Page 23 of Miss Dignified
As charming as Wesley was, the calculation never left his eyes. That hint of assessment in his gaze warned Caroline that Wesley was not John, not Marcus, and not to be trusted.
She cut a half-dozen sprigs of lavender and placed them in the basket Wesley carried for her. Nights were still chilly, but the walled garden on a sunny day was already lovely. She’d hoped to be alone here, and Wesley had likely chosen his moment for that very reason.
“I do not favor cousins marrying in the general case,” Caroline said. “We have royal examples of that folly.”
“Do we?” Wesley strolled along at Caroline’s side. “Or do we have royal examples of the folly of strangers marrying?”
They had both. The House of Hanover sat upon the English throne, and Georges the First, Third, and Fourth had all married ladies largely unknown to them. Three of the four Georigan consorts had also been cousins to their bridegrooms.
“Lydia esteems you,” Caroline said, “but not as she should esteem a suitor.” Caroline cut off more lavender and passed it to Wesley.
“We esteem each other well enough,” Wesley said. “We alsolikeeach other. I am quite fond of Liddie and flatter myself that she is fond of me too. Surely, Aunt, you cannot find fault with liking as a basis for marriage?”
Wesley was likable by design, not likable by nature, as John had been. He had John’s height and something of his nose and jaw, but John had never had the sly quality Lydia attributed to Wesley. Caroline had not put that label on her nephew, but Lydia’s term was accurate.
Wesley was forever jaunting off tovisit friendsin the same weeks the major race meets were held. He exchanged knowing glances with the local widows, and he misplaced invoices from his London tailors as a matter of course. Reginald claimed that was all standard behavior for a young gentleman of means.
Lydia had pointed out years ago that Wesley had no means of his own, and his behavior constituted a poor example for Marcus. Caroline should have seen that herself, and perhaps the whole debacle with Marcus buying his colors could have been avoided.
“If you marry everybody you like,” Caroline said, “you will soon have more wives than King Solomon.”
“Would that I could.” Wesley sighed dramatically, his comment doubtless meant to be humorous. “Alas, any wife of mine deserves to be kept in fine style, and while I might share Solomon’s appreciation for a pretty face, I do not share his resources.”
Or his wisdom.“If Lydia is so fond of you, why did she remove herself to visit Chloe?” Caroline wanted to tell Wesley to take himself off, to dismiss him, as Lydia would have known how to dismiss him, but she hadn’t Lydia’s way with a command.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Wesley said. “Liddie is giving me a chance to consider my options while she looks in on the old guard. Papa has deputed me to retrieve her, though. We know how you value Liddie’s company.”
Caroline did value her daughter’s company, very much. Lydia knew how to deal with the staff such that squabbling was kept to a minimum, hard work was rewarded, and meals arrived to the table hot. And yet, John would not have wanted Lydia to become the unpaid chatelaine of Tremont, no matter how much easier that arrangement made Caroline’s life.
And thus, Caroline treasured Lydia’s freedom even more than she treasured Lydia’s company.
“Reginald oversteps if he thinks to order my daughter about,” Caroline said. “She is of age. She has means. I am sure Chloe would welcome a visit from you, but do not expect to collect Lydia like another trunk to be tossed onto the boot of your coach.”
The traveling coach was actually Caroline’s, part of her trousseau, and the means by which her own mother had made certain the new bride could visit home at any time. What would Mama think if she could see how infrequently Caroline now ventured away from Tremont’s sheltering walls?
What would Mama think if she knew that the settlements she had insisted on when Caroline had become engaged to John were all that allowed Lydia to be so independent?
“Let’s cut some daffodils, shall we?” Wesley said, moving ahead. “They are such a cheerful flower, and their scent doesn’t overpower as the lavender does.”
That was the point of lavender. The scent was so strong that it banished bugs, blue devils, and foul miasmas alike. Rather like Lydia in the midst of spring cleaning.
“Daffodils don’t last long in the vase,” Caroline said, tarrying at the lavender border. “If you’d like some flowers for your room, then you should take your bouquet inside immediately.”On the instant.
Wesley used his penknife to slice off a half-dozen yellow blooms and laid them in the basket. “You can put them in the family parlor where they will cheer you up in Lydia’s absence.”
“I am not in need of cheering up. In fact, I enjoy having this garden to myself from time to time.” More blunt than that, Caroline could not be.
“The garden reminds you of Uncle John?” Wesley cut three more daffodils, taking them all from the same part of the bed rather than choosing with an eye to maintaining the beauty of the planting. “I want that for Lydia, Aunt. I want her to have happy memories of wandering with me here, riding out with me to call on the tenants, and presiding with me over the holiday open house. Why would you begrudge your daughter the same lovely life you so enjoyed as a younger woman?”
Caroline moved away from the flowering beds, lest Wesley chop down every blossom. “What you want for Lydia is lovely. It’s the life I treasured with my late husband. My mother made sure that the late earl and I would not only suit, but regard ourselves as most fortunate in our choice of spouse. I want that for Lydia more than I want to see her step into shoes that might not fit her as well as they fit me.”
Wesley helped himself to four more blossoms before following Caroline to a birdbath fashioned to resemble a stylized ceramic sunflower. The water in the bath was dirty, the ceramic in need of a good scrubbing with weak white vinegar.
If Lydia were on hand, the birdbath would be sparkling clean. But Lydia was not on hand, Marcus was not on hand, and John was not on hand.
Caroline set aside her shears and hefted the heavy bowl of brackish water from its stand.
“Aunt, we have gardeners…” Wesley fell silent while Caroline dumped the dirty water into a pot of salvia.
