She took a dusty apron down from a peg and tied it round her waist, and then sat upon one of the beds, to determine how it might be worked.

She heard a quick step along the rows and looked up to see Reginald deCourcy advancing in her direction. She dropped a curtsy and turned back to the beds, supposing that he meant to walk on.

To her surprise, he stopped and addressed her. “These were very fine greenhouses. I cannot think why my brother allows them to fall into decline unless his notion of landscape is for everything to grow in a wild and random fashion.”

“There is very little in nature that is random—even when neglected, there is some order to every growing thing.”

“You reply as one who thinks first in a scientific manner. But take this plot, for example,” he said, pointing to one of the beds where an irregular scattering of tendrils poked through the earth. “There is no system here.”

“You must be patient, sir. I put the bulbs down myself last year, to force them here and then remove them to one of the plots in the spring. When they bloom, this row will be yellow tulips and those will be white crocuses. Plants, like people, are not always as they first appear—only in time will their nature be revealed.”

“Yet there can be little deception in plants—a tulip is always a tulip, and a crocus cannot be other than a crocus.”

“Yes, if you judge candor or deception only by the exterior. Then you see only the bloom and yet the roots that support it may be corrupt—and in such a way as may ruin the entire garden.”

Reginald smiled in so warm and congenial a manner that Frederica felt emboldened and asked him to describe the grounds and gardens at Parklands. She listened raptly as he gave a comprehensive description of the deCourcy estate. “My father took a very active interest in the property when he was in health.”

“Then I wish him a very speedy return to it,” she said. She bound up two bundles of dried herbs. “This is agrimony and this one is dried peppermint. A strong brew of agrimony root and leaves is said to ease a congestion of the lungs, and peppermint tea will settle the stomach and promote digestion. I will write down the receipts for Sir Reginald, and directions for starting your own plants, if they are not grown at Parklands.”

He thanked her and, eager to prolong the conversation, tried another subject. “You get on very well with my nieces and nephews.”

“Yes. I am sorry to have not known them before now. It is fortunate that they have one another for companionship, as the move to Sussex must be a very great change for them. Mr. and Mrs. Vernon may live in as quiet a manner as they like, and the children will not be lonely.”

“And were you lonely?”

“I never felt the want of companionship when I was a child, but now I do think it would be nice to have a sister or, even better, a brother.”

“Better? I am not sure that Catherine would agree with you.” He smiled.

“Oh, a sister is as pleasing as a brother, to be sure, but I cannot help thinking a brother would have been more useful to my mother in her situation.”

“Though it gave Catherine the advantage of her own household, I am very sorry that her good fortune came at the expense of yours,” he replied gravely. “Your father and mother have always been held in high regard by my Uncle deCourcy. His good opinion is always rooted in temperance and moderation.”

“That makes his opinion more valuable than the sort of immoderate flattery that springs up everywhere.”

Reginald wondered if she was thinking of Charles Smith. “Do you not think that flattery has its motive?”

“And so does censure.”

“They are very different.”

“Their language is very different, but can one’s character not be equally misrepresented by excessive praise as by undeserved reproach?” she inquired.

Reginald smiled and fell into step with her as she completed her tour of the beds. Her conversation and opinions had elevated her even further in his esteem, and he began to think seriously of Catherine’s urging him to return to Parklands—until he addressed his parents frankly, and put an end to all expectations that he would marry his cousin Lavinia, he could not be at liberty to make his addresses to a lady of his own choosing. 

chapter thirty-seven

In most cases, a fortnight would be too soon for any spirited young man to fix upon a marriage partner unless he possessed the sort of reckless nature that would stake all future happiness upon an infatuation; yet while Reginald deCourcy possessed a warm and occasionally headstrong temperament, he was no more inclined to offer his heart because he had been warned against it than to bestow his hand because it was urged upon him. His feelings for Frederica Vernon had been helped along by her mother’s purposeful dissuasion and by his own compassion for her situation, but they might as easily have reversed if Miss Vernon had truly been ignorant, dull, or proud. Her beauty alone would not have secured him, but her accomplishments and her obliging manners bespoke a genuine superiority of mind, and her melancholy situation engaged his sympathy. While always attempting to be cheerful, particularly before the children, Miss Vernon must be unhappy, Reginald concluded. The loss of her father, her want of independence, the prospect of a union toward which she was disinclined, must make any sensitive young woman unhappy—and yet how could he object to her situation when he had allowed his family to anticipate his own marriage to Miss Hamilton? He had been very wrong to permit all of his family to presuppose a union that he knew would never take place.

Every day Catherine had made some mention of Parklands and how eager their parents were for a visit, but she had begun to despair of Reginald’s spending any time in Kent before he settled in town. She was very surprised, therefore, when he came down to breakfast one morning and made a startling announcement.

“Catherine, I mean to go to Kent this week. I will send James ahead with the hunters this morning and be off myself in two days’ time. As the journey must take me through London, if there is any commission that you, Charles, or any of the ladies would like for me to perform, have your petitions ready.”

Both Catherine and Charles were astonished and excessively pleased, though for very different reasons; she supposed that Reginald’s infatuation for Lady Vernon had run its course, while he was persuaded that Reginald meant to apply to his parents for their consent to marry her without delay.

Charles congratulated himself on the prospect of Lady Vernon’s marriage to his brother. As Reginald’s wife, she would be so rich and important that there would be no more musings and inquiries about why Sir Frederick had left her so poor. And yet he could not be entirely happy. Lady Vernon was so very lovely—much prettier than she had been when she first came to Churchill. Indeed, she was in such radiant good looks that she appeared almost young enough to be Miss Vernon’s sister, and Charles could not but reflect what his happiness would have been if she had chosen him over Frederick. Then, left in his present situation, with an income that would not support his indulgences, and already weary of the quiet, country style of living, he would at least have got a more charming partner out of the bargain. But no, she had brought nothing into her marriage with Sir Frederick, and she possessed nothing that he had not got his hands on but for a house in town.

Lady Vernon, who suspected Reginald’s motives, wished that he would remain at Churchill only a little longer. She did not doubt that Frederica had engaged his interest and sympathy; that he was in a fair way to being in love was evident, but Lady Vernon would have him firmly in love before he went away.

Catherine, for her part, was relieved that the affair that had given her so much anxiety was drawing to a happy conclusion. Her conviction that it had been her own influence with her brother that had affected his decision gave her such satisfaction that she was able to look upon his attentions toward Lady Vernon and her daughter as nothing more than polite indifference. 

chapter thirty-eight

Lady Vernon to Mrs. Johnson


             Churchill Manor

             My dear Alicia,

             This morning Reginald declared his intention to return to Parklands. I must anticipate that once in Kent, he must succumb to his parents’ wishes for his future. I am resigned. Even you, my dear friend, cannot flatter me into prosperity, and a jeune fille with thirty thousand must eclipse a widow who is some years Reginald’s senior and who has no more than a modest jointure and a house in town.


Lady Vernon was interrupted in her writing by the sound of a rapid footstep in the hallway.

Frederica burst into the room. “Forgive me, madam—our cousin has come! Mr. deCourcy and I saw his carriage turn down the avenue!”

“Surely you are mistaken!”

“He is this minute sitting in the drawing room! What are we to do? What will he think! He takes my cousin James for a suitor! Why did we not undeceive everybody? It was wrong, very wrong.”

“Your cousin was happy enough to encourage the gossip,” Lady Vernon replied in great exasperation. “It was only when his suit was cast as objectionable and unwanted that he began to mind it. How provoking! He means to do mischief, to be sure!”