Chapter Thirty-Seven

Blythe

Spring, 1813

Mistlethrush Hall

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Julian crows over the chatter of our crowd. “I am honored and pleased to present to you, along with my lovely partner, Miss Rowley, the very first apiary on Mistlethrush Hall’s property. We are open for business!”

He steps back to reveal our small collection of box and frame hives. Everyone is gathered at Mistlethrush today: Mama and Papa, Amy, Uncle Henry, Charlotte, Mr. Parker, August, Mrs. Goswick, and, of course, me and Julian.

“Oh, I do wish Briggs were here,” says his mother. “He will be so pleased to open Mistlethrush to visitors.”

“Where is he?” asks Uncle Henry. “It’s a shame to miss this momentous event.”

“He’s busy building a stone wall on the Walkers’ fields,” I reply. “He said he could not spare himself but gave the bees his blessing.”

“And he promised he’d be in attendance at the reveal of Brompton’s apiary,” Westley chimes in. “Mr. Browning and I will be leaving tomorrow to prepare.”

I sneak a glance at Julian, who is the picture of ease, his hands clasped behind his back. “It will be good to return to so lovely an estate.” He winks at me.

“Now let’s go inside and enjoy some lemonade,” says Briggs’s mother.

“Indeed, Mrs. Goswick,” says Uncle Henry, following her inside. “It is too bright out of doors today. It could ruin our eyes.”

Charlotte waits for me to join her. “Are you coming, Blythe?”

“Not yet,” I reply, lifting a basket near my feet filled with jars of honey. She links arms with me as we walk. “I think I will bring these to the men working on the wall. But save me a glass for when I return.”

“As you wish,” she says, and as we part ways, she squeezes my wrist.

The Walkers’ farm is not terribly far from Mistlethrush, and the walk there is refreshing. It keeps my anxiety down as I pass tall, shady trees and travel the road laced with wildflowers. A few sheep observe me as I pass, and I wish them a good morning.

It isn’t until I round the bend and see the men working in the field that my heart begins to race. I search for Briggs among the group of them, but he blends in so well. Finally, I spot him carrying a field stone to where they construct the wall. He wears plain clothing, like the men, tan breeches and a matching waistcoat, and underneath, a white linen shirt. Once the stone is down, he pauses, then takes a long gulp of water from the bucket and ladle. It’s only then that he sees me.

Waving, he calls, “Blythe!”

I wave back, and the other men all pause, removing their hats.

“Good morning,” I greet them.

Briggs ambles around the wall and hops a ditch before meeting me in the middle of the road. “Come to visit us?” he asks. “How was your apiary presentation?”

I smile, shifting the basket so that I hold it in both hands before me. Briggs notices this and takes it from me.

“I think it went quite well,” I inform him. “Your brother is still out there, taking notes and drawing sketches of the bees.”

“Not at all surprising.” He pauses and tilts his head to the side thoughtfully. “You look very spring-like today,” he says, motioning at my dress.

Amy has been working hard at becoming a more skilled seamstress, and she made me this dress of soft pink fabric and an ivory sash about the waist. I wear a straw hat on my head, trimmed with matching flowers.

“As I believe that is a compliment, I thank you.”

“I won’t waste words on telling you how beautiful you are,” he says quietly. “You already know I think that.”

I’d like to kiss him, but the men are all watching us. “I brought this honey for your tenants,” I say, motioning to the basket he holds. “The last of Awendown’s from the fall.”

“Ah, that’s very thoughtful of you, Miss Rowley.” He turns back to the group, hopping the ditch once again and placing the basket on the ground. “Miss Rowley has been kind enough to jar you all some honey from Awendown’s apiary,” he informs them.

A chorus of, “Thank you, miss,” rises up from them.

Returning to my side, Briggs wipes his dirt-encrusted hands on his breeches and gestures to a dappled spot on the side of the road under a tall tree. “Did you enjoy London last week with Charlotte?” he asks as we saunter toward the shade.

“Yes,” I reply.

“And Amy enjoyed herself, as well?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“Did you get to walk through Hyde Park?”

“Yes.”

He nods, holding his hands behind his back and staring up into the sky. “Was the weather pleasant?”

“Oh, yes.”

Briggs starts to chuckle. “You seem to be very fond of that answer today.”

“I am,” I tell him once we’re under the tree near the Walkers’ barn. “It is a very tidy answer, isn’t it?” My hands are sweating, and I try to wipe them discreetly on my skirts. “I believe that I would answer yes to anything you might ask me today, Briggs.”

“Mm.” He nods and stares off down the road with both hands on his hips, admiring two swallows as they swoop through the trees and then disappear. “Anything,” he repeats. Then he visibly stiffens, bringing his attention back to me. “Anything?” he asks again.

“ Yes ,” I say, widening my eyes as though they will clearly articulate what I’m trying to tell him without me having to produce the words. “Anything.”

He glances back up the road, where the men have taken a break, and they converse among themselves. “Anything,” he says again. He takes a step back, running his hands through his hair and pulling in a shaky breath. “This isn’t how I planned this, Blythe.”

“So be spontaneous,” I urge him.

“Yes, spontaneous.”

“Yes,” I repeat.

He paces away from me, then in a circle, then he returns, eyes closed. When he opens them, he takes a steadying breath. “I can’t do this here.”

By now, the men in the field have all paused, watching us intently.

“Excuse me?” I think I’m going to faint.

“This isn’t the right place. It’s not at all how I planned. This way.” He grabs my hand and paces over to the barn. A ladder leans against the stone side, leading up to the hayloft.

“Briggs,” I say quietly. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” He grins. “Follow me.” Climbing the rungs of the ladder, he pauses halfway up, looking down and checking to make sure I’m right behind him.

And just like when I was fourteen, of course I am. I’m following him up the ladder to the hayloft. When we come to the top, he stands with both hands on his hips, surveying the land below us.

“Do you remember this place?”

“Yes,” I say, looking around. “I believe I’m rather traumatized by it.”

“This time,” he says, breathing heavily, “this time it’s different. This time I’m different. Because of you. This time, I want to ask you something.”

I take a deep breath. “So ask me.”

He nods, looking to the ground and then into my eyes. “Blythe Rowley,” he says. “Would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Then he takes my hands, pauses, and considers his next words. “My queen bee.”

I try to keep my mouth in the straightest line possible. But the giggle bubbles up despite my best attempts, and I retrieve one of my hands to cover my mouth.

“You’re laughing at me,” he says. “That wasn’t the response you promised.”

“You just asked me to be your queen bee!” I cry, doubling over with laughter.

“You promised you’d say yes to anything I said!”

“But, Briggs, I didn’t think you’d say that .”

He cannot help but laugh with me. He stands back and scratches the back of his head, glancing down at the men who stare at us curiously from across the field.

Every time I look at him, though, my laughter intensifies. I wrap my arms around his neck, and he places his hands at my waist, pushing me slightly away from him so that he may see me more clearly.

“Will you marry me, Blythe Rowley?” he says in my ear so that only I can hear. “Promise me?”

I take a deep breath, run my fingers through his errant lock of hair, putting it back in its proper place for once. Then I cup his handsome face in both my hands. “Yes,” I tell him, “I think I will.”

He grins, then kisses me, lifting me off my feet and twirling me in several circles. His tenants all cheer and clap, and when Briggs sets me down again, I cover my face with modesty flushing my cheeks.

“Will you take me home to Mistlethrush Hall?” I ask.

He pauses to consider what I just asked, then kisses my hand. “It would be my privilege.” Glancing around, he runs a hand through his hair. “The long way, or the shortcut?”

“The shortcut?” I ask, perplexed.

Pointing, he replies, “There’s a hatch here above the pigsty, and we could just—”

“I hate you,” I say, punching his shoulder and lowering myself down the ladder.

“But I love you!” he calls after me.

“No, thank you.”

“Too late,” he says, leaning over the edge of the loft. “You already said you’d marry me.”

“I changed my mind.” I jump from the last rung and begin pacing back toward Mistlethrush Hall as Briggs lands on the ground beside me.

“Not so fast, Miss Rowley.” He grabs me by the waist and swings me around into his arms, then presses his forehead to mine. “Not without me.”

I shake my head, leaning into his kiss and smiling against his mouth. “Never without you.”