The counterfeit attachme.., p.21
The Counterfeit Attachment, page 21
Did Mrs. Radforde truly object to him on the basis of their similarities? Or was it merely an excuse to reject his attentions? If the mother was so set against him, how could he convince the daughter to accept his suit?
Mr. Bauer continued the tour by heading west along the path towards the botanic gardens that were generally open to the public. Mrs. Radforde took her daughter’s arm and walked with their guide, leaving Edmund to offer his arm to Mrs. Aston.
In the months since their first meeting, the young chaperone had opened up more, but she still preferred to listen or stay in the background. Edmund thought she had warmed to him, at least she frowned at him less now.
“How did you find the Orangery?” he asked for want of anything else to say.
“I can’t pretend to enjoy it as much as Charity, but it was all very interesting.”
“That is gratifying to hear.”
“It was kind of you to distract Mrs. Radforde.”
“I fear it did not raise me in her estimation.”
“She is a woman of set opinions.”
“Is there no way for me to get into her good graces?” Edmund asked.
Mrs. Aston considered before answering. The path crunched beneath their feet, fragments of Mr. Bauer’s commentary reached them, and Edmund began to despair of an answer.
“Like most mothers, Mrs. Radforde wishes for her daughter’s secure and happy marriage,” Mrs. Aston said. “She has very firm notions on who would be the best match, but I believe her mind would change if Charity was in receipt of an earnest proposal.”
Edmund felt warmth creep up his cheeks. Miss Radforde had often spoken of Mrs. Aston as the boldest of her friends, but he had never had occasion to witness it. He liked her better when she was silently judging him. From her smile, it seemed she was enjoying his discomfort.
“I—” His voice came out too high. He discreetly cleared his throat. “I thank you, for speaking so plainly.”
They fell into silence as Edmund contemplated her advice. He had wished only to earnestly court Miss Radforde. It was a little soon to speak of marriage. Of course, Mrs. Aston wouldn’t understand his reticence; she thought they had been courting for weeks.
When they reached the beds of exotics, Edmund struggled to listen to Mr. Bauer’s words. They approached a long glass house. It was not as impressive or well-built as the Orangery but appeared just as full of plants.
“This was purpose built for the reception of African plants,” Mr. Bauer said. He gestured to the door.
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly go into another hot house,” Mrs. Radforde said.
“We can certainly skip the Africa house,” Mr. Bauer replied as he looked to the others for their opinion.
“I can stay with Mrs. Radforde,” Edmund offered. He did not wish Miss Radforde to miss anything on account of her mother.
Mrs. Radforde looked as if she might argue, but Mrs. Aston spoke first.
“Mr. Bauer, is that the aviary I see?” She gestured to the small white cupola peeking above the trees.
“It is indeed.”
“I would greatly enjoy seeing it. Perhaps Mrs. Radforde and I might explore it while you are in the hot house?”
Though she had asked Mr. Bauer the question, Mrs. Aston looked to Mrs. Radforde for approval. Some mothers might object to the arrangement, thinking Mr. Bauer not a fit chaperone despite his age and position.
“Yes, I would like to see the aviary,” Mrs. Radforde said.
“Of course, madam. We shall join you when we are done.” He proceeded to give brief, precise directions. As the two ladies moved down the path, Mr. Bauer turned to his remaining guests. “Shall we?”
Edmund shared a smile with Miss Radforde. Now she could speak freely, ask questions, and sketch at her leisure. Now she would be the woman he knew best. They entered the warmth of the hot house and began their inspection of the plants.
“The majority of these were gathered by Mr. Masson during his three years in the Cape Colony,” Mr. Bauer explained. “He sent back hundreds of new species. It is the work of a lifetime to catalogue them all properly.”
“A work you are most adept at,” Miss Radforde said. “I have always admired your illustrations.”
“Thank you,” Mr. Bauer said. “I find making them much easier here where I can examine the specimen at length and apply the paint while the subject is before me. I suspect you understand the difficulty of capturing a subject when you have only your sketches and notes to rely upon.”
The two fell into a conversation about sketching, note taking, and color choices. Edmund joined the conversation when it turned to Mr. Bauer’s use of microscopes. He had acquired a few microscopes for the expedition and wished to learn of his methods. As he peppered Mr. Bauer with questions, Miss Radforde wandered away with her sketchbook.
“Have you acquired a botanic illustrator for your trip?” Mr. Bauer asked.
“Mr. Brown has suggested a few, but I have yet to decide upon one. I would be happy to accept any advice.”
“Have you heard of Lady Barrow?”
Edmund raised his eyebrows. The name was familiar; the Barrows were friends of his father. “You cannot mean the wife of the second secretary to the Admiralty? I do not think she will be available for the journey.”
“No, I daresay she will not, but were you aware she worked with her husband to catalogue the plants and animals of the Cape Colony?”
“Really?”
“It is a fine thing to do such work with a person you love and respect. And in truth, I find women are more naturally skilled at botanic illustration. Tell me, has Miss Radforde any formal training as a botanic artist?”
“Briefly, while she was at school in Bath.”
Edmund’s mind was filled with the implications of Mr. Bauer’s words. Did they not mirror his earlier wishes to have her by his side? It seemed he wasn’t the only one who thought they would make a good team.
“Let us ask her directly.” Mr. Bauer strode down the aisle of plants to where Miss Radforde stood sketching. “Might I see?” he asked when he reached her.
Miss Radforde glanced at her sketchbook nervously before handing it over. Though not an artist himself, Edmund thought her work remarkably good. She had an eye for detail and the ability to render them precisely even in quick sketches.
Mr. Bauer hummed as he looked at the drawings. “Do you create color versions at home?”
“Yes.”
“And what training have you recieved?”
Miss Radforde glanced at Edmund and he smiled encouragingly.
“I have studied the illustrations in Curtis Botanical Magazine since I was a girl. My headmistress saw my interest and for a short period of time, a Mrs. Pope was employed as my master. But the expense was deemed unnecessary.”
Edmund could guess at why the lessons had stopped. Mrs. Radforde had not thought it a worthwhile skill.
“You have a great talent, but we can all benefit from more training.” Bauer closed the sketchbook and returned it to Miss Radforde.
She colored. “Thank you, sir.”
“There is an excellent master in London, a Mrs. Meen. She taught the queen and the princesses here at the gardens. I could ask if she would take you on.”
“You honor me, sir, but I do not think my mother… that is, I have many demands on my time at present.”
Mr. Bauer cocked his head slightly but did not press. “A pity. If you ever find you have more time, I would be happy to make the introductions. Come, let me show you the most fascinating flower in our collection, the bird-of-paradise, strelitzia reginae, named by Sir Joseph for the queen.”
They moved further into the building. Edmund lagged behind, trying to contain his frustration. Miss Radforde was always so quick to comply to her mother’s wishes, even when she hadn’t inquired what they may be. Perhaps Mrs. Radforde could be prevailed upon to allow Mrs. Meen to come teach. But they would not know, because Miss Radforde would never ask.
If they married, he would employ Mrs. Meen. He would give Miss Radforde anything she wished. If she wanted, he would follow Mr. Bauer’s suggestion and take her to America. With startling clarity, Edmund knew that Mrs. Aston was right. The only way forward was to declare himself.
Twenty-Three
The sun had reached its peak as they made their way toward the towering Great Pagoda. Charity was glad for the picnic waiting there. All the walking, talking, and sketching had left her famished. One cannot live on wonder alone but if she could, this place would provide ample nourishment.
They had left behind Mr. Bauer and the hot houses to explore the expansive park. The pleasure grounds did not hold the same appeal, but Charity was still delighted with each new folly and picturesque view. The Palladian bridge was charming, the Gothic cathedral a masterpiece, the mosque like visiting Arabia, and each small Greek temple enchanting in its design and situation.
Mother and Penelope were effusive in their praise as they came upon each new building, but their conversation seemed loud compared to Mr. Glenhaven’s silences. When with Mother, he made an effort to speak, but when they walked together, Mother and Penelope taking the lead, he lapsed into thought.
She did not mind the silence. In their time together, Charity had come to value his quiet thoughtfulness and appreciated that it left her free to take her own counsel.
Her mind had been filled to the brim with all the new plants—their smells, their textures. Her sketches had not been able to capture everything. If she had only been with Mother and Penelope, they likely would have avoided the hothouses and hurried her past any interesting plants, but with Mr. Glenhaven’s help she had explored and spoken with the royal botanic painter.
Mr. Bauer’s praise and encouragement had been deeply gratifying. Charity wished Mother had heard him. How could she get her mother to agree to more lessons?
“Do you think,” Mr. Glenhaven began. Then stopped and looked at her sideways. She paused beside him, glancing at Mother and Penelope well ahead of them.
“I do think, very often.”
His lips quirked. “Do you think it possible you could ever go against your mother’s wishes?”
She furrowed her brow. She was used to his long silences producing questions of a scientific nature. Had he been thinking all this time about her?
“I only ask because you are always so swift to dismiss your own desires. I feel you are a different person in her presence.”
She frowned.
“I am not censuring you,” he quickly added. “I am honored that you have allowed me to see your true self.”
That honor had been bestowed unwittingly. Charity’s honesty was originally due to her indifference to him. Now that she valued his good opinion, she could not retreat into her façade. He knew her too well for pretense.
“Mother has very firm notions of the kind of lady I should be. I have tried hard not to be a disappointment. Mrs. Piper’s school was meant to refine me, but I only grew into a confirmed bluestocking.”
“I would like to thank Mrs. Piper for her efforts. They made you a superior creature.”
The compliment was said so plainly, with no attempt to charm, but it meant more than all of Mr. Fitzroy’s flowery phrases.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Mr. Glenhaven’s attentions had been marked all afternoon, even when they had no audience to benefit from such displays. Might his smiles and tendency to stand close be evidence of affection? She had all but declared her feelings for him in the carriage, but he had not said anything.
“My father had firm notions of what kind of man I should be. As a child, I assumed I would one day wear a uniform. It is tradition in our family for the younger sons to become officers. Kit joined the Navy, and I was for the Army. But the year the war began, Father informed me he would not pay for a commission and I would be going to Oxford. At first, I was disappointed, but it made Mama happy and I enjoyed school.”
Charity tried to imagine Glenhaven in a red uniform, but it didn’t quite fit. She was glad Lord Glenhaven had sent him to university instead.
“After my schooling, Father wanted me to work in the government. He had it all arranged and with his connections he was sure I could climb high. But I had no interest in that life.”
“You told him you wanted to be a clergyman.” Charity said.
Glenhaven nodded; his eyes unfocused as if looking back in time at that conversation.
“He was not happy. We argued. We still don’t really…” He trailed off and scratched behind his ear. “The point is, I understand what it is to have an overbearing parent. I know it is hard to assert your own desires.”
Charity was grateful for his story, grateful for his understanding. It must have taken a great deal of courage to stand up to his father, to choose his own path. Did Charity have that courage? Would she openly defy Mother for something important?
As Charity turned over the question, they crossed the remaining distance to the tall, octagonal tower. She had tried to assert her desire to keep seeing Mr. Glenhaven, only to be maneuvered into a ride with Mr. Fitzroy. She had agreed to today’s excursion without consulting Mother, but it had been easy to secure her agreement.
Only a short while ago Charity had dismissed the idea of being introduced to Mrs. Meen. Not because she did not want to improve her skills, but because she knew what Mother would say. Her entire subterfuge with Mr. Glenhaven had been conceived to avoid confronting her mother. Her one act of defiance was writing to Papa about her own establishment. It was really quite pathetic.
She should be more like Glenhaven. Tell Mother about Mr. Bauer’s offer. Urge her to consider the idea. With Mr. Glenhaven there to add weight to her argument, Mother might be persuaded.
They joined Mother and Penelope at the base of the pagoda and Charity craned her neck to look upward at the ten stories disappearing into the sky. Each level had a terrace with a white railing and a green roof, giving the impression it was multiple buildings stacked atop each other.
She wanted a closer look, she wanted to walk out on the terrace and see the view from the top. Her physical hunger was forgotten in her craving to experience more.
“Charity, you can see the pagoda just as well from here,” Mother said.
She glanced at the picnic only a few yards away. The servants had done a marvelous job laying it out. Stationed between the pagoda and the bright blue Alhambra folly, it was the perfect spot to sit and enjoy a repast.
Mother was already seating herself. The climb would have to wait.
She glanced at Mr. Glenhaven and realized what she had done. If she could not climb a tower when she wanted, how would she ask for more important things? She kept her eyes on him as she spoke.
“I am going to climb to the top of the pagoda.”
His lips twitched. “I will accompany you.”
“Oh, dear, I am sure you are far too tired to climb all those stairs,” Mother interjected. “Come and eat first and then we will decide about going up.”
“No, Mother, I wish to climb them now.” Charity would not concede.
Mother pursed her lips, then gave a slight shake of her head. “Very well. But do not dawdle and do not blame me if the heat and exertion are too much.”
“Yes, Mother.” Charity didn’t hide her grin. Getting her way was exhilarating and surprisingly easy.
They walked the short distance to the entrance. Here the roof was slightly wider than those above it, supported by a series of plain white pillars. Inside, the staircase occupied almost all the interior, curling in a tight spiral as it wound up.
“Let’s climb straight to the top,” she said. Charity would show Mother that it would not fatigue her.
“How can I refuse one so determined?” He dipped his head and turned to the stairs.
Charity followed Mr. Glenhaven as he began to climb.
The steps wound up in dizzying succession. She paused occasionally to catch her breath but tried not to look out the windows. Still she could see the trees sinking below and the vista spreading out. The shallow stairs spiraled tighter, the floors becoming slightly smaller. Charity used the column running up the center of the staircase for support as she neared the end.
When they emerged at the top, what little breath Charity had was stolen by the view through the casement windows. It felt as if the whole of England was before them. A patchwork of fields, roads, and villages stretched as far as the eye could see. To think she might have missed seeing all this if she had heeded Mother.
“I am glad you wished to climb to the top,” Mr. Glenhaven said.
“I am glad you arranged for this visit.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgment and then gestured behind her. “You can see London from this direction.”
Charity turned and he walked past her to the window. He opened it and cold air whipped into the small room. He stepped over the low sill before offering his hand to assist her. She looked at his hand and her heart beat faster. Was it his hand or stepping out at such a great height that filled her with anticipation?
She placed her hand on his and swallowed. His fingers closed over hers, anchoring her and quieting her fear. She leaned on his strength as she stepped onto the balcony.
The two of them squeezed between the bricks of the narrow archway, the railing immediately before them was all that separated them from the air. Her breath came quickly and he squeezed her hand. He had not released it. Did he wish to hold on as she did?
“Are you well?”
“Quite. It is…”
She glanced at him. He was not looking at the vista before them, but at her. His gaze was soft, tender.
She looked away.
He released her hand.
She gripped the railing before her for balance. What had that look meant? Her feelings had changed so much from their first meeting. Could his have undergone a similar alteration?
“There,” he pointed. “There is Saint Paul’s.”
Charity focused on the view, the sparkling of the Thames winding like a great blue snake, the dome of Saint Paul’s and Westminster’s tower. They were all miles away and yet she felt closer to understanding London than before.
