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“But that ‘ideal’ of womanhood is not what men fall in love with. It is not what he saw in Céline.”

“Yet she has grown in her devotion to God since meeting Rees.
We have gotten to know each other better now that I live here, and she has told me how her faith has deepened, especially when she and Rees were forced to part and she thought never to see him again.”

“I scarcely know her but can find no fault in her,” Jessamine was forced to concede.

Megan took her hand in hers. “And you will grow to see that even more and come to care for her as I do. As for that ‘type’ of woman men don’t fall in love with, do not be so sure. Mr. St. Leger certainly seems attracted to you, even if he doesn’t see you the way Rees did.”

“What do you mean?”

Megan seemed to consider before she replied. “I mean I think Rees saw your worthiness to be a good wife. I-I’m not sure that is what Mr. St. Leger sees.”

Jessamine mulled on her words. “If Mr. St. Leger sees me as a beautiful and desirable woman, I prefer that,” she said at last.

Megan’s gray eyes seemed troubled. ”I think Mr. Marfleet does see and appreciate those good qualities in you, but he is not hampered by all the constraints Rees suffered under.”

“I think Mr. Marfleet sees nothing but things to reproach in me.” Jessamine shook her head. She squared her shoulders. “Besides, if I am ever interested in falling in love again—which I am not—the man must see me with all my faults and sweep me off my feet and lose all his reason because of his overwhelming passion for me.”

“He must be an extraordinary man indeed!”

They both fell back on the bed laughing.

As she lay on her back and stared at the ceiling, she thought of the heady way Mr. St. Leger made her feel when he’d held her in the waltz.

“I believe we left unfinished what we
began.”
She shivered. When would he seek to finish that kiss?

14

J
essamine and Megan entered the imposing doors of the Royal Institute a few afternoons later. They followed the crowd that had gathered on the pavement outside.

Jessamine remembered their first sight of the Institute so many weeks ago. She had avoided this street and nearby Grafton Street since that embarrassing day when Mr. Marfleet had caught them lurking outside his residence.

How silly and naïve she had been then. In the ensuing weeks of parties, balls, and theatrical events, she felt she had changed much from that brokenhearted girl who’d run to London to begin a new life.

“Your father would enjoy seeing the inside of this place,” Megan whispered at her side.

“Indeed,” she whispered back then wondered why she was whispering. There was a growing drone of voices around them as more people filled the vast marble entryway.

They continued following the crowd until they entered a semicircular theater with a lectern down at the center.

“To think we know someone who belongs to this august scientific body,” Megan said once they were settled in their seats. They
were about halfway up since the best seats had already been taken by those arriving ahead of them.

“Yes . . .” She felt awed by her surroundings and was trying to reconcile her image of the slightly stammering, slightly clumsy man she knew as a missionary and clergyman, with the image of a respected man of science. The comparison shouldn’t have been so difficult since her own father had a similar dual role. But her father was a simple country parson with no claim to scientific renown, content to putter in obscurity in his greenhouse and gardens.

A quarter of an hour later, a gray-haired gentleman, his powdered hair in an old-fashioned queue, was pushed to the stage in a wheelchair. He introduced himself as Joseph Banks.

Jessamine turned to Megan. The eminent naturalist Sir Banks was introducing Mr. Marfleet? As she listened to his liberal praise, calling Mr. Marfleet one of his most promising protégés, entrusted by him as one of his emissaries sailing the globe and collecting plant species wherever they went, her amazement grew. He boasted that Mr. Marfleet was one of their youngest members, having been invited to become a fellow at the age of twenty-three for his contributions in Linnaean taxonomy while at Cambridge.

Amidst applause, Mr. Marfleet stepped up to the platform. Even from where she sat, Jessamine could see that his color was high and his gaze lowered as if he were uncomfortable with the praise.

Several plants were arrayed on the stage near him. He began his discourse with a self-deprecating remark in response to all the accolades given him by Sir Banks.

Then his tone grew serious, and he began to talk of his travels in India.

Jessamine became enthralled as he described his introduction to the fauna and flora of the Indian subcontinent from the first stops his ship had made on the western Malabar coast to his longer sojourns in the eastern regions of Madras and Orissa, until his final destination in the province of Bengal.

“From the hot, humid climate of the southern regions to the snow-capped heights of the Himalayas, it is a land of incredible variety in its plant life. I feel I have only glimpsed a mere fraction of this land . . .”

His descriptions conjured up for Jessamine an atlas of exotic and mysterious plants and animals and geographic marvels.

Then he went into more specific detail on the plants he’d seen, from familiar roses and marigolds to wholly unknown specimens. He held up various illustrations of these plants which he explained would be used in a book he was currently working on for publication.

Jessamine had worn her spectacles, yet she strained to make out the detail of the watercolors. How she wished she could see them up close, especially when he had spoken so highly of his sister’s talent.

When the lecture was over, there was resounding applause, to which she and Megan joined in wholeheartedly. Jessamine’s estimation of Mr. Marfleet had risen. She could almost forgive him his red hair and officiousness. Except for the very beginning when he seemed embarrassed by Sir Banks’s praise, he had shown no hesitancy nor diffidence once he’d begun speaking on his subject. He’d appeared knowledgeable and authoritative in a quiet way.

It made Jessamine wonder what he was like delivering a sermon. He seemed to have the same quiet authority her father had in the pulpit. She’d heard more fiery sermons which had moved her, but her father’s quieter delivery never failed to convict or encourage her.

But she was not interested in someone who reminded her of her father, she reminded herself. Or of Rees. Mr. Marfleet’s reserve reminded her too forcibly of Rees. Like him, Mr. Marfleet was a dutiful son, looking for a wife because it was what he was expected to do at that point in his life. What better helpmate for a vicar than a vicar’s daughter?

She got up with a decisive swish of her skirts and followed Megan. When Megan began to turn down toward the platform,
Jessamine tugged on the sleeve of her spencer. “Perhaps we should leave. He looks much too busy to attend to us now.”

“But I’d like to see the specimens and watercolors up close.”

Jessamine bit her lip, eyeing the crowds ahead of them. “It may be a long wait.”

“I don’t mind if you don’t.”

“Very well.”

The line of people moved slowly downward since most of the audience seemed inclined to do the same. When they finally reached the bottom, they had to wait still longer before drawing close enough to the watercolors and plants to see them.

Jessamine blinked at the sight of Miss Marfleet in back of the long exhibition table. When she saw them, she smiled. “You came then.”

Jessamine smiled and nodded, becoming accustomed to her abrupt manner.

“Yes, and so glad we did,” Megan answered at once. “How fascinating it all sounds. It makes me want to join the missionary society and take the next boat to India.”

“It does sound like a fabulous adventure until you hear how many of those who have gone out have perished from various illnesses they contract there,” Miss Marfleet said. “The natives seem to survive them, but the Europeans rarely do. Perhaps it has something to do with being accustomed since birth to these sicknesses.”

They both sobered, remembering that her brother had been quite ill. “Mr. Marfleet contracted one of these, did he not?” Jessamine ventured.

“He nearly died but was too stubborn to return home until forced to by the missionary society. When he first arrived, he looked like a wraith.” Miss Marfleet shuddered. “Even if he were inclined to go back on the mission field, it would kill my mother to risk losing him again. For now, Father has forbidden it, though Lancelot hasn’t expressed any desire to go against our father’s wishes.”

Jessamine examined a pretty watercolor of a pink flower labeled as an orchid. “Has he expressed what he wishes to do now that he is back?”

“No, he is quite reticent of his plans,” Miss Marfleet said with a short laugh. “He has always been so to us. Perhaps he confides more to those clergy friends of his he went to school with.”

He sounded more and more like Rees, Jessamine concluded. She said no more, moving to the next watercolor. “These are very pretty. Did you really paint them all?”

Miss Marfleet only gave a curt nod of her head.

“You are very talented,” Megan put in. “Did I hear correctly that they are to be published in a book?”

Miss Marfleet shrugged. “It is what Lancelot hopes. I think he may be successful. He is very close with Dr. Banks and others of the Royal Society. Do you know of him?”

Megan shook her head, but Jessamine nodded. “My father admires him greatly. We have read of his travels with Captain Cook.”

“You assist your father in his work?”

Jessamine colored. “A little. Mine is much more an amateur love of flowers.”

“That is what botany is in its simplest form—a love for all plants.”

They continued looking at the plants and watercolors. Miss Marfleet became busy answering other people’s questions.

They had waited perhaps a half hour when at last the crowd thinned and Mr. Marfleet was able to join them. He had been unable to approach them sooner, surrounded as he was by a group of men eager to discuss his talk.

“I do apologize for keeping you waiting so long. I’m glad to see you still here.” He smiled at Megan and her, though his gaze lingered on Jessamine. “You exhibit an awful amount of patience.”

“Nonsense,” Megan said. “We wanted to see all these beautiful watercolors and plants, so the time has gone by quickly.”

“We didn’t wish to disturb you, however. We could have seen you on another occasion,” Jessamine hastened to add.

“No, no, you are not disturbing me at all. I wanted to see you . . . as I said, so that we could discuss our . . . outing to Kew Gardens.” His words grew more hesitant as he continued.

Megan clapped her hands. “An outing to Kew. How lovely!”

“Yes, didn’t Miss Barry tell you?”

Jessamine flushed. “It slipped my mind.” She’d been reluctant to mention it to Megan, not wanting her friend to read more into the outing than it merited.

Miss Marfleet spoke up from her position behind the table. “I suggested you make it a picnic.”

“Oh, even better,” Megan said, a sparkle in her eyes. “Would you mind very much if I invited someone along?”

Mr. Marfleet shook his head. “Not at all. And Delawney, you are welcome as well.”

Miss Marfleet waved away the suggestion. “I am too busy, dear brother. This is your outing. Enjoy it with your friends.”

Jessamine turned to Megan. “Did you wish to invite—”

Before she could finish Megan nodded. “Captain Forrester, if no one minds, and if he wishes to come.”

“Not at all, although I am not acquainted with him,” Mr. Marfleet said at once.

“He is a most charming gentleman. My brother and he knew each other aboard ship several years ago, so it is like finding a long-lost brother.”

“Well, not quite a brother,” Jessamine said softly.

Megan blushed and smiled. “No, not quite a brother.”

Mr. Marfleet rubbed his hands together and smiled, making his lean, bony face almost attractive. “Well, it’s settled then. Is the day after tomorrow too soon, if the weather is nice? That gives me time to ask our cook to prepare a picnic for us.”

“That would be perfect. I can in the meantime ask Captain Forrester.”

Mr. Marfleet’s gaze turned to Jessamine as if awaiting her confirmation. “Perfect,” she echoed.

They arranged to go in Céline’s barouche, which comfortably sat four and was open, allowing them to enjoy the ten-mile drive out toward Richmond. They collected Mr. Marfleet, who brought a large picnic hamper with him, then drove down to Captain Forrester’s lodgings near the Admiralty.

Then they left the congested streets of London and traveled the turnpike road west past Hyde Park and Kensington.

Jessamine breathed in deeply of the fresh air of the cultivated fields and walled nursery grounds edging the road. The only disturbances occurred when they were forced to pull to the side to allow the stagecoach or mail coach to pass at their greater speed.

Captain Forrester and Megan kept up a lively conversation during the first part of the journey. She told the captain about the lecture they had both attended.

Captain Forrester grinned ruefully. “I should know more about exotic plants since I have seen so many on my travels and tasted of many wonderful fruits, particularly in the West Indies, but I confess I learned very little about them.”

“It’s thanks to Sir Banks, the president of the Royal Institute, that our knowledge has increased so much in recent decades,” Mr. Marfleet said. “It’s he who has commissioned so many of the samples brought back from ocean voyages.”

“Indeed?”

“During your time in the West Indies, you doubtless tasted of some of the fruit that originated in the Pacific, which Sir Banks had taken there to cultivate for food—the breadfruit, the mango, and spices such as cloves and nutmeg.”

“Yes, though I didn’t realize they originated in the Pacific.”
Captain Forrester shook his head. “They are quite prolific in Jamaica—at least the breadfruit and mango. I shall endeavor to improve my education at the botanical gardens of Kew.” He turned to Megan, who sat beside him, with a smile. “I hope you remember all that our learned friend here had to say to you the other day.”