Romancing the Heiress(17)
Author: Darcy Burke
“Not a million books,” she said in response to his comment. “I have read in the hundreds, probably, and I have visited most parks and gardens—you know me too well. Though I haven’t done that as much in the past year since Lady Norcott died. The Selkirks do not care to dally outside, except for the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. Indeed, it’s fascinating to see them spending time in the botanical gardens.” She smiled. “You have likely discovered or invented a new plant or ten.”
He snorted. “Hardly. That was my grandfather. Did you know the London Horticultural Society inducted him as a member posthumously?”
“I didn’t. That’s wonderful. Why aren’t you a member?”
“I’m not terribly scholarly. I couldn’t even write letters to you.” He gave her a sheepish look, then guided her across Garden Street to where it intersected with the High Street.
“I doubt you need to be scholarly, especially considering your talent with plants. Do you still spend your evenings in the greenhouse?”
He grinned at her. “I would never admit it to anyone but you.”
Her eyes glowed again with that emotion. Happiness at spending time with him? That made sense. He was pleased to be in her company. He truly hadn’t realized how much he missed her.
“Then admit what you’re doing there. You were always tinkering with hybrid flowers. Do you remember when I asked you to make me a buttercup daisy?”
Laughing, he wiped his hand over his face. “Yes. And do you remember that I failed miserably?”
“I remember that you pasted buttercups onto daisies and gave me an entire bouquet. That was not a failure to me.”
“I was a right silly lad. Why did you spend so much time with me?” He wished he hadn’t asked the question, for they both knew why. Anything was better for her than being at home.
“I was probably a silly girl. We were two peas in a pod.”
“That’s what Grandpapa called us.” His voice sounded wistful, and that was because he missed his grandfather.
“I have so many fond memories of him,” Leah said. “Most of them involved the greenhouse. He was working on hybrid roses when he died, wasn’t he?”
“Mmm, yes. He successfully created five new roses. I say successful because he deemed them to be. He had very high standards for crossbreeding, with an eye toward specific characteristics, whether it be the size and shape of the petal or the hue.”
“Have you tried?”
“Not with any great diligence or, consequently, success.” He’d actually started one a few weeks ago and was now waiting for the hips to appear so he could harvest and plant the seeds. “I am currently working with a China rose and a damask.”
She tilted her head up at him. “Are you? I’d love to see them.”
“Sometimes I thought you might want to become a horticulturalist. But I wasn’t sure if you were—” He’d been about to say “truly interested or just biding time away from home.” He looked toward her, hoping she hadn’t concluded that he was going to say something so thoughtless.
But she was staring straight ahead along the High Street, her face paler than it had been a moment ago. Phin followed her gaze and saw what—or rather whom—she was looking at: her father.
With a low curse, Phin pulled her into whatever was to their left—a narrow alley between the bakery and the milliner. He took her away from the street into the shadows. “All right?” he asked softly.
She took her hand from his arm and turned toward him, her breath shallow. “I don’t think he saw me.”
“I don’t think so either. I’ll go keep watch until he’s gone.”
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, still breathing rapidly.
Phin wanted to put his arms around her and tell her she was safe, that she would always be safe. He was suddenly very angry with himself for not helping her escape her parents’ house when she was younger. Why had she felt as though she had to leave Marrywell? But if she hadn’t, where would she have lived? At Radford Grange? That might have seemed…odd. And Leah wouldn’t have liked hearing the questions it would have raised with regard to why she couldn’t stay at Black Sheep Farm.
Because she’d never wanted anyone to know how she was treated or, more importantly, why. Indeed, no one knew except Phin, and he hadn’t told a soul. The one time he’d brought it up, expressing his concern, she’d begged him to just let it go, saying things weren’t that bad. She’d been fifteen. Four more years she’d suffered her mother’s cruelty and her father’s indifference.
“Call for me if you need anything,” he said. “I’ll be right over there.”
She opened her eyes and nodded. Her breathing had finally begun to slow.
Phin went back toward the street and gingerly peered around the edge of the milliner. Webster had crossed the street. Watching him, Phin felt a surge of rage. He encountered the man on occasion, but rarely his wife. When Phin did see either one of them, he went out of his way to avoid them. Now, he wished he’d confronted them, told them he knew how poorly they’d treated their youngest daughter, how they’d driven her to leave.
But Leah wouldn’t have wanted him to do that. She’d been relieved and happy to find a way out seven years ago. She’d said she wanted to put the past behind her and look to the future. At the time, he’d been overwhelmingly sad to see her go, but he’d known it was the right thing for her. She’d been so courageous, so determined. He’d admired her so much.
Then he’d failed to answer her letters. What sort of friend was he?
Webster mounted a horse and walked the animal away along the High Street.
Exhaling, Phin turned and strode quickly back to Leah. “He’s gone.”
Her shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you. You are the best of friends.”
“No, I’m not.” His anger was now solely directed at himself. “I should have done more to help you, to protect you. I should have asked my grandfather and father to take you in. I should have insisted. And I should have written to you. I regret that more than anything. I missed you. Your letters made me so happy but also sad. I wanted you to come back.”
She blinked, her lashes fluttering. “You did?”
He hadn’t realized how much until that moment. “Yes.”