Chapter Nineteen

Blythe

Behind me, Hemington Manor glows against this final night of festivities. With a stately grace, it presides over the bricked pavilion where the orchestra tunes their instruments, and the guests, dressed in their finest attire, trickle out and greet one another for an evening of dancing. Their muted voices drift over the ivy-encrusted walls of the garden where I linger in solitude a little longer than I should.

The sun has set, and the land is cloaked in the dusty lavender of twilight. I’m relieved, of course, that I get to return to Wrexford Park with Charlotte and Uncle Henry and resume what’s become my routine this summer. But this trip feels wasted. I don’t think Briggs and I achieved anything that we set out to. He’s only slightly closer to an engagement with Sabrina Dixon than he was at the commencement of summer, and despite Lord Colchester’s attentions, my admirer hasn’t mentioned anything about apiaries since our outing at the lake, though I’ve tried to bring up the topic several times.

When asked how I take my tea, I replied, “With honey,” and then proceeded to tell him that I make the most delicious rose honey from my hives. Lord Colchester smiled and replied, “I’m sure you do.” Later, I convinced Charlotte to extol the virtues of seeing my hives in action, but Lord Colchester instead suggested that once autumn arrived, the two of us and Uncle Henry, of course, should come to Longcross Abbey and experience the turning foliage. I sighed, and Charlotte shrugged in dismay.

Briggs could be right. Lord Colchester is interested in more than just bees, and perhaps that’s not a bad thing. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would deny me my interests. But he is the kind of man who would expect his countess to fulfill her duties, as well. Duties that would include running a household, raising children, frequent trips to London to socialize with all its glittering members of the ton. Sitting through long winter nights, talking while he nods but never actually adds anything of value himself. He comes with so many complications when all I ever wanted was someone to invest in my idea.

I’m about to resign myself to this final ball when my attention is captured by the smallest of commotions in the pond to my left. I crouch down among the lilies and spot a bee, struggling to remain afloat.

“Did you get too close when you were having a drink?” I ask, cupping my hands and scooping him up. The water drains from between my fingers, and the bee clings to my thumb, taking a moment to regain his energy. “Take as long as you need,” I murmur.

After a few minutes, his little wings begin to flutter, and he takes off into the coming night, finding his way home to his hive.

Behind me, someone clears their throat. “Miss Rowley?”

I stand, turning to find Briggs, and behind him, an older couple.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you were here,” I say.

“Miss Rowley, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Granville yesterday.” He motions to the couple behind him. “And after I told them all about your apiaries, they are interested not only in having one set up on their property, but perhaps investing.”

“Mr. Goswick was so passionate about your apiaries, Miss Rowley, that we knew we had to meet you immediately,” says Mr. Granville.

I know I stand for too long with my mouth agape, but perhaps I’m waiting for the punchline. It’s too good to be true. Briggs waits for my words to finally form, his hands behind his back, watching for my reaction.

“Thank you,” I finally say, turning to face Briggs. “You are a good friend to have on one’s side.”

“One good turn deserves another, Miss Rowley. I am anxious for your success.” He holds my gaze, his eyes steady and searching, then turns to Mr. and Mrs. Granville. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll let Miss Rowley fill you in on all of the details. I’ll see you at the ball.”

“Thank you,” I say again, the words catching in my throat. “Mr. Goswick. I’m grateful.”

He nods once, smiling down to the ground.

I spend almost half an hour telling Mr. and Mrs. Granville about my apiaries and what benefits they can expect when they invest in hives on their property. They promise me that they will find me in the morning before I leave with my family, and we will set a date for the work to begin, but now, they insist, I must go and dance and enjoy my evening.

Reluctantly, I take their advice and follow them along the brick pathway to where the food and dancing are located. I’m the last to arrive, and people are already pairing off for the dance and sipping drinks.

“Well?” says Briggs, appearing beside me.

“Lord.” I place my hand over my heart, closing my eyes. “You really are good at sneaking up on a girl, aren’t you?”

“You have to admit,” he says, an impish grin overtaking his face. “They were exactly what you were looking for.”

“I will give you credit, Mr. Goswick. The Granvilles were quite the find.” I sigh then. Maybe a little too wistfully.

“What’s wrong?” Briggs asks.

“They were so enthusiastic about my business. They listened to my plans, my ideas, but then they asked if I had some place for them to come and see the apiaries I work with. Try some honey, perhaps purchase some candles. And I have no place for them.” My father would never allow me to bring people to Awendown.

Briggs’s shoulders slump, and he considers this for a moment, then takes a deep breath. “I know earlier this summer, I was rather adamant about you never building an apiary at Mistlethrush, but I have a proposal for you.”

Another proposal from Briggs Goswick. I should await his next words with trepidation, and yet I’m curious.

“If you built an apiary at Mistlethrush at no cost, why couldn’t you use the property for your business? Invite people there? Showcase what products you offer. Of course, I can’t guarantee how long I’ll be able to keep Mistlethrush. That all depends on whether or not I’m able to win Miss Dixon’s fair hand…”

“Mr. Goswick, that is incredibly generous of you. Are you sure?”

He nods. “I would like it more than anything.”

I blink dumbfoundedly, amazed at his offer. “I don’t know what to say. You’ve been more than supportive this week. I’m only sorry that I couldn’t return the favor.”

He waves this away. “No, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll admit that you were tasked with something slightly more arduous than I was. Besides, I believe my debt to you has and always will be greater, Miss Rowley.” He runs his hand through his hair, his mouth a thin line of contemplation. “I know that I am well overdue, but I wish to apologize.”

“For what?” I ask.

“For the prank that was played on you so many years ago.”

My mouth parts in surprise. In all the time that has passed, my imagination has never been vivid enough to conjure the moment that Briggs Goswick apologized for the mortifying incident in the pigsty, and a blush blooms across my face.

He takes a step closer. “I was ashamed for so long and believed that if I apologized to you, then it would allow the shame to resurface.”

“Please,” I say, offering him a smile to hide the tears that well in the corners of my eyes. I’m surprised by them and embarrassed all at once. It was so long ago, and whatever friendship we’ve managed this summer feels so different than it ever did back then.

“But I’d like to explain,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I try again. “We can talk of something else. Anything else, actually.”

Slowly, he places his drink on the table beside him and takes a deep breath.

Please, I think. Don’t ask me to dance. We should not dance again. But I don’t know how to stop what I’m certain he’s about to say.

“I was wondering if maybe you’d like to da—”

Westley Parker suddenly appears at his side, his eyes set on me, and Briggs grows quiet. Westley grins and bows before me.

“Miss Rowley, you look lovely this evening,” he says.

I breathe a sigh of relief at his presence and steady myself with a smile. “How kind of you to say so, Mr. Parker. You look rather dashing yourself.” He is a handsome gentleman with an unassuming kind of elegance, purposefully messy blond hair, and deep blue eyes that crinkle when he laughs.

“Would you like to dance?”

I glance back at Briggs, because for some reason, I want to know that it’s all right to dance with Mr. Parker. Briggs takes a step back, gesturing to his friend without meeting my eyes. “I would,” I say, accepting Mr. Parker’s hand and allowing him to lead me onto the dance floor.

Westley takes his place across from me, and I get in the line of ladies beside Charlotte. The gentlemen bow before us, and we curtsy as the dance begins.

We exchange the usual pleasantries as we follow the steps of the dance. Then Westley seems to grow serious as he says, “You know, Miss Rowley, you strike me as a young lady with so clever a mind that you would need more entertainment than this.”

I grin. “You wouldn’t be entirely wrong.”

“Well, I admire your sharp wit. And I hope that no one has made you feel otherwise.” Westley gently nods in the direction of Briggs.

“Oh, I assure you, it would take more than his pompous opinion of himself to vex me,” I say with a laugh.

“I’m happy to hear it.”

We separate, switching partners for a few counts, and my eyes find Briggs watching me with an intensity I wasn’t quite anticipating. I skip a step and almost fumble, but Westley supports my elbow.

“Careful there, Miss Rowley. I’ve got you.” We circle each other in the dance. “Don’t let him get the better of you.”

It takes a moment for this comment to make sense to me, but then I remember what Briggs told me the other night. Westley is cross with him over a misunderstanding. “I assure you that Mr. Goswick and I have made up our quarrel.”

Westley snorts and smiles sardonically. “Of course you have.”

I laugh a bit breathlessly, inviting him to further elucidate.

“Everyone always forgives Briggs,” Westley says quietly as we come closer together during the dance. He glances over at his friend to make sure he’s not within earshot. “He makes mistake after mistake, carelessly moving through life, and does anyone really mind? No. Not him, especially. Everyone is so prone to forgive him, to wish him the best. Even you! Even you, whom he insulted with his careless actions.” He shakes his head, his eyes cast downward. “He doesn’t deserve your forgiveness.”

I allow Mr. Parker to speak his mind without interruption. He’s angry with his friend and unable to see him in a more forgiving light. But I consider my words before replying. “Perhaps he doesn’t,” I agree. “But I think we all make mistakes. Some worse than others.” We clasp right hands, twirling around one another. “And Mr. Goswick was vulnerable enough to seek me out and apologize. The only person I would be truly harming if I were to hold on to my grudge is myself, and I like myself far too much to put me through that.”

Westley smiles at this.

“I know you are cross with Mr. Goswick,” I say quietly.

His eyes grow large, holding my gaze. “Excuse me?”

I seek to end his anxiety as quickly as possible. “But perhaps you’ll feel better if you spoke with him about what happened?”

“He told you?” Westley asks.

“He mentioned it earlier.”

“I see.”

“Don’t be angry with him…”

“You are a decent and kind girl, Miss Rowley,” says Westley. “Briggs is lucky that you’ve been gracious enough to forgive him. But I’m not sure that I possess your same saintly qualities.”

The song comes to an end, and Westley bows before me. I’m perplexed, wondering if I’ve overstepped my bounds. His cheeks are flushed, and he cannot look me in the eye. I try to make sense of it—he brought up my embarrassment with Briggs, and so I thought it only natural that I do the same.

He leaves the ballroom floor before I can try to explain myself. I wonder if I should go after him, but Charlotte intercepts me, followed by Sabrina Dixon.

“Blythe,” my cousin says, grasping my hands. “This is our last evening at Hemington Manor, and I cannot let you leave before you have secured Lord Colchester.”

Sabrina lets out a small “Eep!” in surprise.

I practically choke at this. “Secure him? You can’t mean to imply that he’ll propose.”

“Perhaps not that secure,” Charlotte admits, hooking her arm through mine and then Sabrina’s and leading us over to where a fountain spouts water several feet into the air. “But you cannot leave and have no plans to meet again.”

My eyes find Briggs once more as he chats with two other gentlemen. Lord Colchester is safe , I think. He wouldn’t lead me on or gamble away his family’s money. He would never pursue anyone simply for their fortune, and my parents would be so pleased. We would never have to worry about anything again. And just like that, Colchester appears in front of Briggs, replacing his image and heading in my direction with another gentleman.

“Here he comes,” says Charlotte. “Stand up straight, Blythe. Shoulders back.” Her hand settles between my shoulder blades, and I take in her wide eyes and silly smile. She’s so thrilled for me, and yet when my gaze meets Lord Colchester’s, something in my stomach drops, and a dull ache replaces any excitement I might have mustered.

“Ladies,” says Lord Colchester, but his eyes are entirely upon me.

The three of us curtsy, and Colchester and his companion bow.

“Allow me to introduce you to my oldest friend, Sir Simon Bankes.”

“Delighted,” says Sir Simon. He’s a tall man, thin, with light, curly hair and sharp eyes.

“We’ve met, Sir Simon,” says Sabrina from beside me.

His eyes flick to hers, and he frowns, as if trying to remember.

“My late father was Mr. John Dixon. We met at Lady Fitzroy’s—”

“Ah, yes,” says Sir Simon. “I remember now.” Though I can’t be sure that he does. “Good to see you again, Miss Dixon.”

I don’t miss how Sabrina’s cheeks flush at his dismissive tone.

Lord Colchester turns to me. “I was just telling Sir Simon that I will see him at the opera in two weeks’ time. Do you enjoy the opera, Miss Rowley?”

“I do,” I reply. “But it’s been years since I’ve been.”

“Then perhaps I can interest you and your cousin in joining me in my box next week? They’re doing a production of Rinaldo , and I heard it’s brilliant.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

He grins at this, clearly encouraged by my eagerness, and I feel a little like I’m leading him on. I can’t decide whether this is true or not; all I can hear, though, is my mother’s voice in my ear, telling me it would be a terrible decision to turn away a man like Lord Colchester.

“In the meantime, perhaps you will honor me with the next dance?”

“I would like that,” I hear myself tell him. It’s only half a lie. I would like to dance, but I know what agreeing to dance with Lord Colchester implies, and from all the books that I’ve read, I’m rather certain I should feel something slightly more than I’m feeling now.

“What about you, Miss Barlow?” says Sir Simon.

I hook my arm through Colchester’s, waiting for Charlotte’s response.

“Thank you, but I am already dancing with Lord Drummond.” She smiles up at him and then gestures at Sabrina. “But Miss Dixon—”

Sir Simon suddenly looks panicked, and his eyes dart from Sabrina to the rest of the room behind us. “Will you excuse me, Miss Barlow?” he says quickly, bowing. “I believe I see an old friend over by the punch.”

Lord Colchester leads me to the ballroom floor, but I’m able to exchange a mortified expression with my cousin. I cannot believe how blatantly Sir Simon slighted Miss Dixon, and there’s nothing I can say to her now that I’m lined up with the rest of the ladies. Charlotte takes her place beside me and across from Lord Drummond as the first couple of the dance, and I desperately look to see if there’s some other gentleman who could dance with Sabrina.

She stands on the side of the ballroom, watching as everyone pairs off, and she keeps a smile plastered to her face, but I can tell from here how she blinks back her tears. Gentlemen pass her by, and I can’t seem to figure out why, and now I’m desperate to have someone, anyone, come to her rescue.

As the violins begin the song, Briggs appears at her side, says something I cannot hear that makes her giggle and swipe at her cheek. My heart practically explodes at this. I couldn’t have coordinated a better scenario if I had planned it all week. He offers her his hand, and she takes it willingly.

“Oh, thank goodness,” Charlotte breathes beside me.

The dancing begins, and Sabrina can’t stop smiling and laughing at what I assume are all the silly things Briggs is saying to keep her entertained. He’s good at that. He says all sorts of things that make me laugh despite myself.

And part of me, some strange, tiny fragment of jealousy buried deep in the crevice of my heart, that I didn’t even know existed, grows sharper with every note.