The Pleasure Garden: Sacred Vows\Perfumed Pleasures\Rites of Passions (34 page)

“And I’m my father’s heir, which means the property will rightfully be mine someday. And I’m saying that it’s yours.”

She swallowed hard. “You can’t do that.”

He rose, releasing her hand. “Of course I can. If you’d feel better about it, I’ll talk to my solicitor and have some papers drawn up. An agreement of sorts, whereby you lease the property from me for a pound a year, or some such nonsense.”

“It doesn’t seem right,” she said, though her heart swelled with hope. “What will your family say?”

“As if I give a damn what my family says,” he sneered. “My father spends a small fortune to keep his mistress in style in London. Let him think whatever he wants. It’s of no consequence to me.”

“But…but what will Claire think? Your wife might not be so—”

“I’m not marrying Claire,” he said coldly. “I decided so when I broke off our engagement last month, and nothing has changed on that count. If anything, her appearance here has only made it clear just how ill suited we were to begin with. Your doing this—forcing me from your life—accomplishes nothing, Emmaline.
Nothing,
” he repeated. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll go inside and pack my things.”

With that, he turned and strode angrily away.

Emmaline just sat there, watching him go as her heart broke into a million little pieces.

Emmaline sat back on her heels, staring at the flower beds in frustration. Why, there had been buds on these plantings a
fortnight ago. And now…now they were a brown, withered mess, despite her efforts. Blast it!

Must she fail at everything? She’d poured her heart and soul into this garden, and yet it refused to flourish. Oh, things had begun well enough. Before Jack had left it seemed as if she was going to succeed where no one else had, at least according to Mrs. Talbot. First the roses, then the lavender. Bit by bit, things had begun to show signs of life. She’d gotten ambitious, replanting beds based on color schemes—blues and lavenders in one, reds and pinks in another.

They’d seemed fine at first, the blooms just beginning to bud in several sunny spots. And then…nothing. She’d watered, she’d fertilized, she’d even spoken to them daily, trying to coax them to life. And still they refused to cooperate.

She let out a sigh of frustration. Perhaps she should take Mrs. Talbot’s advice and give up. After all, giving up what was she did best. However had she let Jack walk out that door, convinced it was for the best?
I’m nothing but a coward,
she thought bitterly, wishing for the millionth time since he’d gone that she’d taken more time to consider her decision before acting so rashly.

It had been two full weeks since he’d left, and Emmaline hadn’t set foot once in the downstairs bedroom he’d occupied, not even to strip the bed and change the linens. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t bring herself to go inside and touch the things he’d touched, afraid the scent of him would linger, afraid the memories would be too much to bear.

But Mrs. Babbitt was set to return to her housekeeping duties in the morning, and would no doubt wonder why the room sat untouched.
I’m going to have to do it myself,
Emmaline realized.
Tonight.
Once and for all, she would enter the room and face the memories head-on. There was no other way.

She rose, glancing toward the house in the distance.
Orchard House was officially hers now, at least according to the letter that arrived in yesterday’s post from Jack’s solicitor in London. He certainly hadn’t wasted any time. She knew she should be grateful. He’d provided her with a home, after all, when he had every right to take it away from her. But it all seemed so final, especially since he’d already sent someone to retrieve his sporty red roadster and drive it back to Dorset.

He wasn’t coming back. She’d driven him away, and now he was gone forever. Her shoulders sagging, she picked her way across the flagstones and headed back inside, determined to tackle the downstairs bedroom now, while she still had the courage.

A quarter hour later, she pushed open the door and stepped inside the room in question. She inhaled deeply, expecting to smell his scent, but it was gone. The room smelled slightly musty, nothing more. An unexpected wave of disappointment washed over her, and she found herself moving toward the bed, reaching for the pillow on which he’d slept so many nights.

Picking it up, she pressed it against her nose, closing her eyes as she imagined him there, his golden head lying on the soft cotton pillowcase.
Nothing.
There was nothing, no lingering scent.

Feeling almost frantic now, she dropped the pillow back to the bed and began to search the room, looking for something—anything—to prove that he had been there. A button, perhaps, or a misplaced sock. In his haste to leave, he must have forgotten some little thing, something worthless and yet priceless, all at once. She pulled back the bedclothes, nearly ripping them from the bed.

And then she found it. Tears stung her eyes as she reached for the crumpled undershirt. She remembered pulling it
over his head the last night they’d spent together, right after he’d made love to her in the hallway, half-drunk and a little wild.

Once they’d reached the bedroom, she’d removed his clothing, piece by piece, till he’d been entirely naked. And then she’d stood there in the light of moon and stripped off her nightgown, completely unabashed and unashamed before him. They’d made love twice more before the sun had come up, before they’d fallen into a deep, satisfied sleep.

And when she’d awakened, she’d allowed herself a measure of hope. It had been a glorious feeling, no matter how uncertain. Perhaps they
could
have a future together, despite the unorthodox way they’d met, despite their differences. She’d allowed herself to actually believe it possible.

Right up until Claire Lennox had shown up and shattered that illusion. Damn the woman! If not for her intrusion, they would have had several days more to figure it all out, to sort through the uncertainties and reassure themselves that fate
had
meant for them to find each other.

Crumpling the undershirt into a ball, she held it close as she sank to the bed. Still fully clothed, she lay down, her knees tucked into her chest, the shirt pressed to her face. If she breathed deeply enough, she could still make out his scent, however faint. She could almost imagine his warmth, curled up there beside her.

When the tears came, she did not hold them back. She let them flow freely, let the sobs tear from her throat unchecked.

11

“YOU SIT, DEAR. I’LL POUR.” MRS. TALBOT REACHED for the ceramic teapot. It was Emmaline’s favorite, a pale rose-colored floral design that she’d found tucked away in a box in the attic. The petals had been hand-painted in raised enamel, the detail particularly impressive. Why it had been put away so unceremoniously would remain a mystery, considering its pristine condition.

“Thank you, Mrs. Talbot,” she said, watching as the steaming, caramel-colored liquid filled her dainty cup. “But truly, I’m fine. You needn’t trouble yourself on my account.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” Mrs. Talbot set down the teapot and patted Emmaline gently on one cheek. “Besides, isn’t it obvious that I’m buttering you up? I vow, I’m going to convince you to tell me what’s troubling you before the day’s out.”

Emmaline spooned two lumps of sugar into her cup, avoiding the woman’s prying gaze as she did so. “What makes you think something’s troubling me?”

“Well, dear, it’s as plain as the nose on your face. You haven’t been yourself for weeks now. At first I assumed it was simply exhaustion from tending that man all on your own.
But if that were the case, then you should be well recovered by now. He’s been gone, what? Nearly two months?”

“Nearly,” Emmaline murmured, bringing the cup to her lips. It had been fifty-four days, to be precise. Each day just as bleak as the one before it.

“Then I can only assume it’s something to do with your job. Is Dr. Hayward working you too hard? I can speak with him, if you’d like.”

Emmaline set down her cup too hard, sloshing tea onto the saucer. “No, of course not. I’m enjoying my work with the doctor. It’s quite rewarding, actually.”

Which was the truth, particularly her work with the village’s children. Perhaps she’d found her true calling in pediatrics.

Mrs. Talbot eyed her sharply. “Well, then, what is it that’s taken the bloom from your cheeks? The light from your eyes? Don’t get me wrong—you were a bit melancholy when you first arrived here in Haverham. But now…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “You should be getting better, not worse. Mrs. Babbitt says that when you’re not working, you spend most of your time sitting in garden—”

“She told you that?”

Mrs. Talbot waved one hand in dismissal. “Oh, don’t be cross with her. She’s worried about you, that’s all.”

“I
like
the garden,” Emmaline said with a shrug.

Mrs. Talbot shook her head, her mouth pursed in disbelief. “It’s a wasteland, Emmaline, in case you did not notice. I would have expected you to give up by now. I don’t know what it is…bad soil, perhaps? Something to do with acidity or something like that. Whatever the case, Mathilde Collins couldn’t make a go of it, and neither will you be able to. And then there’s the rumors of it being haunted—”

“It’s not haunted,” Emmaline interrupted impatiently. She’d long since dismissed such notions.

Mrs. Talbot laid a hand atop hers. “I’m a good listener, you know. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, the heat rising in her cheeks. Mrs. Talbot was far too perceptive. Perhaps it came from being a minister’s wife?

Her neighbor just smiled, patting her hand. “Of course you do, dear. And I’m not leaving here until you tell me.”

Emmaline swallowed hard, feeling cornered.

“A burden is always best shared,” Mrs. Talbot pushed.

“Is that from the gospels?” she hedged.

“Yes, the gospel according to Clara Talbot. Go on.”

“Oh, very well.” Emmaline let out her breath in a rush. Perhaps she
would
feel better if she unburdened herself. Either way, it was tell the truth or come up with a convincing lie—and she’d never been a good liar. “If you must know, it’s to do with Mr. Wainscott,” she blurted out before she had time to think better of it.

Mrs. Talbot’s eyes narrowed at once. “I knew it. Taking care of him has exhausted you, hasn’t it? Are you ill? Have you spoken to Dr. Hayward about it?”

She sighed, dropping her gaze to the napkin in her lap. “I’m not ill, Mrs. Talbot. I’m…heartsick.”

She chanced a glance up, and saw Mrs. Talbot’s faded eyes widen with surprise. “Ohhh,” she murmured. “I see. You’re suffering from a bit of…of unrequited feelings?”

“No.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. “My feelings…they were…requited.” Good God, she’d never been so humiliated in all her life.

Mrs. Talbot’s brows knitted. “I don’t understand. Are you saying that you…that he…”

Emmaline nodded. “We fell in love. I know it was fast—I
realize how utterly mad it must seem, considering how ill he was. Still, there’s no denying what I felt. Some women are lucky to find a perfect love just once in their lives. I was lucky twice.”

“Did you—that is to say, were you…”

“Yes, we were intimate.” Emmaline’s cheeks were burning now, her shame complete.

“And then he
left
you?” Mrs. Talbot sputtered indignantly. “But wait, wasn’t that woman who came to town, the one he left with…wasn’t that his fiancée?”

“His ex-fiancée,” she corrected. “He’d broken off the engagement before he came here to Haverham. Apparently she was having a hard time accepting it as fact.”

Mrs. Talbot looked entirely flummoxed. “I still don’t understand. If the two of you were in love, then why did he leave with her?”

How could Emmaline explain, when she barely understood it herself? “He left with her because I told him to, because I felt guilty and frightened and confused, all at once. I told him we could not have a future together. At the time, I believed it to be true. But now…now I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, dear. There must be something you can do. Have you telephoned him?”

She shook her head, cupping her hands around her now cold teacup. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is,” Mrs. Talbot said with a shrug. “You ended the relationship—so un-end it.”

She sighed heavily. “I’m afraid there’s no undoing it. I made my decision, and he readily accepted it. I cannot blame him—I was firm on the matter, and I left him no room for argument. Still…so much time has passed, and he has not made a single effort to contact me. I can only assume that
that means he has moved on. Perhaps he’s married Miss Lennox, after all. I told him that he should.”

“I can’t believe you would give up so easily. If you truly love him, that is,” Mrs. Talbot said. “And I would guess that you do, considering how miserable you’ve looked these past two months. Oh, dear God—” she clutched at Emmaline’s wrist, her gaze drawn directly to her midsection “—you’re not…that’s to say, he didn’t…are you certain…”

“No, I’m not with child, if that’s what you’re asking.” It was only after Jack left that she’d realized she very well might be. She’d actually cried when her menses came a week later, and to this day she wasn’t sure if they were tears of relief or disappointment.

Mrs. Talbot let out a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens for that.”

The sound of a car’s motor in the drive drew their attention toward the front hall.

“Oh, that’ll be Mr. Talbot,” Mrs. Talbot cried, rising from her seat. “Bother that. What terrible timing the man has! How can I leave you now?”

“I’ll be fine, Mrs. Talbot. Truly. And you were right—I do feel much better for having told you. How can I ever thank you for listening and not judging?”

Mrs. Talbot smiled weakly. “Just promise me that you won’t give up, that you’ll try to set things right with him. If you think he’s deserving of your affection, that is.”

“He’s a lovely man,” she said softly, realizing that she meant it with all her heart. “I only wish you’d had the chance to get to know him.”