Chapter Twenty-Eight

Blythe

Awendown House

Two weeks later

I wake well before dawn, dress myself so that I don’t bother anyone. I don’t want to be a burden now that I’m home; I just want things to go back to the way they were before I left. Before Mama even mentioned going to Wrexford Park. If I’m outside before the sun rises, I won’t see any visitors or have to answer questions: How was your trip? Did you attend any balls? You didn’t catch the eye of any gentlemen? An image of Briggs’s profile at the window beside me that night at the summer garden party, outlined by a crash of lightning, appears in my thoughts. The remnants of thunder from that passing storm usher him away to the rest of my memories.

When he came to see me in London, after Sabrina Dixon destroyed my reputation in one fell swoop, I couldn’t bear to talk to him. I was so sure, so confident, at the ball that I was about to get everything I wanted. I was moving effortlessly in social circles I had never dreamed of, securing investors with nothing more than my knowledge and my charm.

I was on the cusp of admitting that I could never see myself falling in love with Lord Colchester and was about to seal that sentiment by kissing Briggs Goswick.

I was desperate to kiss him. My need to be as close as physically possible to him drowned out any logic or good sense I may have had. The way his soft gaze rested upon me, the scent of him —bergamot and rosemary and whatever it is that is uniquely Briggs—overwhelmed me. I wanted to feel what it was like to kiss him again, to savor it this time. I suppose it’s better that we were interrupted. Briggs Goswick isn’t mine, and I don’t have the dowry to ever be his, no matter how ardently my heart begs for circumstances to be otherwise. I suppose that’s one embarrassment I avoided that night.

Outside at Awendown House, there is peace, and only the chattering of birds, the buzzing of bees from flower to flower, my fingers in the sun-warmed soil. I am myself here, and the only person I wish to please is me. And there are carrots to be dug, and that is what will make me happy. Carrots are simple and fulfilling. Also crunchy and nutritious.

I dig for a while in tranquility, and even when I hear my mother’s footsteps approach from behind me, I’m still content. It isn’t until she clears her throat that I feel a pang of anxiety. She doesn’t wish to work side by side. She wishes to speak to me.

I lift myself from among the carrots, wiping my dirt-encrusted hands on my apron.

Mama stands in the streaming light of the late morning sun. She holds a letter in her hand. “This came for you. From Wrexford Park.”

I take it from her, breaking the seal, my eyes scanning the words. “It’s from Charlotte,” I say.

“What does she write?” Mama cleans my work area as I read, organizing my shovels and lifting a basket of carrots that is ready to be brought inside.

“She wishes for us to return to Wrexford next week for the harvest celebration.” I fold the note quickly and slip it into my apron.

“That seems like a rather brief sentiment for so many words having been written.”

I snap my attention to her. “It’s my letter. I didn’t realize I had to read it aloud to you.”

Mama raises her eyebrows in surprise, and I sigh, deflated.

“She tells me that she and Uncle Henry miss me. And that…”

Patiently, Mama waits.

“That Mr. Goswick asks after my health.”

“Your sister tells me that Mr. Goswick took a liking to you,” says Mama. “That he paid you particular attention, and that she often found him staring longingly at you.”

I keep digging. No, please, Mama. Don’t say it out loud. Don’t make me remember. “Your source is Amy, and she reads too many romance novels. Besides, you know how well Briggs Goswick and I have gotten along, historically speaking.”

“She wouldn’t make it up,” says Mama. “Perhaps if you returned to Wrexford Park, he might…” But she trails off before she can complete that sentence.

“He might what?” I ask. “Propose? To a penniless girl who digs carrots and is now the topic of endless gossip and prattle for all the London ton? He asks after my health because he is polite and because Charlotte is his neighbor. That is all.”

“I think you’d like to convince yourself of that.”

I slam my shovel into the dirt, stomping on the top with my foot so that it might dig deeper. “I don’t have to convince myself of the truth.”

“You would like to,” my mother barrels over my words, “because it’s less painful than holding your head high at Wrexford and looking him in the eye.”

Tears brim in my eyes, and my bottom lip trembles.

“You did nothing wrong in London,” says Mama softly. Her hand reaches out and runs through my knotted hair. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, and if Mr. Goswick is as fond of you as your sister claims, then perhaps you owe him another chance.”

With that, she turns to depart, leaving her words echoing in my ears.

…

“I received a letter from Mr. Parker yesterday,” Julian says quietly later that afternoon, as we organize jars of honey into different flavors, preparing them for sale.

I arch an eyebrow. “Did you?”

He smiles and cannot meet my eyes. “He’s ready to set up an apiary at Brompton Place. He would like to discuss it next week at the harvest festival in Brumbury.”

I drum my fingers on the wooden tabletop, pretending to be distracted by my task, but I reply, “Then you should go. Make plans with him, secure that apiary for me.”

“I cannot go without my business partner,” he says, placing a hand on top of mine as I lift a jar of honey into the wooden crate before us. “You were supposed to help with the harvest festival. Do you remember?”

“It’s over, Julian.” My eyes are wet again, but I look up at my cousin. “I thought that if I secured enough investors, if I knew I was capable of making money on my own, then perhaps it would be enough to fix everything.”

“Fix what?” asks Julian quietly.

I sniff, rubbing at my eyes, hoping that will keep the tears at bay, and flop onto a chair at the table. “I shouldn’t tell you this.”

“But you will anyway, of course.” He sits across from me.

Sighing, I resign myself to the truth. It’s not gossip if I’m telling him out of concern. “Briggs Goswick is…”

“Broke?” Julian supplies me with the word.

A jolt of surprise makes me sit up a bit straighter. “How do you know that?”

“I might have wondered aloud as to why Mr. Goswick seemed so determined to court Sabrina Dixon when it was obvious her presence at all occasions meant nothing to him. And Mr. Parker, after some pointed coaxing, told me everything. How Mr. Goswick partied and gambled all his inheritance away.”

“That’s absolutely wicked, Julian.”

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Is not.”

I settle more deeply into my chair. “We made a deal,” I explain. “He would help me secure investors for the apiaries, and I would help him woo Sabrina Dixon, but then…”

“Lord Colchester happened?”

I shake my head. “Briggs introduced him as a possible investor. I’m not sure he ever anticipated Lord Colchester taking such a particular interest in me rather than my beehives, but there you have it.”

“Hmm,” says Julian, nodding contemplatively. “He is actively looking to secure your honey, that is for certain.”

I glare at him. “You’re so crude.”

“And yet you maintain our friendship.”

From behind Julian, Amy appears in the kitchen doorway. “Blythe?”

We both turn in her direction.

“I’ve been informed by Kitty that there’s a very handsome gentleman who has just arrived and wishes to see you. Will you agree to it this time?”

Julian and I exchange mortified looks, and then he points at my dress. “You’re a wreck!” he cries.

“You don’t have time to change!” Amy reminds me.

I push myself away from the table, looking down at my faded green dress. The fabric is coarse, and my hair is sweaty. Without my having to say anything, Amy comes to my side, pulls a ribbon from her own hair, and begins running her fingers through mine. She manages to create a messily attractive chignon at the base of my neck, and I turn to her so she can check and make sure I look marginally presentable.

“You’re always pretty, Blythe,” she says.

Then I turn my attention back to Julian. “What will he say?” My breath comes too fast. I turned Briggs away once in London, and now he’s traveled all the way to Awendown House? It could only mean one thing.

Julian places his hands on my shoulders. “He will tell you he loves you, and he will ask you to marry him. Which is what you both deserve.”

I stare wide-eyed at my cousin and then my sister, and the three of us squeal together.

“Now, Blythe!” Amy cries from the door. “You don’t wish to appear rude!”

Julian kisses my hand and ushers me out of the kitchen.

Alone in the cool, shadowed hall just outside of the morning drawing room, I stop, check my hair in the mirror, then place my hand on my stomach and take two deep breaths. There is nothing to be worried about. This is Briggs. He knows me better than anyone, I realize, despite all my attempts to keep myself closed off from him. He surely won’t mind seeing me in my gardening clothes.

And he must have something important to say if he traveled all this way. Something I want to hear.

Slowly, I open the door and step inside the front drawing room. My companion faces the window, but when he hears my footsteps across the threshold, he turns.

I suck in a breath, then try to collect my lost words, but the only ones I can find all taste like disappointment. My chest decompresses as I let out a quiet sigh. “Lord Colchester.”

“Miss Rowley,” he replies, bowing. “I hope you’re well. When we last saw one another in London, I know you were distressed.”

A twinge of guilt contracts in my belly. Guilt that I so desperately wished for him to be Briggs Goswick and guilt that I never told Lord Colchester why we left Lady Clifford’s ball so abruptly. Never explained that the girl I was trying to convince to marry Briggs Goswick had turned on me and made me look a fool in front of nobility. But he’s too intelligent not to understand what was going on.

“Thank you,” I say. “It’s most kind of you to call on me.”

He steps forward, his face concerned. “It’s the least I can do, of course.” Looking at the ground, he takes a moment to seemingly gather his thoughts, then meets my gaze. “In fact, I’m ashamed I didn’t do more. I want you to know that you can confide in me, always. I am…I am extremely fond of you, Blythe.”

I swallow with some difficulty. Blythe. My given name coming from his mouth still feels uncomfortable, too intimate for someone I’ve never imagined being intimate with. But I force a smile. He means well, and he’s been nothing but kind to me. “I appreciate your friendship, Lord Colchester.”

“You may call me Cecil, if you like.”

I press my lips together. I don’t like, but I don’t wish to be rude either. I force myself to reply, “Cecil.”

He clasps his hands behind his back and then looks out the window, as though facing me is just too much for him to bear. “I also should hope by now you realize that my feelings for you run deeper than just friendship.”

I do realize that. But admitting it makes me feel like a trapped animal. “I thought as much…” I finally say.

He turns from the window, taking a hesitant step closer. “I admire you greatly, Blythe. Your wit, your determination, your obvious regard for those you love.” His blue eyes grow even wider. “Your beauty. I would be honored if you would consider my offer of marriage. I would be proud to take you as my Countess Colchester. To make Longcross Abbey our own. I don’t ever want you to think that I would ask you to give up what you love. I would help you. If you wish to keep your apiary business, then I’d be honored if you’d let me be a part of it.”

My heart clenches. There is absolutely nothing wrong with the proposal Lord Colchester has just offered me. In fact, it’s everything I could ask for in a husband.

Everything except Briggs Goswick.

And no matter how hard I try, I cannot shake him from my thoughts. I cannot forget the way he makes me feel, and I wish I could. I so ardently wish that I could so that I could marry Lord Colchester and live the most comfortable life with him. A life I know Briggs can never give me or my family.

“I…” My voice catches, and I fear the tears I’ve been holding back might spring forward. “I am honored by your proposal, Lord Colchester. But I am overwhelmed, and I fear I cannot answer you right now.”

His face drops, but he forces a smile, nodding.

“Will you let me consider it? Will you give me some time?”

Lord Colchester takes my hand and pauses, like he’s studying the freckles that dot my skin, the blue veins that run to my fingers. He presses his lips together and replies, “I will wait for as long as you need, Miss Rowley.”