of having to answer to your name. There’s nothing improper in it,” Marcus insisted, when Alexander continued to stare suspiciously at him.
“I am sure there is not. Did she know they were your favorites or was it just a fortunate guess on her part?”
“No, I told her. She has been very accommodating this morning. She’s a very nice girl, Emily Smithfield. I can see why you admire her.”
“Indeed,” Alexander agreed, but his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “She spent some time with you this morning?”
“Yes, I told her she ought to go to London. ’Tis rather a shame she has to be stuck in the country like this. When I think of what a good modiste could accomplish . . .” Sir Marcus’s voice trailed off, as he became lost envisioning playing Pygmalion to Emily’s Galatea. He shook himself from his reverie, and continued, “Regardless, we both agreed she would benefit from a broader circle of friends she could make in London society. She finds the country somewhat confining.”
“Apparently the country is not too confining. She seems to have made one new friend already.”
Marcus smiled. “Well, I hope so. One can never have too many friends.”
“Particularly when the friend is an attractive young lady who believes you to be the heir to a dukedom.”
Marcus’s smile faded. “I do not think I appreciate your remark, or your tone of voice. If you are trying to make some sort of implication, I can only say you’re far off the mark. I do not have any designs on your lady, nor does she on me.”
“Well, I believe that you may not be interested in her, I know you don’t have any wish to be leg-shackled, but you must remember that Emily believes you to be highly eligible.”
“I think you are doing her a disservice. Her attentions to me have been those of a gracious hostess to a guest in her home, and nothing more.”
Alexander shook his head, a skeptical look on his face. “Here speaks the man who has not been the target of grasping females for the past ten years.”
“I tell you, Alex, I think all the attention has spoiled you for a good female. You cannot believe there are any decent women out there who would be interested in a gentleman for anything other than his title and fortune. For your information, Emily tried to lead the conversation to a discussion of you, but I had no desire to contradict whatever you may have told her concerning your assumed identity, and turned the subject.”
Alexander relaxed a little and looked at his friend hopefully. “She asked about me, did she?”
“Yes, she did. Although I am starting to think you don’t deserve a nice girl like Emily. Lady Cynthia might be the better match for you after all.”
Sir Marcus was prevented from saying anything else by the pillow his best friend smashed into his face.
Emily and Lydia made a trip to the vicarage early Friday morning to deliver some sewing they had done for a few of the poorer families in the parish. Emily viewed this as a perfect opportunity for Lydia and Sedgewick to spend some time alone with each other. She had been distracted from her original intention to get them together by the visit of the duke and his son, but she had not lost sight of her goal.
She thought it was a little too bad that neither she nor Lydia could love Lord Wesleigh, for if one had to marry, she supposed it would be preferable to marry someone with money. She had formed a better opinion of Lord Wesleigh over the past few days, but she still knew she did not feel for him what one should feel for one’s husband. She supposed she would have to resign herself to life as a spinster, but she felt that Lydia, at least, should have her chance at happiness.
Lydia was absorbed in her own thoughts, as well, so the walk to the vicarage was accomplished in near silence. They were admitted into a comfortable room set up as a library by Mrs. Baker, Sedgewick’s housekeeper. Emily had been inside the vicarage before, but now that she knew her sister was interested in Sedgewick, she was far more interested in her surroundings. Yes, it was quite cozy, and she believed her sister would be very comfortable there. Emily wondered if she herself could be comfortable in a country vicarage such as this, and felt that she could, with the right vicar. She shook her head, as if to dispel such a thought. The curate she was fantasizing about would probably never see the inside of another vicarage. He was more likely to see the inside of Newgate.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Sedgewick and Williams. Emily explained the purpose of their visit, and Sedgewick thanked them for their charity in bringing the linens.
“Would you like some refreshments? Some tea, perhaps?” Sedgewick offered.
Before Lydia had a chance to refuse, Emily took a seat, mentioning that would be quite the thing. As Jonathan asked Mrs. Baker to bring the tea tray, Emily thought furiously for an excuse to leave Sedgewick and Lydia alone together.
“Mr. Williams, Lord Wesleigh asked me to relay a message to you,” Emily began.
“Yes?” Alexander responded.
“Well, actually, it was more something he wanted me to show you.”
“Really,” Alexander replied, “How peculiar.”
Emily swallowed bravely, and continued. “Yes, he was quite sure you would appreciate the daffodils growing in the graveyard. He noticed them when he passed the church on his way to Smithfield House, and he thought you would appreciate the sight.”
“And so I would.” Alexander was beginning to realize what Emily was attempting to do, although he felt her pretext for leaving the two alone was rather a poor one.
“Perhaps we could go look at them now.”
“The very thing,” Alexander agreed.
Emily and Alexander rose to leave the room, but Lydia protested. “Emily, I am sure Mr. Williams can look at them at his leisure. The church is not so close as you might think.”
“Nonsense, it is not that great a distance. And Lord Wesleigh told me particularly to observe Mr. Williams’s reaction and report it back to him. Apparently he and Mr. Williams are staunch admirers of Mr. Wordsworth, and the sight of the ‘host of golden daffodils’ in the graveyard put Lord Wesleigh in mind of Wordsworth’s poem, ‘I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud.’”
Lydia and Sedgewick were looking at Emily as though she had sprouted another head, but she hurried from the room with Williams before they could protest further.
“So where is this ‘host of daffodils’?” Alexander asked Emily as they walked toward the graveyard.
“I am not sure there are any. It is now the end of May, and I believe they begin blooming in March. We had better begin looking for some, however, in case Sedgewick or Lydia asks us when we return. I think they are already questioning my veracity, if not my sanity.”
“Well, I must admit that your excuse was rather uninspired.”
“Contrary to what you may believe, I do not have much practice in the art of deception and intrigue. And I also had very little cooperation. You would almost think they do not want to be alone together.”
“Yes,” Alexander agreed, “it is quite unnatural for two people supposedly in love to have such an aversion to each other’s company. I, on the other hand, am quite appreciative of my good fortune.”
Emily was embarrassed by the remark, as she could not miss its implication, and tried to change the subject. “Well, whatever you may think of my excuse, I thought the Wordsworth bit was quite good.”
Although Alexander might find fault with the excuse itself, he could not fault its results. It was a beautiful, sunny day, with only a light breeze, and he was entirely at peace with himself and the world. Emily made a charming picture in her sprigged muslin dress and gypsy bonnet, and, though they saw no daffodils, there were alyssum, columbine, and hyacinth in abundance. It appeared, in fact, as if all of Kent was in bloom, and, although nothing was more natural than for flowers to bloom in the springtime, especially in a part of the country termed the Garden of England, at that moment Alexander felt it as a particular compliment to himself and the lady.
The church itself was situated in a pleasant aspect, it being nearly the highest point in the parish; the village, with its charming half-timbered houses and shops, was spread out below them. Alexander thought himself at the top of the world, and it was obvious that Emily shared his delight in the day and company.
They finally reached the graveyard and began wandering rather aimlessly among the headstones. They paused here and there to read an epitaph, but there was no morbid sense of death and depression. Alexander picked some daisies and presented them to Emily with a flourish, and she thanked him prettily, but promised to
