Stolen Love (9 page)

"Why, this is simply too lovely!" Amelia said. She halted before a brilliant pink flower.

"
Cattelya skinneri
, "Nicholas said. "This particular plant is doing so well, I have become quite fond of it."

"
I
have a dress exactly this color."

He smiled. "If you tell me when you will next wear the dress, Miss Willard, I'll send some for your hair. They would look splendid."

"I would not dream of wearing a flower such as this in my hair," she replied, flashing him a brilliant smile. "I should wear it next to my heart."

"Mrs. Willard?" Nicholas asked, turning around. "Is there a flower you admire?"

"I believe this one." Mrs. Willard indicated a flower similar in color to the one Amelia had admired.

"Like mother, like daughter. Shall I cut some for you now?"

"Oh, yes!"

Nicholas returned after retrieving his clippers, and after cutting several blossoms for Mrs. Willard and Amelia and handing them over with a small bow, he looked around for Elizabeth. He was anxious to know what she thought of his gentleman's habit. She had wandered farther down the aisle while he was busy with Amelia and Mrs. Willard and was examining the plants.

"Shall I cut you something?" he asked quietly when he reached the spot where she stood.

"I don't believe I could choose, Nicholas." She looked around. "I would want to take them all!" She was wearing the green silk again, and he could not take his eyes off the point where she had fastened a cameo. He thought of Paris again and found himself wondering how her hair might feel in his fingers. "They're all so beautiful," she said.

"May I choose some for you?" he finally asked.

"Yes, please do."

In a moment he was back with a spray of small white flowers. He handed them to her. "These, I think, ought to suit. Simple, but elegant."

She took them from him and bent her head to breathe in the sent. "They smell heavenly!"

He thrust his hands into the pockets of his coat and walked alongside her when she started down the aisle.

"What is the matter with this one?" She stopped before two plants that did not have so much as a single blossom.

"Elizabeth," Nicholas said with a sigh, "you have spotted the rarest plants in this room. This is
Vanda cerulea
. The blue orchid."

"Blue," she repeated softly. "It must be very beautiful."

"No one has ever seen it flower. Not in this country, anyway."

"It's difficult to grow, then?"

"Not if one knows the tricks, I imagine. The trouble is, no one seems to know them."

"Perhaps it doesn't like the climate in here." She shrugged.

"Orchids require such a climate."

"It seems to me, Nicholas," she said, looking fixedly at the two plants, "that since you've got two, you might try to experiment with different conditions."

"It took a fortune to acquire even one of these, let alone two!"

"Still, they both look poorly, do they not?"

"Perhaps this is how they ought to look."

"And perhaps not." She smiled at him. It was the familiar turning up of one side of her mouth that he had not realized he had missed quite so much. It felt good to see it again after so long. His little Elizabeth.

"Do you think you might succeed where every man in England has failed, Elizabeth?"

"I don't see why not." Her eyebrows rose in indignation. That, too, was a familiar expression.

"Just as stubborn as ever, I see."

"Am I stubborn because common sense tells me I might be right?"

"We shall see about that, little Miss Elizabeth!" He excused himself and in a moment was back with a pot and small trowel. She stood close by him, watching with some puzzlement as he carefully uprooted one of the blue orchids. He placed it in the pot and, turning, presented it to her.

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise this time. "Surely you don't mean for me to have this!"

"I propose an experiment. I shall turn over custody of this plant to you, which you are to treat in whatever manner your common sense dictates. The remaining one is to stay here, in my care. But, I warn you, there shall be dire consequences if you kill it."

"And if I don't?" She looked directly into his eyes, and for a moment he was caught in their depths, unable to answer her.

At last he spoke. "If, during the time you remain in London, you succeed in coaxing it into flowering, you will have half of any money resulting therefrom."

"But none of the credit?" Again that lifting of the corner of her mouth.

"Half the credit as well," he agreed. "But I reserve the right to take the plant away from you if I think it necessary."

"All right, Nicholas." She reached for the pot. "We'll just see who's right."

"Allow me to carry it for you," he said, holding the pot out of her reach. He was amused to see the color rising to her cheeks. "If you do have questions or need any advice, you must not hesitate to ask. I shall be positively inconsolable if it dies."

"Beth! Dear, come here and show us your flower." Mrs. Willard motioned to her from the end of the aisle.

Nicholas followed her, and when Elizabeth reached her aunt, he heard her say in a low voice, "You mustn't monopolize the conversation like that, Beth." She got a firm grip on Elizabeth's arm and did not relinquish it until they were saying their good-byes. The blue orchid had been consigned to the Willards' coachman for safekeeping, and as Nicholas was seeing them out, he left Amelia to approach Elizabeth.

He startled her by asking abruptly, "Did Monsieur Rousseau interest you? I only ask," he continued, 'because earlier you seemed so curious about the book."

"I apologize for that, Nicholas."

"There's nothing to apologize for. I'll send it on to you when I've finished."

"Thank you."

"Just remember, Elizabeth," he said as he waved off the coachman to hand up Elizabeth himself, "I shall pine away if you kill my orchid!"

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N
icholas was driving down Great Portland Street on his way to Cambridge Terrace after spending an afternoon visiting at Fitzroy Square when he thought he saw a familiar head of chestnut hair in the crowd on the sidewalk. He directed his driver to move to the side of the street, and when he was certain of the woman's identity, he called out: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth Willard! It is you," he cried when she turned her head. He signaled for the carriage to stop, then jumped out.

"Nicholas!" She came to a halt. "Good afternoon." She handed the package she held to Miss Lincoln and extended her hand.

"This is an unexpected pleasure," he said when he stood next to her on the walk. "Where are you headed on such a lovely afternoon?" He took off his hat.

"Home. And yourself?"

"I admit, I was sitting in that contraption"—he motioned to the carriage—"gathering wool. It, too, is a gentleman's occupation, or so I am told." He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.

"Will you walk with me, Nicholas?" she said after a pause.

He grinned at her. "I'd be delighted to."

"I'm sure Aunt Mary and Amelia, especially, would love to have you stay to tea," she added.

"It's kind of you to ask me." Nicholas fell into step with her, walking nearest the street. He signaled for his driver to follow them.

"How are your aunt and uncle?" she asked him.

"Quite well. I've just come from Fitzroy Square, as a matter of fact."

"I'd almost forgotten how much I missed your aunt, 'til we came to London. She was always kind to me, even though I was bothersome whenever we visited."

"You weren't bothersome, only exuberant."

"Oh, but I was. You need only ask her about that. I was always trying to help, and she let me, though I daresay I must have been more a hindrance than anything else. I always told myself that when I grew up I wanted to be just like her."

"Did you, now?"

"Yes."

They walked in silence for a few moments. He could still see the little girl he used to hold on his lap. She was older, of course, but not so very much. She had stayed innocent, and he had not. For some reason the burden of his guilt did not seem so heavy when he could see Elizabeth virtually unchanged. He hoped she never did change, for if she could be corrupted, what hope was there for him? "If I had known I would meet you, I would have brought the Rousseau with me," he said.

"Perhaps you will bring it another time." She shrugged. "Only if you do, don't tell Aunt Mary."

"Why not?"

"She thinks reading is a ruinous habit for a young lady." She did a fair imitation of her aunt's tone.

"I thought she only objected to the reading of novels."

"That too. But she's convinced I read entirely too much."

"Don't ever change just because someone thinks you should."

"I cannot help liking to read."

He briefly put an arm around her shoulders. "Will you promise me you'll never change, Elizabeth?" He could faintly smell the scent of violets in her hair.

"I can't promise that." She frowned at him.

"Yes, you can," he insisted. "You shouldn't listen to your aunt, Elizabeth. Promise me you'll always be yourself."

Her eyes opened a little wider. "That I can promise. But, Nicholas, it's your fault if Aunt Mary does not like me the way I am."

"My fault?"

"Of course. You've always encouraged me to think for myself." She looked down to gently shake a wrinkle from her skirt. "It's only your opinion that ever mattered to me," she said softly.

"I'm flattered."

"You should be, Nicholas!"

He did not return her smile. "Always be my sweet little Elizabeth," he said in a low voice.

They had reached Tavistock Square, and Elizabeth paused at the door. She put a hand on his arm. "I'll always be Elizabeth," she said. "But it is unfair of you to ask me not to change when you have changed so much."

"I wish I had not," he said.

She reached to touch his cheek. "Sometimes I think you aren't the same person at all, Nicholas. Sometimes I think you're a stranger."

"Don't give up on me."

"Give up on you? Never. You are my friend. Nothing can change that."

"Is it true?" he asked, grasping her hand.

"Of course."

He raised her hand and, though he knew it was improper, pressed his lips to the tips of her fingers. When he looked up she was staring at him, a blush rising to her cheeks. "It means everything to me, to hear you say that, Elizabeth." The sound of Miss Lincoln clearing her throat behind him brought him to his senses, and quickly let go of her hand.

"Will you come to tea?"

"It would be a pleasure," he said.

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W
hen the morning post arrived at Tavistock Square, Amelia and Elizabeth had already gone out for the early ride that was now a habit with them. Mr. Willard was gone for the day, and Mrs. Willard was alone in the sitting room. There were only three letters. One was from Mrs. Willard's sister in Exeter and one for her husband from someone she'd never heard of. The last was a letter bearing the insignia of Sir Jaspar Charles, Bart. She knew instantly only the third letter was important. Correspondence of any sort from a man of Sir Jaspar's stature was a triumph, even though he was already married.

It was an invitation, accompanied by a charming note from Lady Charles herself, expressing her wish that the Willards come to her party—she did so want them, especially her lovely daughter and niece, to meet the countess and earl of Lewesfield. She hoped they were not already engaged for the afternoon in question.

Mrs. Willard somehow managed to sit quietly until the girls came back.

"Hurry and get changed, my dear," she cried, jumping up and rushing into the hall when she heard Amelia and Elizabeth come in.

"What is it, Mother?" Both girls stopped on the stairs and stood looking at her.

"We are going out, so hurry along."

"But, why? What's happened?" Amelia asked.

"Why?" Mrs. Willard repeated. "Because we've an invitation to see Sir Jaspar Charles's painting on Wednesday. Lady Charles herself has written to me that Lord and Lady Lewesfield will be there and that she is anxious for us to make their acquaintance. Now, hurry along." Mrs. Willard gestured for Amelia to do as she said. "Lord Lewesfield!" she exclaimed half to herself.

"Ah! Amelia, you must make haste. You must have clothes fit for an earl to see you in," Elizabeth murmured.

"You know, Beth," Amelia said as they walked down the hallway to their rooms, "you oughtn't to take this lightly. You act as though you don't care that we are to meet Lord Lewesfield."

"Of course I care, Amelia."

"Well, it doesn't seem as if you do. Why, Mr. Nicholas Villines tells me Lord Lewesfield is simply immensely rich."

"When did he say that?"

"Well, really! Mr. Villines may be the shining light of your life, Beth, but he does not spend all his time thinking about you, I can assure you of that. He and I talk quite a lot, you know."

"Yes, Amelia, I imagine you do." She said nothing more until she reached her room. "I imagine you do," she repeated to herself as she closed the door.

When the Willards arrived at Sir Jaspar's house in Mayfair, they made their way through the crowd to where Lady Charles was standing with another woman of about fifty years of age.

"Mrs. Willard, good afternoon. Allow me to say, Miss Willard," Lady Charles said to Amelia, "that you look lovely. And Miss Elizabeth." She took Elizabeth's hand and pressed it warmly. "Good afternoon to you as well, my dear. Lady Lewesfield, this is the charming family I was telling you about."

Lady Lewesfield fixed her gaze on them and nodded. "It is a pleasure," she said. "Are you enjoying London?" She seemed most taken by Amelia, so it was Amelia who answered.

"Oh, Lady Lewesfield! It is simply too wonderful."

"Well, now, you are a pretty girl."

Amelia dimpled and was about to say something when both Beaufort Latchley and Ripton Rutherford arrived to greet Lady Charles and the countess.