Bed of Flowers Read online

  “I see. I didn’t know that either.” He wanted her to feel ignorant, but that was all right. She was ignorant. If she’d known the plant was valuable, for example, she’d surely have been more careful. “When do you water the plant?”

  “Dawn.”

  “You have too many plants here to water them all at dawn. It doesn’t last long enough.”

  “Most need water once or twice a week. I’m usually finished before eight in the morning. If I’m delayed for any reason, I wait until after four in the afternoon. Those are the only hours when the flowers will be safe from the sun.”

  “What if it’s rainy or cloudy?”

  “And risk the clouds parting unexpectedly? It doesn’t take long to do irreparable damage.”

  And since, even if he allowed her to lend her fumbling aid, she could never be here at the right time, she would never water the Odontoglossum crispum. Not today or any other day.

  So Bonny told Loel what he wanted to hear, the hidden meaning behind all his lectures about the orchid: “I see I have nothing to offer.”

  “Good. We understand one another. Now if you don’t mind.” Lord Loel glanced pointedly toward the door. “I have work to do.”

  “Of course. Good day.”

  She’d almost reached the door to the greenhouse when Loel spoke again.

  “I understand you’re newly engaged.”

  Bonny looked back. “That’s right.”

  He was still leaning against the slate tabletop, arms crossed, expression neutral. It amazed her that a man could surround himself with soft, tender things and still be so hard and unfeeling.

  “Charles Gavin is not the man you believe him to be.”

  Bonny stiffened. “Pardon?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You’ve no right to say such things.”

  Lord Loel shrugged.

  “And besides, you’re wrong,” Bonny insisted. “I’ve known Charles Gavin all my life. He’s a good man.”

  “I’ve known him just as long,” said Loel. “And I assure you, he is not.”

  Bonny reined in her temper. Lord Loel had been jabbing at her ever since she arrived, looking for weak spots, trying to hurt her. This was just more of the same.

  Maintain your dignity, she told herself. “I understand, Lord Loel, that you are not satisfied with my apology. I wish I had more to offer. But I will not let you poison my upcoming marriage with lies.”

  “Lies?” His mouth flattened into a thin, grim line. “You needn’t take my word for it, Miss Reed. I encourage you to seek the truth for yourself, before it’s too late.”

  The only truth Bonny needed at the moment was that she’d made her apology and now it was time to go. Lord Loel clearly wished her ill. Let him—she had a wonderful life in New Quay, and he played no part in it.

  She dipped a very shallow curtsy and left.

  Apparently Bonny Reed, who’d been sold at a steep discount to an insufferable pig, pitied him. The irony was so thick Loel could taste it.

  He tugged off his shirt and flipped it over his shoulder, snorting to himself. Miss Reed might be sweet as sugar floss and pure as new-fallen snow, but she had eyes like any other woman. Maybe that was how she’d ended up with Gavin: she’d measured up his shoulders, matched them to his bank account, and decided she didn’t need to know anything else.

  He made a quick circuit of the stoves, checking the fires, and returned to the task that Miss Reed had so rudely interrupted. He planted trees to compensate for the ones he cut—aspen, especially, since he’d be able to harvest it again in ten years, but others as well. Ash, alder, hornbeam.

  Woodclose was both his greatest blessing and greatest curse. On the one hand, most of the estate’s bounty had been explicitly denied him. He couldn’t lend or sell anything. The solicitors had made an inventory of the house after his father’s death, down to the last teacup and saucer, and he’d be held responsible for any damages or disappearances that took place during his tenancy. He couldn’t take out a loan using the property as collateral. A trustee collected the quarterly rents and deposited them in an account where the money gathered interest, and dust, from year to year. Not a single penny would ever be disbursed to him.

  But he had all the rights of a tenant. Trustees drew from the accounts he couldn’t touch to pay all the property taxes. One of them, sympathetically disposed, had granted him the official title of “Woodsman,” which permitted him to cull the forests and fish the lake.

  He’d never had to build from scratch. He saved a fortune in coal. He could afford pet projects, like his fountains, and made his own fertilizer. His expenses were minimal, and he had at least five thousand pounds worth of exotic orchids in his greenhouse. About a third of them would never make it to auction, but that was the nature of the game. He could lose about half his stock and break even, so anything more was profit. He’d do well for himself—eventually.

  But all those advantages meant he couldn’t afford to leave Woodclose. He couldn’t escape the house, every surface coated in a film of memory. He couldn’t escape the townsfolk, who loathed him. Fully justified loathing, obviously. They’d take their anger to their graves, and he couldn’t blame them. Everyone would be happier if he left.

  But he couldn’t. And since he was in the wrong, he kept to himself. But now it seemed he couldn’t spend an afternoon at home without being pestered by a big-eyed do-gooder wearing her heart on her sleeve.

  Loel placed a log on the chopping block and reached for his axe. His arms ached all through the spring. He chopped firewood almost every day, stacking up piles as fast as he could so that it would season before winter. He’d run out of wood halfway through his first winter alone at Woodclose and did not intend to make the same mistake again.

  Sometimes he liked chopping wood. Exhaustion blunted nearly any emotion, good or bad. And whatever he was feeling right now couldn’t go away fast enough.

  He’d tried to do Bonny Reed a favor.

  Not that he expected a thank-you. God, no. He owed her the kind of debt that could never be repaid. He’d have kept his mouth shut otherwise. He’d expected her reaction or some version of it. Horrified indignation. Wounded dignity. Veiled contempt.

  Women as beautiful as Bonny Reed were, in his opinion, best kept at arm’s length. Farther, actually. As far away as possible. She was stunning, enchanting, enthralling, all those words that sounded like compliments but were actually warnings. It was nearly impossible to hold on to a thought or an opinion when she disagreed with it. All she had to do was bat her eyelashes, and a man’s willpower began to crumble.

  A woman’s too probably.

  She’d been fifteen when he started the fire that burned New Quay. Back then she’d still looked like she ought to be fastened into leading strings and packed off to bed promptly at eight of the clock. That was what had made her fury so surprising, so shocking. He’d been eighteen, nearly the same age, but he’d thought of her as a child, belonging more to her sister’s generation than his own.

  But since he’d returned…

  Her figure retained a babyish softness, as though she’d been carved out of jelly, but the shape had changed. At twenty-three, she was all dangerous dips and tempting curves—a body built for sin attached, disconcertingly, to the face of an angel. Round, with apples in her cheeks and overfull lips.

  The woman could have been purpose-built to make grown men weep.

  Loel paused, wiped his brow, and wondered where all the wood had gone. Had he finished already? All the better. He had no shortage of work to do.

  And if he wanted to keep his mind off Bonny Reed, he’d better keep busy.

  Bonny dressed for her walk with Charles Gavin that afternoon with special care. She told herself she was doing it to please her fiancé. In truth, she had no goal beyond thumbing her nose at Lord Loel, even though he wouldn’t see and—what’s more—she hoped they never met again.

  You see, she thought, tying a folded scarf around her waist so that the tas
sels dangled enticingly down the back. I don’t believe you.

  Mr. Gavin arrived right on time, just after tea. “I’ll have her home with daylight to spare,” he promised, smiling to show off his perfect teeth.

  Charles Gavin was very proud of his teeth.

  It was their first outing without a chaperone—the fact that her parents had agreed to it told Bonny exactly how eager they were for the marriage.

  A morning rain had swept the sky clean and ushered in an unusually fine afternoon, with the sun shining in a clear blue sky and a breeze blowing in from the ocean to cut the heat. Mr. Gavin led her along a winding path that followed the cliffs overlooking the quay and offered excellent views of the sea.

  They crossed paths with Mr. and Mrs. Henley, walking arm in arm in the opposite direction. The vicar, tall, thin, and fair, had watery blue eyes and a subdued demeanor. His gift was his voice, deep and resonant, but when standing beside his wife—a brunette with bold features and a brilliant smile—Bonny’s eyes inevitably drifted to her.

  “I hear congratulations are in order,” said the vicar.

  Gavin stepped away from Bonny, admiring her openly. “I’m a lucky man, am I not?”

  “Oh, indeed,” agreed Mr. Henley.

  “I was just telling Mr. Henley what a pleasure it is to see you together. You’re such a handsome couple.” Mrs. Henley nudged her husband. “Wasn’t I just saying that?”

  “You were,” he acknowledged.

  “Pretty as a picture,” Mrs. Henley continued. “In fact, would you like it if I made a portrait as a gift for your wedding?”

  “It would be such an honor.” Bonny beamed. “Your watercolors are exquisite. Just the other day, Mrs. Shaw complimented the wonderful frontispiece you made for The Luck of Barry Lyndon.”

  “And you know how much I appreciate your dedication to a good cause!” Mrs. Henley returned. “How did she enjoy the book?”

  “We’ll find out next week.”

  Mr. Henley interrupted, nudging his wife along the path. “Why don’t you come by for a visit when you have a chance? We need to talk about posting banns.”

  “We’ll look forward to it,” promised Mr. Gavin. “Enjoy the rest of your stroll.”

  Soon after, Bonny and Mr. Gavin met Mrs. Morgan, out with her two children—squabbling over a stick of rock candy. Then a trio of elegant older women, friends of Mrs. Gavin, who fussed over them for quite a while. It took well over an hour to walk the first mile of the path.

  Charles Gavin dipped his lips close to her ear. “For once, I wish it were raining. I was hoping we’d have some time alone.”

  Bonny bit her lip as a naughty idea sprang to mind. She oughtn’t voice it, but she felt bright and daring, buoyed up by all the warm words from her neighbors and the handsome man at her side who seemed so proud of her.

  “Why don’t we leave the path?”

  “Bonny!” Mr. Gavin’s tone was chiding, but his lips stretched into a wide, delighted smile. “What a shocking suggestion.”

  “What do you mean?” Bonny skipped away from the sandy trail, the spectacular view, into the open fields. “We’re not doing anything wrong. We got lost. We don’t walk this way very often, and it’s so easy to get turned about.”

  Mr. Gavin stalked her eagerly. “The ocean’s right there. How could you have missed it?”

  “What ocean?” Bonny blushed. “I only have eyes for you.”

  Mr. Gavin swooped in on her, seizing her about the waist and lifting her off the ground so that her feet dangled in the air. For a brief, dizzying moment she was looking down at one of the tallest men she knew. She was breathless and windblown, and she could still see the ocean where it met the horizon, deep blue glazed by the sun.

  “There are so many things I want to show you.” He set her down, and his gaze dropped, inch by inch, to her chest. “And so many things I want you to show me.”

  Bonny raised her arms, shielding herself. Her cheeks burned from embarrassment… and anger. She hated when men stared at her breasts.

  “So modest.” Mr. Gavin cupped her cheek in one hand and tipped her head up so that she couldn’t look away. “Let’s start small, shall we? Say my name. Charles. Go on.”

  “Charles,” said Bonny in a small voice.

  “Not so meek, little one.” Mr. Gavin—Charles—brushed his thumb across her lips. “Try again. Charles.”

  Little one? Had he just called her little one?

  “Charles,” she said, not at all meekly this time.

  “That’s better.” He chuckled. “Now, how about another little step? Something we’ve both been looking forward to. Close your eyes.”

  Bonny did not close her eyes.

  “Don’t frown.” He rubbed the furrow between her brows. “You’ll wrinkle. You see how I’m looking out for you? Trust me, Bonny. Close your eyes.”

  Trust him. Yes. That’s why she was here—because she trusted Charles Gavin. He had always been good to her, and she believed he always would be. And besides, he’d spoken the truth. She had been looking forward to her first kiss for a long time.

  She closed her eyes, and he mashed his lips into hers. Hard. She squeaked and tried to pull away, but he wrapped an arm around her waist and held her in place. As though he’d anticipated her reaction and prepared for it.

  Her heart raced, but she felt oddly paralyzed. Mr. Gavin pressed his teeth against hers hard enough to hurt. She peeled her lips free before they began to bleed, and for some reason this excited him. He groaned and thrust his tongue into her mouth.

  Bonny tried to calm herself. It was vitally important that she enjoy this moment. It was meant to be precious, a memory for her to cherish. A foretaste of married life.

  Mr. Gavin swiped his tongue around like a dog on the hunt—one convinced that a fox was hiding between her teeth. His big, wet tongue did not fit comfortably inside her mouth.

  She tried to yank her head loose but couldn’t. She tried using her tongue to shove his out. None of it worked. He only squeezed her tighter.

  She was about to start crying and—she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t. This was her future. She had to accept it and, if possible, learn to enjoy it. She had to.

  He released her very suddenly. She looked away when his hand dipped to his waistband, making some adjustment. It was vulgar. Blatantly, unapologetically vulgar.

  For a brief moment, just the split second before she recognized the emotion and strangled it, she hated him.

  “I’ve shocked you,” said Mr. Gavin.

  “I’m just… I’m…” Bonny tried to smile. She didn’t know what to do with her hands. “So overwhelmed by it all.”

  “You’ve always been a good girl.” He pinched her lower lip, tender and swollen now. “But all that needs to end soon. A man wants something different from his wife. I’ve no patience for missish protests—I like a bit of enthusiasm in a woman. You understand?”

  “You can teach me.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He took her arm and propelled her toward the path. “Your parents will be waiting.”

  “Yes.”

  She walked at his side, utterly docile. Her mind whirled, but none of her thoughts had any substance—she couldn’t hold them any more than she could have captured a handful of mist, a tuft of cloud.

  “My mother has expressed some reservations about this library of yours.”

  Bonny started. “What?”

  “The library. The one that sends you and Miss Kelly all over town, talking to who knows what sort of people. I know you care about it.”

  “Very much.”

  “I can have a word with my mother. She’ll back down if I insist.” He nudged her, smiling conspiratorially. “And then when you can do something to make me happy, you’ll return the favor. Isn’t that right?”

  “Of course. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy.”

  “Good,” he said and began to hum jauntily.

  Bonny withdrew further and further into herself. She
’d built up her expectations too high. That was all. She’d wondered for years what it would be like to kiss a man. She’d expected a—well, a fairly simple action to be infused with all of Mr. Gavin’s wonderful qualities: his gallantry and courtesy and charm.

  She’d have to accept that reality was different than her silly fantasies. She had to be more open to the experience, to do as he suggested and bring her own enthusiasm to it.

  And yet she couldn’t quench the sickly queasy feeling that had settled in her stomach. Or silence the echo of Lord Loel’s warning.

  Charles Gavin is not the man you believe him to be.

  He kissed her again when he reached her doorstep, chastely on the forehead this time. “Place your trust in me, Miss Reed, and all will be well.”

  Trust him? Her whole future was at stake. The moment she married him, she’d have no choice but to trust him with her health, her finances, her freedom of movement—the list went on. If he wanted that kind of trust after they married, he ought to earn it beforehand.

  A week ago she would have said he had. Today… she wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter 5

  Every other Monday, Cordelia organized the circulating library’s distribution schedule for the next two weeks. Bonny joined her to double-check that Cordelia hadn’t accidentally assigned the same volume to two different members or given one of their members a book she’d already read. Cordelia was careful and meticulous, but having two sets of eyes on the list prevented any errors from slipping through.

  Bonny found the organizing boring and stressful. She preferred the deliveries. Especially on clear days, and the good weather had held through the night and into the morning. They set out with warm shawls and thick stockings and color on their cheeks, touched by a hint of spring fever.

  “So,” said Cordelia as they began their circuit. “I want to hear all about your walk with Mr. Gavin.”

  Bonny chewed her lip. She suspected that she wasn’t supposed to discuss such intimate matters with anyone, let alone an unmarried friend. But she’d never hidden anything important from Cordelia and valued her friend’s advice.