And she had found one—or at least a good imitation of one—in Darien, I thought grimly.
“May’s a bit of a snob, though,” Winnelda went on. “She agrees that Miss Marena ought to have a toff. I think Bertie Phipps is a very nice young man, whatever she says. But, anyway, Miss Marena broke things off with Bertie a fortnight ago. May says they were arguing a good bit leading up to it.”
“Oh?” I asked. May had certainly heard more than “a little.”
“Yes, they didn’t quarrel in the vicarage, but she would see them through the windows, walking along the lanes. She said she could tell they were rowing, though she never heard the cause.”
“I see.” So, if they had parted ways two weeks ago, at least Darien was not to blame for that. He had caused enough trouble already.
“There was some funny business about it, though,” Winnelda went on. She said this in a reflective tone that gave me pause.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not entirely sure, and neither is May. But things were going so well with Bertie. Everyone thought they were going to be married. May heard them discussing moving to London one day. And then suddenly they were quarreling, and Bertie was gone. May says Mr. and Mrs. Busby seem to avoid talking about him as well.”
“Perhaps it’s just that Marena has broken things off with him, and the Busbys don’t want to make her uncomfortable by mentioning it.”
“That’s what I thought. May said it seems to be more than that. She said it’s as though he had done something wrong.”
I thought about my encounter with the Busbys. I had had a similar impression, as though they were uncomfortable at the mention of Bertie Phipps. But what did I know of it? Perhaps he had said something hurtful to Marena over the breaking off of their relationship. Perhaps he had even behaved in an untoward manner and that was why they had quarreled.
“Did May say what she thought it might be?”
“She didn’t know, but she somehow had the impression Bertie had stolen something.”
This surprised me. Bertie had always seemed to me to be a very upstanding, hardworking young man. I found it difficult to believe he would resort to theft.
“Money, you mean?”
“May wasn’t sure, exactly. She just heard the vicar and Mrs. Busby discussing something missing from the vicar’s study. They didn’t even mention Bertie’s name. It was just the impression May had, that they were talking about him.”
It was all very curious.
“I don’t suppose you need worry about it, though, madam,” Winnelda said. “You’ve got enough to think about with the baby coming.”
Perhaps she and Milo were right, though I was loath to admit it. None of this was really any of my business, after all. And I did have more important matters to consider.
I was just going to do my best to put it all out of my mind.
7
DARIEN MADE HIMSELF scarce in the remaining days leading up to the festival, and I didn’t know whether to be relieved or alarmed that we had heard nothing from him. I supposed he was busy wooing Marena Hodges, and I only hoped the village was large enough to keep him from encountering Imogen.
It was also possible he had decided to leave town. Half of me hoped that he had, but the other half still had aspirations that the brothers might develop some sort of relationship. I knew that Milo had always viewed himself as being alone in the world since his father’s death—indeed, since long before then—and the idea that he might be able to gain a familial relationship was heartening.
Of course, now, with the baby due to arrive shortly, was not the most ideal of times for upheaval in any of our lives. But was there ever an ideal time for such things? Perhaps we would be able to sort it all out before the newest Ames made his or her arrival into the world.
Milo’s trip to London had done little to enlighten us about Darien’s history. Mr. Ludlow confirmed his ignorance of Darien’s existence. It seemed that Milo’s father had indeed washed his hands of Darien and his mother, never looking back after he left them.
I suspected that Milo was also considering making some sort of settlement for his brother, though I was sure Mr. Ludlow had assured him he was under no obligation to do so. As I had known it would, the bond of blood was proving difficult for Milo to ignore. Or perhaps Milo just thought that giving Darien enough money would get rid of him.
Whatever the case, nothing much had been resolved by the time the festival arrived. I was doing my best, however, to keep from dwelling on any of it.
As for Bertie, aside from a sheepish glance in my direction when he returned to work with Milo’s horses, he made no reference to his altercation with Darien. I decided to let the matter rest. I was certain the young people could work out their own matters of the heart without my interference.
The day of the festival was lovely, the spring weather for once deciding to cooperate. The sun shone brightly, unimpeded save for the few fluffy white clouds that the light breeze blew across the sky, and the morning temperature held the promise of a mild day.
I turned away from the window and took one last look in my bedroom mirror. Springtime was in full bloom, and I along with it. Despite Winnelda’s claims that I was still too thin, I felt very round and healthy.
I had chosen a flattering pale blue silk dress for the day and my most comfortable pair of low-heeled leather shoes. I also wore a straw hat decorated with a blue ribbon and white roses.
Though the weather promised to be fair, there was a cool breeze, so I selected a loose jacket in a complementary shade of darker blue over my dress. All the better to hide my “condition,” I supposed, though it wasn’t as if everyone didn’t already know there was a baby on the way. But I realized it was going to take some time before the sentiments of the older generations regarding impending motherhood would become more modern.
The baby moved, apparently agreeing, and I pressed my hand to my stomach. “It’s a lovely day, little one. I’m glad you’ll be here soon to see the springtime.”
Milo drove us from Thornecrest in his Le Mans. He had always enjoyed careening about the winding village roads, startling birds and skimming hedgerows, but I had noticed that he drove more carefully these days. I could only suppose that it was in deference to my condition, and it was yet another change to which I would have to grow accustomed.
He parked the car in the shade of an elm tree not far from the festival grounds, and we walked along the path, which led to a slight rise of land that allowed us to look down at the festival spread before us. We paused for a moment, taking in the cheery sight.
The tents looked bright and clean, scattered across the green in the morning sunlight. Colorful flags and banners fluttered in the wind, and flower garlands bedecked the different stalls where vendors sold their wares. The smell of sausage and popcorn and fresh pastries wafted through the air, making my mouth water. I was eager to try all of the delicacies. In addition to the items for sale, I knew the afternoon tea, hosted by the ladies of the planning committee, would offer myriad delectable treats.
It made a pretty picture, and the sound of music and the laughter of children and adults alike floated up to us. I thought how nice it would be to bring my own child to the festival in years to come.
“Ready for merrymaking?” Milo asked me.