Bed of Flowers Page 9

  The kiss had been nothing. It had to be nothing.

  Mrs. Rhodes’s small cottage occupied a large plot of land, bounded by a sturdy fence in good repair. Much of the lawn had been given over to pall-mall, with iron arches staked into the ground and colored balls lying abandoned in the grass. Swings hung from the spreading branches of ancient trees, several metal soldiers faced off against one another on a wide windowsill, and—to cap it all off—when Mrs. Rhodes opened the door, the sweet scent of freshly baked pie wafted out.

  “Ladies?” Mrs. Rhodes was beautiful, plump, and obviously nervous. “Is there something I can do for you?”

  Bonny showed Mrs. Rhodes her basket of books. “I’m Bonny Reed, and this is Cordelia Kelly. A friend of yours, Mrs. Morgan, thought you might like to become a member of our circulating library.”

  “Member?” Mrs. Rhodes glanced warily from Bonny to Cordelia and back. “How much does it cost?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Nothing? I’m not sure I understand.” Mrs. Rhodes shook specks of flour from her bare hands. “Would you like to come in? I’ve just made some pie.”

  Bonny said, “We’d love to come in,” right as Cordelia answered, “Right here is fine.”

  Cordelia shot Bonny a hard look. For once, Bonny responded in kind.

  Mrs. Rhodes opened the door wider. Bonny stepped through, and Cordelia followed reluctantly behind. They settled in a cozy, well-lit room where a crib held pride of place. Mrs. Rhodes had to move toys off the stained, lumpy sofa to make room for Cordelia and Bonny.

  “I’ll only be a moment,” she promised.

  Once they were alone, Cordelia leaned close and whispered, “What are you about?”

  “I wanted a slice of pie.”

  “Pie?”

  Bonny nodded seriously.

  “You’d send the whole town into a tizzy—for a piece of pie?”

  “It smells wonderful.”

  “Bonny.”

  “Worry about it later. We’re already inside.”

  Mrs. Rhodes reappeared before Cordelia could press her case further, carrying a tray laden with cups and cutlery, a large teapot, and already-plated slices of strawberry pie. And what beautiful pie! The crust browned just so, just the right amount of ruby-red filling oozing onto the plate.

  Bonny sighed happily. “Oh, thank you.”

  “It’s easier to make the little ones eat their vegetables when the whole house smells of pudding,” said Mrs. Rhodes. “Now, you say you have a library?”

  “Yes, especially for women.” Bonny began the familiar patter. “We acquire books that we think our members will enjoy—engaging and entertaining books rather than instructive ones. You don’t choose the titles; we choose them for you. And we always ask your opinion afterward, so we can keep a record of which books you liked and which you didn’t. We endeavor to match what we have available to your tastes.”

  “We don’t yet have a dedicated facility,” Cordelia added. “The library is my home, essentially, so we deliver the books by hand.”

  “That’s right.” Bonny nodded. “Every two weeks we deliver a new book and collect the old one.”

  “And you do this for free?”

  “Reading for pleasure is often seen as frivolous, but I believe it ought to be encouraged,” said Cordelia. “The education of women is too often neglected. I won’t pretend our library is a cure—it is explicitly not—but it is a step in the right direction.”

  “I do love to read,” admitted Mrs. Rhodes.

  “We brought a book for you.” Bonny plucked The Tenant of Wildfell Hall out of her basket and handed it over. “In case you’d like to give the library a try.”

  “Would you look at this?” Mrs. Rhodes marveled, turning the book over in her hands. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful binding.”

  “Miss Kelly binds them herself.” Bonny beamed proudly. “She has an artistic eye, doesn’t she?”

  Mrs. Rhodes flipped to the frontispiece. “Incredible.”

  Bonny stood. “So we’ll return for it in two weeks?”

  Before they said their goodbyes, Bonny tugged lightly on her necklace. She hadn’t fastened the clasp that morning, so it easily slipped loose and fell into the palm of her hand. Surreptitiously she dropped it between the cushions of the sofa.

  Then, while she and Cordelia were walking down the lane away from the cottage, Bonny staggered and gasped, clasping at her breast.

  “Oh, Cordelia,” she cried. “I’ve lost my necklace.”

  Cordelia cast a searching eye over the dirt road. “Which one?”

  “The Tahitian pearl my father gave me when I was little.”

  Cordelia winced.

  “It might have fallen loose while we were at Mrs. Rhodes’s cottage,” said Bonny. “I’m going to go back and check.”

  “Of course.”

  “No, no, you keep walking.” Bonny shooed Cordelia down the road. “You’re too slow as it is.”

  “I’m not slow,” Cordelia protested. “You’re too fast. You scamper. It’s undignified.”

  “You’re a turtle,” Bonny retorted. “Keep walking. I’ll be quick—I just want to check the sofa where we were sitting. I almost think I felt it fall, something ticklish on my neck that I took for a loose strand of hair…”

  Cordelia took the book basket. “I hope you’re right.”

  Bonny dashed back up the walk alone. She had not, in fact, lost her necklace. She had dropped it on purpose. Mrs. Rhodes raised bastard children—if Mr. Gavin had one, it might have ended up in her care. Even if it hadn’t, she might know who else to ask. She might keep track of other unmarried mothers in New Quay, the same way that Bonny kept track of the girls her own age.

  She hated keeping secrets from Cordelia, but their last conversation about Mr. Gavin had made her wary. If Cordelia learned about Loel’s accusations, she might believe them. She might not care if the “proof” never materialized.

  Cordelia could be forceful and persuasive, and Bonny… Bonny was susceptible.

  A quick knock brought Mrs. Rhodes to the door again. Bonny explained that she’d lost her necklace and was allowed inside.

  “I’m afraid that I’ve returned on a pretense.” She went immediately to the sofa and plucked the glittering chain from between the cushions. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question, but I didn’t want Miss Kelly to overhear.”

  Mrs. Rhodes’s sweet face hardened. “Ask then.”

  “I heard a rumor that the man I’m engaged to marry has an illegitimate child here in New Quay,” said Bonny. “But I won’t believe it until I’ve seen the proof, and I’ve no idea how to find the child or its mother. I thought… I thought perhaps you might be able to help me.”

  “The parents of the children who come to me go to great lengths to remain anonymous,” said Mrs. Rhodes. “In most cases, I never learn their names—an intermediary arranges everything. I understand that many of them are afraid of being blackmailed.”

  Bonny wilted. “Oh.”

  “They mean well,” said Mrs. Rhodes. “They want their children brought up properly, to have good lives. Many people, in similar situations, do much less.”

  Bonny shivered. Many wet nurses said they would care for unwanted babies while, with a sly wink, promising something different entirely. They made sure their charges died, seemingly of natural causes—babies were so frail, after all.

  A single bad decision, made out of passion and weakness, could lead to so many painful choices with sorrow at the end of every branch. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t proportionate.

  Mrs. Rhodes could have tried to disappear, to assume a false identity, attempting to cheat rules that must have seemed so unfair after she’d been caught breaking them. Instead, she’d dedicated herself to making sure that other women who strayed might face a dilemma ever so slightly less heartbreaking than her own.

  Bonny had been afraid to visit her. Afraid of guilt by association. And it struck her, with humbling force, that Mrs
. Rhodes was a braver woman by far than Bonny herself.

  She hadn’t done anything grand or heroic. But she’d made her life’s work into a chisel strike against a stone that must, inevitably, take on a new shape. In that way, she reminded Bonny of Cordelia.

  “I admire what you’ve accomplished here,” said Bonny. “You’ve made a beautiful home. I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.”

  Mrs. Rhodes smiled a mother’s kind smile. “How are you to know if you don’t ask?”

  “Thank you for understanding.” Bonny bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Kelly will be waiting.”

  “Is that why you brought me the book? Was it a ruse?”

  “Oh, no.” Bonny squeezed all the sincerity she could into her voice. “We didn’t invent the library for a stunt. The book is yours for two weeks, and there will be more for as long as you’re interested. Ask Mrs. Morgan if you have any questions.”

  Mrs. Rhodes breathed a sigh of relief. “Good.”

  The baby began to fuss. Bonny took that as her cue to leave, but Mrs. Rhodes caught her at the door.

  “It may be that I could help you in your search,” said the woman. “What’s the gentleman’s name?”

  “Mr. Charles Gavin.”

  “I know him,” said Mrs. Rhodes in a neutral tone. So neutral, in fact, that it changed the meaning of her words. She knew Charles Gavin—and did not feel warmly toward him. She hadn’t said anything against him or his powerful family, but she had withheld praise… and that was significant.

  “Do you think it could be true?” Bonny asked.

  “Miss Reed, I’d be astonished if it weren’t.” Mrs. Rhodes heaved a weary sigh. An edge of bitterness, old enough to lose most of its bite, entered her tone. “But you’re looking for proof. I’ll see what I can find out.”

  Bonny had no trouble catching up to Cordelia, who—typically—had not progressed very far down the road. She brandished her pearl necklace. “Will you fasten it?”

  Cordelia obliged and they continued on, side by side, as though everything were normal. Bonny clung to the illusion; it comforted her even if she couldn’t quite believe.

  Chapter 8

  Bonny felt nervous about returning, but abandoning Loel, and her Odontoglossum crispum, would have been an admission of guilt. Since nothing had happened (if she told herself so enough times, she might even believe it), Bonny showed up at Woodclose as usual.

  And felt tremendous relief when she saw no sign of Lord Loel. The orchid house was unlocked though, so she entered on her own. She’d fetch his instruments and water the Odontoglossum crispum herself.

  She ducked under a spike of orchids the color of a dawn sky, moved a trailing vine off the paving stones to prevent a spray of gorgeous yellow flowers veined in deep violet from being crushed, dodged the profusion of leaves and blooms clogging the walkway, and collided with something large… and warm… and human.

  Bonny yelped as she toppled over Lord Loel’s kneeling form. She threw out her arms in instinctive reaction, and both hands landed on his back, sheathed in thin linen and damp from exertion.

  She hopped back, wiping her hands on her skirt. She wished her palms would stop tingling, wished she could get the scent of his body out of her nose. It was disgusting. Completely disgusting. Sweat and stink and—oh, heaven help her, if she could have buried her nose in his armpit without anyone knowing, she absolutely would have done it.

  He said nothing, neither mocking nor kind. She would have thought him stone if she hadn’t seen desire in his eyes the last time she’d come, if he hadn’t put his hunger on open display.

  His expression shuttered quickly, but just that moment—that brief reminder of what she’d tried so hard to forget—threw her completely off-balance.

  “What were you doing down there?” she demanded.

  “One of the paving stones was loose.”

  She could have gleaned the answer if she’d bothered to look. He’d surrounded himself with mallets, tubs of sand, and mortar. She was lucky she hadn’t knocked one of them over.

  “Why don’t you hire someone?” She had no right to be angry or to raise her voice, but she couldn’t help it. “If these plants are even half as valuable as you say, you could afford a whole army of gardeners to help you.”

  He rocked back on his heels and bit out, “Who, in New Quay, would want that job?”

  No one.

  Bonny swallowed.

  He stood, slow and deliberate, obviously trying not to spook her. The small part of her not in danger of being spooked was horribly embarrassed.

  “You’re looking for the rose?”

  Bonny nodded.

  “I’ll get it for you.”

  She followed him to the far end of the orchid house to a clear area dominated by a large, freestanding water tank. It was at least waist high and ovoid in shape, wider than her arm span.

  Loel went to a nearby table stacked with tiny cabinets and littered with bizarre instruments. The only one Bonny recognized was the rose.

  She approached the tank instead. An unadorned iron pipe rose up from the basin and poured water into a trough hanging from an iron strut overhead. The trough ended in a tiny waterfall, the first in the series of cascades that ended on the other side of the greenhouse.

  “Miss Reed?”

  Bonny turned. Loel stood by the narrow path, rose and empty bowl in hand. She took a few quick steps, responding instinctively to the invitation in his voice, and froze when she saw the bed.

  She hadn’t noticed it before while she’d been facing in the wrong direction. It was a humble thing, just a thin mattress over an iron frame, white sheets tucked neatly in, the pillow perfectly centered. He sleeps here. Bonny looked around, all her nerves suddenly alive and prickling. Among the flowers.

  “So I can keep the stoves burning all night,” he said quietly, and the words were meaningless while the rough gravel of his voice was like a draught of some forbidden stimulant delivered straight into her bloodstream. “I have to get up every few hours to tend them.”

  She imagined him lying down while the stoves flared red around him, sweat beading on his brow and slowly cooling as the temperature dipped until he stirred again.

  “How long has it been since you slept through the night?” Bonny asked breathlessly.

  “Years.” His cool green eyes roamed freely for a moment, lingering at her bodice. “Ask me something else.”

  Bonny shivered and, licking her lips, quickly returned to the front of the greenhouse.

  Loel arrived with the bowl and the rose a moment later. Bonny took both and held the bowl to the fountain with trembling hands, still shaking with reaction.

  Loel seemed unmoved, which stupefied her. He propped his hip against the table and folded his arms across his chest. The linen of his shirt pulled tight around his biceps; the twill of his trousers strained at his hips and thighs. He was beautiful.

  Bonny filled the syringe in the bowl and pointed the perforated bulb at the wood chips. She couldn’t concentrate on the task and wondered, hysterically, if her heart’s violent beating could crack her ribs.

  “Don’t rush,” murmured Loel. “You’re still getting to know the orchid. Pick it up, take a closer look. Learn its needs, its likes and dislikes.”

  Bonny’s cheeks burned. “Stop that.”

  “Stop what?”

  “Saying suggestive things.”

  “How was what I said suggestive?”

  She wasn’t sure, actually. But she had a very strong suspicion that she was right.

  “Miss Reed, when it comes to orchids, there is no escape from it,” said Loel. “Even the name—orchid comes from the Greek. Orkhis.”

  “I don’t have any Greek.”

  “No? The word translates, quite literally, as testicle.”

  “I don’t know that word.”

  “Oh?”

  “I’ve never heard it before,” she insisted.

  A wicked smile tilted Loel’s lips. “You seem to know what it means.” />
  “I don’t know a thing.” She firmed her tone. “And don’t you dare explain it to me.”

  “If you should grow curious, take a look at the flower’s bulbs. They bear a striking resemblance to—”

  Bonny narrowed her eyes, and to her extreme satisfaction, Loel did not finish the sentence.

  “If that doesn’t catch your interest…” Loel’s glance slid to the ranks of flowers blooming all around them, with their rippling petals and secret centers. “Perhaps you find the flowers themselves comfortingly familiar?”

  “Not even a little.”

  “I believe you are a liar, Miss Reed.”

  “That doesn’t concern me at all.”

  “Good. If you don’t mind, I haven’t offended.”

  Bonny opened her mouth to protest. Loel’s smile widened in anticipation, teeth flashing.

  He was doing this on purpose! Poking and prodding, insisting that she acknowledge that something had changed—and once she realized it, she had to refuse the bait.

  Bonny hefted the crispum, as instructed, giving it a close look. The long, blade-shaped leaf wasn’t quite so droopy as it had been the last time. Perhaps her singing had worked.

  She began humming as she carefully returned the flower to its table and moistened the wood chips. When she risked a glance at Loel, his expression had returned to its default state, prickly and inscrutable.

  She expelled the rest of the water into the bowl and weighed the plant again. This time she could feel the difference in weight—insignificant but real.

  Progress.

  But on her way home, she wondered if she ought to return. The obligation she’d incurred by knocking over Lord Loel’s orchid had to be weighed on a balance against the risk she took by visiting Woodclose. She would have liked to pretend otherwise, but ever since Lord Loel had kissed her wrist, that balance had tipped.

  The orchid wouldn’t need watering for a few days. She had time to consider her options.

  Bonny heard from Mrs. Rhodes when she and Cordelia made their next delivery to Mrs. Morgan. The harried mother slipped a square of folded paper into Bonny’s sleeve with a subtlety that unnerved Bonny; where had she learned to do that?