“I was wondering how long you were going to wait at that gate,” the duchess called over, intently attending the task before her, not so much as looking Julia’s way. For which she was grateful. “Join me, girl.” It was a command issued by a woman so very clearly accustomed to giving them and not being denied by a single soul.
Taking another deep breath, Julia made herself make the slow, agonizing march over to where the duchess knelt, digging a small hole into the overturned earth.
Her maid hovered at Her Grace’s shoulder, her hands filled with small gardening tools that she occasionally supplied to her employer. Alongside the maid stood a strapping footman.
When Julia reached their side, the duchess set her spade down.
The footman immediately came forward to help her to her feet, but Her Grace turned a scowl on him and then climbed to her feet. “I’m quite capable of standing, Owens. I’ve been doing it since I was all of one,” she said dryly. “That’ll be all, Gracie,” the duchess said. “Have a walk around my gardens while I speak to my niece.”
My niece…
Oh, God. She’d known this confession was going to prove agonizing, but this? Standing on the cusp of breaking the duchess’ heart was unbearable. Determined to have this telling over with, Julia opened her mouth to speak. “Your Grace, there is something—”
“Those two are quite in love, they are,” the duchess said with a sly whisper. She motioned to the dainty maid and the much taller servant at her side.
Julia looked to the pair. Sure enough, the farther away their steps carried them from sight, the more the couple brushed the tops of their hands together, until their fingers touched, and they tangled those digits together.
There was an aching sweetness to the sight of them.
And she froze, unable to do anything but stare.
“Nothing like young love, is there?” the duchess murmured wistfully, calling Julia back to the moment.
She forced her focus away from the lady’s maid and footman. “I would not know, Your Grace.” There hadn’t ever been a sweetheart or a suitor. But that afternoon, on a carriage ride through Hyde Park, she’d had a taste of what it might be like to have one…
The duchess patted the top of Julia’s hand. “You will, girl. You will.”
No, she wouldn’t. But what would it be like to find herself courted by a man such as Harris?
Make a wish.
In that instant when he’d placed those coins between her fingers and she’d tossed it into those waters, she’d done just that. She’d allowed herself a moment to believe in magic and dream of a life she would never know.
But, Julia, you shouldn’t find guilt in allowing yourself simple pleasures. You are deserving of them… and more.
Her breath hitched softly, and guilt stabbed like a needle through her heart.
“Your Grace,” she tried again.
“Join me, Julia,” Her Grace urged, and dropping to a knee, she patted a patch of earth beside her and resumed digging. “I’ve needed to move these lovelies,” she explained when Julia had joined her on the grass. “Are you familiar with them?”
“Lilies of the valley,” Julia said instantly.
The duchess fixed an approving smile on her. “Very good.”
It was one thing she was well-versed in—flowers. Flowers of all kinds and species. Not because she’d ever received one or even because she in any way liked them. That knowledge had come from sheer necessity. As such, it seemed wrong to take the woman’s praise. Drawing her knees close to her chest, Julia rested her chin atop her skirts and stared at those delicate white buds. “I only know because I was”—am and will once more be—“a flower seller.”
“And it served you well, it did.” More of that praise Julia didn’t deserve.
“Served me well,” she said softly to herself. How had it served her in any way? What skills had it gotten her? What happiness had it brought? “It was merely a means to an end,” she said when the duchess stopped and fixed a questioning stare on her.
“Hmph. Any time spent with flowers has its value.” Humming to herself, the duchess resumed her planting.
As she worked, Julia stared at the buds Her Grace attended.
Early on in her life, Julia had come to despise flowers. They’d represented toil and struggle. Now, however, she wondered how she might have viewed those blooms differently had her relationship with them been different. Would she have regarded them with the same reverence and love the duchess clearly did?
“Do you know the story of the lilies of the valley?” the duchess asked.
Julia shook her head before recalling the duchess was still focused on her task and made herself answer, “No, Your Grace.”
“Legend has it that one day, a lily developed an affection for a nightingale. The bird would perch itself in a tree above her.” The duchess paused to gesture to the tree beside them and its canopy of branches, as though it was the player in the story she told. “And every day, it would sing its song. But the lily was shy and remained silent, hidden in the shadows. Until winter fell, and the bird left. The lily was bereft. And she did not bloom again until the spring, when the nightingale returned, and she was happy once more.”
“What a lovely telling,” she said softly. And also a fantastical way of viewing those flowers that she’d only ever seen for the monetary worth affixed them.
She sat in silence, watching the lady as she worked, loathing herself for being one of those same people Harris had spoken of who’d shattered the duchess’ hopes, preying on her.
