Chapter Twenty-One

Blythe

I accompany Charlotte and Amy into Brumbury the next morning. They stride ahead of me, arm in arm, and though I try my best to pay attention to what they’re discussing, I keep thinking about Briggs and Sabrina Dixon. How she must have woken early, gotten to work on preparing a basket for his tenants. How they must be flirting while putting everything together. Their hands brushing one another, eyes meeting, then flicking away, then eventually meeting once more.

“I have three dresses to pick up today,” Charlotte says, interrupting my thoughts. We cross over the arched stone bridge and under a few oak trees, and she tugs at the hem of her sleeve, grinning at Amy and then me.

Just outside the door to the dress shop, someone who I can only assume is a friend of Charlotte’s waves to her, and Charlotte cheerfully returns the gesture as we head in that direction.

We cross the square, which is busy with people going about their daily errands. The signs hanging perpendicular to the walls of each building swing gently in the summer breeze, and above us, the lush green leaves of trees whisper back and forth. There are coaches dropping off visitors at The Hearth and Hound public house, and down a little way, a great dappled gray horse is being fitted with shoes. It can be none other than Apollo. Behind the animal, Briggs Goswick emerges. He rests his arm on the horse’s back, making conversation with the blacksmith.

So I suppose he didn’t get up and rush to make a basket with Miss Dixon. Unless they’ve already visited the Hughes family, and now they’re back again. I shouldn’t be so fixated, I tell myself. I’ve been working for this, for Miss Dixon to pay Briggs attention, and now it’s happened. He’s taking her and her mother to London next week for the opera anyway, and I should be too busy with Lord Colchester to really care.

I shouldn’t stare, I tell myself. But it’s hard not to. Briggs is so assured, he exudes so much confidence. Yesterday, when he looked to me to help him make amends with Westley, I felt a shift in myself. That suddenly, all of my goals and hopes didn’t orbit around everything that I wanted solely for myself, or for my family, or for Awendown. Suddenly, someone outside of my usual universe was included. His deep eyes were darker with thought, his full lips angled slightly downward, and I wanted to make everything right with him.

I’m so lost in my own reverie that I don’t notice right away when Briggs returns my attention. He steps out from beside the horse, his steady eyes meeting mine, touches the brim of his hat, and bows to me.

I feel caught, and panic rises in my chest, but I remind myself to return the gesture. There should be nothing awkward about greeting a neighbor in town. I curtsy and then duck into the dress shop, following Charlotte and Amy.

“Do you see that fabric on the highest shelf all the way to the left?” asks Charlotte, pointing to a bolt of deep, bright pink cloth. When the sun strikes it the right way, it practically shines. It’s striking. “I’ve been wanting to use it to have a dress made. What do you think?”

“Oh, it’s stunning,” says Amy, clasping her gloved hands before her.

“I like it,” I reply.

“Do you just like it?” asks Charlotte, prancing by a few tables with fabric on display. “Or do you love it?”

I smile. “It’s your dress, you goose! It only matters if you like or love it.”

“If I’m being honest,” says Charlotte, easing around one of the tables and picking up a ribbon or two, “I was thinking of you.”

I have to stifle a guffaw. “Me? I could never manage to pull off a color like that.”

“You could,” says Charlotte, lifting her eyes to mine. “Do you remember the last Christmas we spent at Mistlethrush when we were just girls? And you wore that pink dress that Mr. Goswick ruined with that awful prank?”

I hate that over four years later, shame still rises in the back of my throat. I hate that I even feel shame for something I shouldn’t.

Charlotte grabs my hand. “You loved that pink dress. You felt beautiful in that pink dress. You felt like your best self in that pink dress. So you deserve another pink dress. Let’s have one more made before our trip to London. Please?”

I glance back up at the fabric gleaming with allure on its shelf, and suddenly it’s not mocking me. It’s asking me for the honor of adorning my body, and before I can stop myself, I nod to my cousin.

“Let’s have another pink dress made for London,” I agree.

Charlotte claps with delight and heads for the front of the shop to speak to the modiste.

I ease past a few young ladies and someone who I assume is their mother, trying to follow Charlotte as best I can. If I’m going to have a dress made, she’ll need my most updated measurements. The shop is busy today with girls in the back being fitted and others in the main room browsing fabric and discussing designs with the shop owner.

The bells over the door jingle, alerting the rest of the room to a new customer. This shouldn’t cause much of a stir, especially on such a lovely summer day when so many ladies are out and about. Only this customer is no lady.

Briggs Goswick stands in the threshold of the door, removing his hat from his head. He crosses the room until he stands before me.

“Miss Rowley, I hope you’re well.” He glances behind me at my cousin and sister. “And you, Miss Barlow, Miss Amy.”

We all dip slowly, rising and waiting for more.

“Is…” Charlotte begins. She glances around the room at all the silent, staring ladies. “Is everything all right, Mr. Goswick?”

He nods adamantly. “Yes, of course.” Gesturing toward me, he smiles. “I saw Miss Rowley come into the shop, and I remembered something I must speak to her about.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious,” I say, all too aware of the eyes upon us. I hate being the center of attention. I wish to God I had my bee bonnet, my flushed cheeks hidden behind its gauzy netting.

“No, nothing serious.” He pauses and then thinks about what he’s said. “Perhaps a little serious. Do you remember yesterday my mother mentioning my tenant who is injured? Mr. Hughes?”

I nod. “Yes, of course.”

“Yes.” He stares at his hat in his hands before him. “Well, he’s broken his leg, and I’d like to go and see him. I know Miss Dixon offered to help me ready a basket, but I was thinking, considering a conversation the two of us had earlier this summer about my newly acquired responsibilities, perhaps…” He takes a deep breath. “Perhaps you can join me at Mistlethrush and help?”

My mouth is dry.

He begins to panic, filling in my silence with excessive blabbering. “I wouldn’t know where to begin, putting a basket together, and frankly I’m not sure Miss Dixon is quite suited for the task, and you seemed to understand my predicament so well, so naturally, I thought…” Suddenly, he glances up. His eyes roam the room, now keenly aware of all the ladies staring at him. He stutters, returning his attention to me. “I th-thought you might be able to help, to help me.”

Behind me, Charlotte snorts and then covers her mouth quickly with her gloved hand, and Amy has to physically turn in order to avoid being caught giggling.

“Of course, Mr. Goswick,” I reply. “I would be happy to help you put together a basket.”

His voice is quieter now, not that it matters. Everyone can hear us. “Will you come to Mistlethrush Hall after you’re finished here?”

“Yes,” I reply.

Smiling, he says, “Good. I’ll be waiting. Thank you, Miss Rowley. I am in your debt.” He bows once again, then hastens to exit the building.

Once he’s gone and the bells jingle above the closed door once more, the ladies around us erupt in laughter. It is funny, I think. I understand why they find it so amusing. I might even join in on the merriment if I weren’t so preoccupied trying to keep my shaking hands and quivering stomach under control.

“Blythe!” Charlotte whispers, grabbing me by my elbow and spinning me toward her. “He followed you in here purposefully . He wanted to speak to you.”

I stand up straight, trying to appear unaffected, but it’s far too late for that. I press my hand against my belly and take in a breath that fills my lungs before replying. “Yes, it would seem he needs help putting together a basket for the Hughes family.”

“The Hughes family, my eye!” Charlotte cries. She clears her throat, suddenly aware that no one in the shop has stopped their study of us. “Mr. Goswick lives at Mistlethrush with his mother, and she could surely help him. Miss Dixon already volunteered her services. But he didn’t care about either of them, did he? No.” She pretends to straighten a bolt of cloth and sniffs. “He followed you into a shop filled with ladies. He asked you to come to Mistlethrush and help him put together a basket.”

“What prompted such a brazen display of preference?” asks my sister.

I sigh. “A brazen display of preference? Really, Amy. You read too many novels.”

Charlotte lowers her eyes and her voice all at once, and it has a surprisingly intimidating effect. “You know quite well that when a gentleman wants to make his affections clear, he does so with purpose. Did something pass between you and Mr. Goswick at Lord Drummond’s? You did seem rather preoccupied with him, even after having procured Lord Colchester’s attentions.”

“I did,” I agree slowly.

Charlotte pauses, arching an eyebrow. “And?”

“And…” I continue, looping my way around the display tables and meandering toward the counter. “I might have shared a drink with Mr. Goswick late one night.”

“Blythe Rowley!” Charlotte cries. She stands before me again, grabbing my hands. “You drank with Mr. Goswick? Then what?”

“We spoke of his obligations at Mistlethrush,” I say. “We spoke of his father. It’s not scandalous.”

“But it is meaningful,” Charlotte decides. “He unburdened himself to you. Oh, Blythe.” She taps her chin and grins. “This is more than just a basket for the Hughes family. Mr. Goswick is bewitched by you.”

“Bewitched,” I say with a laugh. “Truly, Charlotte, he is interested in Miss Dixon. I am certain that this need for my help can be traced back to a nervousness over being alone with Miss Dixon. I can provide them a third party to lessen the tension.”

“To be sure,” Charlotte says with a roll of her eyes. “Come, we must get you measured for your new dress and then home and changed. You absolutely must look the part to… lessen the tension .”