. “My wife went missing through no fault of hers—not that it’s anyone’s business but mine. She had an accident that took her memory and nearly took her life. We’re strangers to her, Mrs. Chantry—can you understand how frightening that must be? Yet she’s cared for me and our children without a single word of complaint. That is what it means to be virtuous, and I’ll thank you to show her the respect due to her, not just as my wife and the mother of my children, but because she’s a better woman than you—nay, a better woman than any in the whole damned village!”

He took Bella’s hand and lifted it to his lips.

“Insult my wife, Mrs. Chantry, and you insult not only me, but every virtuous woman in the kingdom. And now you’ve taken up enough of my time. I’ve been away from home and have missed my family. I don’t want to spend another moment apart from them. I don’t expect you to apologize, for I fear you lack the grace, but if I hear you’ve been gossiping about my wife, you’ll regret it.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Baxter?”

“No, Mrs. Chantry,” he said. “It’s a promise that you’ll reap the consequences of your sins—a lesson I’m sure you teach the children in your charge every day. Do I have your promise that you’ll desist from gossiping about my wife? I won’t leave this room until I do.”

The teacher glanced at Bella, then, at length, she nodded.

“Good. I expect to hear that my wife’s treated with more respect in the village from now on.”

He led Bella outside to where the children sat waiting.

“Lawrence, I—”

“There’s no need to say anything, Bella,” he said. “I’m only ashamed.”

“What for?”

“For not realizing folk were gossiping about you.”

“Nothing else?”

“Perhaps I’ve not voiced my appreciation enough, for all you do.”

She nodded, her eyes glistening, and looked away.

“Is something the matter?” he asked.

She shook her head and sighed. Then she forced a smile. “So, I’ve worked without a single word of complaint?”

He let out a chuckle. “I didn’t think it right to tell Mrs. Chantry about the time you threw a pan at my head. I didn’t want her thinkin’ I’d married a harpy.”

“Or a sla—”

“Don’t take names to yourself, love. I meant what I said. And I want to know if Mrs. Chantry is uncivil toward you.”

“I can weather her insults,” Bella said. “But the children…”

“Mama, what’s for supper?” Jonathan asked.

Bella glanced at the little boy and smiled. “Roast mutton,” she said. “Mr. Ryman brought round a hindquarter yesterday—said he got it cheap.”

“Should I be jealous if another man’s calling on you?” Lawrence teased.

Her smile died. “Why did you come by the school? It’s not on the way home from the inn.”

“I went home first, but you weren’t there,” he said. “I didn’t want to wait a moment longer before telling you.”

“Telling me what?” she asked, her voice tight.

“It’s good news,” he said. “Mr. Trelawney wants me to prepare a proposal for his garden. If he gives me the job, it’ll mean a fair bit of work, but it could be good for us. You wouldn’t mind a bit more money for your housekeeping, would you?”

“There’s more to life than money, Lawrence.”

“What about you, children?” he asked. “You’d not say no to some new toys from Midchester. We could go there for a treat.”

“Oh yes, Papa!” William cried. “I’d like a horse !”

“You’re too small, silly,” Roberta said. “You’d fall off.”

“Not a real horse—a toy horse, like the one I’ve seen Charles Merrick with. His papa buys him anything he wants. He told me so—at least, he did, until his nanny told him not to speak to me.”

“You’ll have to wait before you’ve picked every toy in the land,” Lawrence said, laughing. “It’s not certain that I’ll be hired yet. I need to finish the designs.”

“I thought you had finished them,” Bella said. “You spend enough time in your study.”

“Papa goes to his study to avoid having to help tidy up,” Roberta said.

“No, he doesn’t!” Jonathan cried. “He does it because he’s a man. You’re a girl, which is why you and Mama should tidy up.”

“You should all help your mama,” Lawrence said.

“Then why don’t you , Pa?” Roberta asked.

Their arrival at Ivy Cottage spared him the necessity of responding.

Five minutes later, they sat at the dinner table while Bella dished out supper and sliced the bread.

Lawrence picked up a slice, dipped it into the gravy, then tasted it.

Delicious.

Since when had she become such an accomplished cook? The roast mutton was tender and flavorsome, and the bread was soft inside with a crispy crust—just how he liked it. And the children loved it, judging by how quickly they emptied their plates.

He almost choked in astonishment when Jonathan offered to help Bella clear the table. But she waved the children off with a smile, and they fled from the kitchen to play outside, their shrieks of laughter echoing around the garden.

Bella pushed her bowl aside, rose, and busied herself about the kitchen, making a pot of tea and taking a dish of stewed apples out of the range. She placed one onto a dish and set it in front of him before pouring his tea. Just how he liked—with a dash of milk and a spoonful of sugar.

“Thank you, Bella,” he said. “There’s nothing more a man wants on coming home than a fine meal cooked by his wife.”

She nodded, but the smile he’d been hoping for didn’t materialize.

“I’ll be seein’ Ned later tonight, so I won’t be gettin’ under your feet.” Perhaps she’d smile at that.

Instead, she frowned. “At the inn?”

“Of course—I’m in the mood for a mug of ale.”

“ Must you?”

“You wouldn’t begrudge a man an evening with his friend, would you?”

She let out a sharp sigh.

“It could be good for us if Mr. Trelawney hires me,” he said. “I could afford to build us a greenhouse for next year. We could even move somewhere larger—a house with two parlors, perhaps, or another bedchamber.”

Next year…

What a foolish notion! He’d only meant to keep her for a month or two, and she’d been here longer than that already. Each day he woke, praying that her memory would remain buried—not because he feared retribution, but because he couldn’t bear the thought of losing her.

How had she burrowed her way into his affections?

By rising to the challenges she’d faced, even though it must have terrified her—tending to strangers and coping with chores she’d never done in her life.

By her own resilience and spirit, she’d secured a place in his heart. And that heart would break if he lost her.

“Mr. Trelawney would be a fool not to hire you,” she said.

“ If I can produce designs to his satisfaction,” Lawrence replied. “Or rather, his wife’s. He’s a merchant—a working man. But she’s a lord’s daughter, as he let slip. Ladies are not to be trusted.”

She leaned forward, her sapphire eyes fixed on him. “Why can’t ladies be trusted?”

“Because they look down on those of us who must earn our living. A lady will change her mind on a whim with no thought for the effect on others. And when she finds something not to her satisfaction, she’ll go out of her way to destroy it. Not in the name of justice, but out of spite.”

She shrank back. “I’ve never heard you speak with such hatred, Lawrence. I take it you’ve suffered at the hands of a lady?”

He nodded.

“Did you seek retribution for her sins?”

“I did.”

“And did you find it?”

“No.” He sighed. “I only learned that in seeking retribution, I became the very thing I intended to punish.”

“Was I there?”

He took her hand. The once-smooth skin of her fingers was covered in callouses—the trophies of physical labor.

“It matters not,” he said. “What matters is that I do right by you now.”

“If you can complete your designs in a manner that satisfies a lady and her whims.”

He nodded. “Aye—if I can.”

“ I might have an understanding of a lady’s whims,” she said.

His gut twisted in apprehension. “Y-you?”

“I’m no lady, but I can appreciate beauty of form. Perhaps I could help with your designs.”

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you with that, love,” he said. “You’ve enough with your chores.”

“I was able to embroider roses on Sophie’s gown as if I’ve been doing it all my life.”

“Embroidery’s not the same as designing a garden, Bella.”

“Perhaps not in the execution,” she said, “but to create a pleasing image requires the same eye for color and form—particularly if a lady is to appreciate it.”

“No, Bella, it’s out of the question.”

“I want to help.”

“I know,” he said, patting her hand. “You’ve good intentions, but they’d come to naught. I must solve the problem myself.”

“Why?”

“It’s my dream to be a garden designer,” he said. “Nobody else’s.”

Her eyes flashed, and for a moment, as she glanced about the kitchen, he feared she’d take a fry pan to him. But she merely withdrew her hand.

“I’ll leave you to fulfill your dream,” she said. “Excuse me while I take a turn in the garden. Don’t bother to clear the table—I’ll resume my chores when I return.”

She rose and exited the kitchen.