The counterfeit attachme.., p.13
The Counterfeit Attachment, page 13
Her hair appeared particularly red in the light shining from the window and her striking blue eyes met his. The corners of her lips turned up in welcome and he flattered himself to think she was pleased to see him.
He had never known the pleasure that could be conferred by a pretty woman anxious for his company. Impatiently, he waited for the formalities to finish so they might speak privately. Upon exiting the house, Edmund turned to the ladies.
“I thought we might walk the short distance to the museum?”
Miss Radforde looked at Mrs. Aston who smiled and nodded. Was walking the key to Mrs. Aston’s good favor?
He offered his arm and Miss Radforde slipped her hand around his forearm. To all the world, they looked like a couple out for a stroll. They had only taken a few steps away from Mrs. Aston when Miss Radforde spoke lowly.
“You are doing it a little too brown, Mr. Glenhaven.”
“Pardon?”
“Your enthusiasm this morning was marked. I assure you, Mother and Penelope don’t require such a display.”
Edmund pinched his eyebrows together. He had not been thinking of their ruse; he had almost forgotten it in his eagerness to see her. But it was clearly in the forefront of her mind. Had her smiles all been for show?
His pleasure soured.
“You mustn’t frown like that either,” she said.
“Pray tell, what expressions am I allowed?”
Now she frowned. “Are you angry with me?”
Edmund was but he couldn’t properly say why. So he shook his head and tried to recapture his previous enthusiasm.
“Let us talk of something else,” he said. “Did you enjoy the ball?”
“It was a ball.” She shrugged as if no other explanation was needed.
“Did you dance?” Edmund couldn’t help being curious. Had she liked any of her partners?
“That is the stated purpose of a ball.”
“But not its true purpose.”
“Oh? And what is the true purpose of a ball?” she asked archly.
“To see and be seen, to share gossip, to judge ones neighbors, to assess potential marriage partners.” Edmund listed them off quickly. He had given a great deal of thought to the role of the ball in modern society.
“I saw and was seen, indulged in some minor gossip, and found no potential partner.”
The declaration made his step a little lighter.
“How was your breakfast in Soho Square?” she asked.
“It was a breakfast.” He flashed a smile at her. “I took your advice and looked beyond Sir Joseph. I was introduced to Mr. Robert Brown.”
“The botanist?” From her tone he knew she understood the significance of the acquaintance. “I have seen the results of his time in New Holland. He will be a great help in your planning. How did you meet? What was he like? Will he help you?”
Edmund loved her eager curiosity. He shared all that had transpired. She listened with what, he was coming to realize, was her characteristic attentiveness and asked several insightful questions. He was explaining the proposed route when she sighed wistfully.
Edmund paused. “What?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. It is just… you are fortunate to have such an adventure before you.”
“Fortune favors the bold and your advice made me bold. Without your assistance, I would still be hoping for Sir Joseph to notice me.”
Color rose to her cheeks and she ducked her head. Then she looked up and changed the subject.
“Ah, here we are.”
She was right; they had reached their destination.
The museum was housed in the old residence of the Duke of Montague and built in the French palace style. A twelve-foot wall separated the grounds from Russell Street and stopped at the large square tower that marked the edge of the courtyard. The entrance was under a pediment and small portico. It was a grand old edifice, but Edmund preferred the modern lines of Somerset House. The multiple chimneys pointing into the sky caught his particular attention.
He nudged her. “Shall we count the fireplaces?”
She tittered. The porter bowed to them as they walked through the gate and into the gardens of the courtyard. The day was mild and several people wandered about the even paths.
“What do you wish to see first?” he asked. “I am sure your book provided you with some direction.”
“I thought perhaps the bird collection on the upper floors. Mrs. Aston likes birds and I wanted to see the black swan and the picture of the dodo.”
“That sounds capital.”
They entered the building and made their way through the hall and to the staircase. Though the stairs were wide, she stayed beside him as they climbed. At the first landing, she paused to take in the painting on the ceiling. Edmund followed her gaze. What a curious mind she possessed and a unique ability to notice what others might ignore.
A half-naked Apollo with laurel leaves in his hair stood next to a youth who was gesturing toward two large white horses.
“It is Phaeton petitioning Apollo to drive his chariot,” Miss Radforde said.
“As I recall, it was a disastrous ride,” he replied.
“Yes, he froze the earth and then burned it before being killed by Zeus.”
“A tale to discourage hubris, I believe,” Mrs. Aston added.
“Or to explain what they did not understand,” Miss Radforde returned. “Ovid claimed Phaeton made Africa a desert with his poor driving.”
The young ladies continued to climb and discuss the meaning of the myth, leaving Edmund to trail behind.
His own circumstances made him sympathize with Phaeton. They both had an absent father and a monumental task. Was a young, ambitious man, eager to prove himself, capable of steering the chariot of knowledge? Would he fail just as spectacularly in his endeavor? Edmund feared he would be struck down and thrown from the halls of learned men for incompetence. But he wasn’t driving alone, surely with Mr. Brown’s help, he would succeed.
They strode through several rooms, paying little heed to the art, manuscripts, South Pacific curiosities, and collected shells. They paused in the room with the minerals and discussed soil types.
Edmund wished he had a notebook and pencil to record his thoughts. Miss Radforde had given him an idea on how to improve his soil collection method. Since the types of soil in the Rocky Mountains would have a great impact on the types of plants able to thrive there, accurate measurements were crucial to his success.
His mind was still occupied with rocks and minerals when they entered the room full of stuffed birds. Unlike the Pantherion, they were all carefully labeled and prosaically positioned. He paused beside Miss Radforde as she pulled out her notebook and began to sketch. Lost in his thoughts, he wasn’t sure how long they remained in companionable silence.
“Mr. Glenhaven, you are frowning again.”
Her whisper pulled him back like a diver rising to the water’s surface. The world around him clarified.
“Apologies, I was—”
“Lost in thought, I know.”
Her lips quirked and it was easy to replace his dour expression with a smile.
“What were you thinking of?” she asked.
“The expedition, soil samples, the skills my fellow travelers will need to make it a success,” he replied, trying to recount the paths where his mind had wandered.
“Have you an idea of who you would like to accompany you?” she asked.
“I have been so isolated in the countryside that I know of only a few likely candidates. I imagine my sponsors will tell me who I should take.”
She frowned as she closed her notebook.
“You think I should choose my own companions?”
“No. I was just thinking…” She glanced down at her notebook. “You will be discovering entirely new species and seeing new vistas, but I will be here.” She gestured vaguely at the room full of static birds.
He understood her wistfulness. He had felt it himself when listening to Kit recount his travels around the world. It was like he was waiting for his life to begin while others were living theirs.
“There is much to be explored here in England. You might make a complete study of some county or other,” he suggested.
“I might. Perhaps in a few years when I come of age and gain my independence,” she said with a note of defeat.
She ended the conversation by moving to a case with several bird nests.
Edmund watched her with his hands behind his back. She flipped to a new page in her notebook and began to write. It was a terrible shame for a mind like hers to be idle. She simply must find a project worthy of her intellect. Perhaps he could help her find something in London?
Mrs. Aston came up beside him. He offered her a smile, but she did not return it.
“What did you say to make her melancholy?”
“Nothing.”
She raised a skeptical brow. Edmund settled for something close to the truth.
“We were discussing her taking on some kind of scientific survey.”
Mrs. Aston nodded as if that explained everything. “You should not have dissuaded her. She is more than capable, and she enjoys such work.” Her tone was that of a disapproving teacher.
“I said nothing against it. Indeed, I encouraged her. She has a rare eye for detail.”
This seemed to catch the companion off guard. She glanced at Miss Radforde, who was staring carefully at the nests, then looked back to him.
“You would want your wife to have such a pastime?”
The question was a bit forward, but he answered. “If she wished, I would buy her all the paint and paper she could use and even arrange the travel.”
Mrs. Aston hummed but he could not tell if she was satisfied with his answer. Though the companion made him uncomfortable, Edmund was glad Miss Radforde had such a champion. Would she ask other suitors the same question? What would they say?
The idea that Miss Radforde might marry a man that did not appreciate and encourage her talents was unwelcome. She did not belong presiding over house parties and balls. No doubt she agreed, no doubt that was why she wished to remain unmarried. If she was an independent spinster, she would not need a husband’s support or permission.
The strange pressure on Edmund’s heart eased as he imagined Miss Radforde in her own establishment surrounded by her friends and spending her days tramping through the countryside drawing its wonders.
When he returned from his journey, they would discuss their findings. Indeed if she was a spinster, they might spend many afternoons together. They might even….
His thoughts stuttered and came to a halt. A realization hit him like a fall from a tree. She was pretty and kind, curious and insightful. He esteemed her above all other women of his acquaintance. Though he did not think he loved her, the evidence led to an obvious conclusion.
She would make him an excellent wife.
What an inconvenient thought!
The lady had no interest in marriage, and he was in no position to take on a wife. He was leaving for America. Trying to court her now would be foolish. All thoughts of marriage must wait until his triumphant return.
When he had gained respect and renown, he might approach her. Then he wouldn’t be a mere country parson or an overlooked third son. He might even be a baronet, if he gained a title, as Sir Joseph had from his discoveries. Then she might consider him worthy of more than a pretend courtship.
But when he returned from America, there was no guarantee that Miss Radforde would still be a miss. There were many years of hard work before him. Could a woman so wonderful, so sought after, truly remain single?
Perhaps it would be better to approach the subject before his departure. But any pursuit would be futile, for Mrs. Radforde thought her daughter could reach higher and Miss Radforde did not want a husband.
He must reconcile himself to the truth.
Miss Radforde had asked for his help in eluding suitors. He could not betray her trust by becoming one of them. He had agreed to pretend with her, not pursue her.
Fifteen
Charity looked out on the residences of Mayfair and tried not to frown. The entire point of her arrangement with Mr. Glenhaven was to avoid insipid outings like riding about Hyde Park, so why had he decided to take her there?
If they had been alone in the carriage, Charity would have asked him to explain his reasons. She glanced at Penelope sitting across from her on the seat. Why had Mr. Glenhaven been so keen for her to accompany them?
They were in an open carriage; it was not necessary to bring a chaperone to the park. Mother had broadly hinted that Penelope could be left at home, but Glenhaven had specifically included her.
Something had changed in Penelope’s attitude toward Mr. Glenhaven since their visit to the British Museum. Instead of being the stoic shadow, she was smiling and talking with him. He seemed equally engaged by her conversation.
Did he prefer her? All the young men in Bath had always favored her pleasing figure and charming manner. Charity had never minded that she was considered the lesser because it kept her from dull conversations. But conversations with Mr. Glenhaven were not dull.
Although his current conversation with Penelope was not particularly interesting. They were discussing their families, precisely the kind of topic that Charity never engaged in—she cared more about a man’s opinion on von Humboldt than the ages of his siblings.
“Is not that exciting, Charity?” Penelope asked.
“Yes, very exciting,” she said, hoping to conceal her ignorance of the actual question.
“What in particular excites you about it?” Mr. Glenhaven pressed, a spark in his eye.
Charity lifted her chin and matched his gaze. “Oh, I think all of it is quite thrilling.”
His lips quirked and her ears grew hot. It was clear he knew she had stopped paying attention.
“I did not know you enjoyed driving in the park.” Charity changed the subject.
“I confess I do not enjoy it, but fortunately a drive is only a small part of today’s activities.”
“Oh?” Charity sat up straighter and glanced at Penelope. Her companion’s smile drooped into a frown.
“Mr. Glenhaven, you told Mrs. Radforde that we were driving in the park,” Penelope said primly.
“And so we shall. We will enter at Chesterfield Gate and exit at Hyde Park Corner.”
Charity smiled. That route only took in a tiny section of the park.
“Where are we really going?” she asked.
He grinned like a kid about to open a present. “The London Botanic Garden.”
“Truly?” She leaned toward him, her entire body alive with excitement at the prospect of exploring the botanic garden.
“Mr. Glenhaven, I must protest,” Penelope said. “This was not the agreed destination.”
While Charity knew Penelope was right to object to the subterfuge, she hoped she would not insist they do nothing but ride about the park.
“Mrs. Aston, I did not mean to cause alarm, only surprise.” He smiled broadly at Charity and it warmed her to her toes. His attention to her pleasure was gratifying.
“Surely there is nothing wrong with visiting a garden in addition to riding in the park,” Charity said and turned to her friend with pleading eyes.
Penelope’s lips became a thin line and Charity was sure she would deny the detour, but instead she sighed and nodded.
“I suppose there can be no real harm.”
Charity barely restrained herself from clapping in excitement, but she was not able to restrain her smile. She looked out on the streets with more pleasure than before.
The short journey to Hyde Park was easily borne and Charity grinned at everyone they passed. Observers likely thought her excessively pleased with her company and their supposition would not be entirely incorrect.
When they exited at Hyde Park Corner, they slowed to let a small column of foot soldiers pass on their way to the barracks. The yeasty smell of ale filled the air and Charity furrowed her brow.
“There is a brewery nearby,” Mr. Glenhaven answered her unasked question and pointed to a building on the right.
Immediately after the brewery, they turned down Sloane Street and in a few moments the botanic garden came into view. It was a long garden enclosed by an iron railing that paralleled the road.
As they drove beside it, Charity looked inside at the neatly laid out beds. She nearly bounced in her seat with excitement at the sight of the glass conservatory, hothouses, and cottage forming a square in the center.
Mr. Glenhaven explained that the garden was expressly designed to foster the science of botany and horticulture. There were lectures in the library on Monday and Thursday. On the advice of Mr. Brown, he had become a subscribing member.
When they reached the gate, they only waited a moment before the porter emerged and opened it and waved them through. The carriage came to a stop before the library, a cottage-style building that seemed at home with the abundance of plants.
Charity could hardly wait to be assisted out of the carriage. She beamed down at Mr. Glenhaven as he offered his hand. When she was on the ground beside him, he did not immediately let go.
“You are pleased with the surprise?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“And will you countenance another?”
She nodded. What other surprise did he have planned? He turned to assist Penelope from the carriage. Charity, too impatient to wait, took a few steps toward the ornamental shrubs. But before she could draw close enough to examine them, Mr. Glenhaven called to her.
“Miss Radforde, are you ready?”
She turned and crossed the few steps to them. She was reaching for his arm almost before he offered it. They walked in companionable silence. He did not interrupt her observations, allowing her to drink in the plants without commentary.
They came across two older women sitting before a plant, two umbrellas shading them from the climbing sun. The shorter and thinner one was sketching the plant while the plumper one read a book. The reader glanced up and briefly acknowledged them.
