And he could never be hers.
Clarissa would have Ned.
Meanwhile, Gemma would have The Garland, her herbs, her vision of a shop, and a tea garden. She would have her dreams. She prayed it was enough.
Hippocrates picked up his pace at the outskirts of the village. However, when she pulled on the reins in front of The Garland, he was obedient enough. After she slid off, he trotted smartly on his way.
It was almost noon. The streets were busier than they had been earlier when she’d thrown the eggs. In her yard she saw a cluster of three hens scratching at the dirt she and Fitz had overturned for planting. They were probably looking for worms.
Then she thought of the mess waiting for her inside. Gemma sighed and opened the door to be greeted by the sight of Mrs. Warbler, Mrs. Burnham, Mrs. Summerall, and the dowager. They sat at the only clean table in the room, their faces pinched with distaste.
“Hello, Mrs. Estep,” Mrs. Warbler said in the coldest tone. “We have been waiting for you.”
“Yes,” the dowager echoed. “We wish to talk to you about Mr. Thurlowe.”
Chapter Fifteen
Gemma closed the door, uncertain. She faced them. “What of Mr. Thurlowe?”
They couldn’t know that she’d been with him. The pond had been well sheltered. No one had happened by. Not that she’d noticed. Then again, her mind had been focused on him.
Or was there evidence of his kiss upon her face? A mark? A different look about her? That, she could believe.
“You created quite a scene this morning,” Mrs. Burnham said.
“I did and for that I apologize. I was upset.”
“Why were you carrying on that way?” Mrs. Summerall asked. “I hear your actions were most unseemly.”
“I woke to find The Garland filled with chickens. It was a prank on the behalf of the Logical Men’s Society. Logical Child’s Society is more like it.” Gemma’s temper flared again. “You can see the damage that has been done. I will spend the rest of the day scrubbing.”
“Oh, dear,” the dowager said. “We wondered when we came in here why you had allowed chickens inside.”
“I didn’t allow it. I’m also tired of them thinking they can walk onto my property whenever they feel like it.”
“You should lock the door,” Mrs. Warbler replied.
“Do you lock your door?”
Her neighbor blinked at her. Of course not. No one locked their doors in Maidenshop. Gemma continued, “I was gathering the eggs when I saw Mr. Thurlowe and I regret to say I took out my temper on him, because he was not responsible. In fact, he went to battle for me.”
A look was exchanged among the ladies. “He did?” Mrs. Warbler said, her tone carefully noncommittal.
“Yes, that is why he let me ride his horse home.” Gemma was feeling her way here. She suddenly understood how it must have looked for Mr. Thurlowe to just lift her up onto the saddle in front of him. She’d literally been riding in his lap. “He took me to confront the duke and—” She paused, realizing what she’d said in front of the dowager but gamely went on, “The other culprits.” She wasn’t going to tell them that the duke and Mr. Thurlowe had exchanged physical blows. Who knew how that information would be received? “They had stern words,” she finished.
Silence met her story.
The duke’s mother broke it. “Stern words?”
“Very stern,” Gemma said, nodding.
“My son, the seventh Duke of Winderton, was involved in filling The Garland with chickens?”
Gemma’s hands suddenly felt sweaty. She pressed them to her skirts. “I don’t know how involved,” she lied, and had to add, “However, the place reeks of them.”
“Mr. Thurlowe was not involved?” The dowager behaved as if she needed clarification.
“I should not have thrown the eggs at him,” Gemma confessed.
The dowager looked to Mrs. Warbler. “I wonder why, Elizabeth, we heard that my son and the doctor were exchanging blows over the matter?”
They had known all along. Hadn’t Gemma been warned? Nothing escaped the matrons.
And then the dowager with fire in her eyes swung her attention to Gemma. “Do you lie to me? I will not tolerate it.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” It was all Gemma could say.
The dowager came to her feet. “I will send servants to help with the scrubbing. Accept my apologies. If my son instigated this, it was without my knowledge.”
Aware of her own culpability, Gemma mumbled out, “I understand that, Your Grace. I would never believe you were involved.”
But the dowager’s attention had already shifted to her friends. “You may all take care of the rest,” she said. “I have a personal matter to attend. I know you, my dear friends, will understand.” With that she left, ignoring the faltering curtsey Gemma offered.
After the door had closed, Gemma looked to the others. “What is the rest?”
“Mr. Thurlowe,” Mrs. Summerall said, not unkindly.
“What of him? I know I shouldn’t have made a scene.”
Mrs. Warbler took charge. “Gemma, you went with Mr. Thurlowe to confront the duke. We know they came to blows. The whole parish probably does by this time.”
Little more than an hour could have passed. “How did you find out so soon?”
“Gossip like that?” Mrs. Burnham said. “It travels on the wind.”
“We didn’t know exactly what had happened here,” Mrs. Warbler said. “Or why you were throwing eggs or for what reason Mr. Thurlowe went riding off with you. However, once we heard about the fight, we realized that there was more to your angry egg throwing.”
Relief flooded Gemma. They just wanted answers. That was why they had been so stern with her when she’d first walked in. “I’m sorry for the scene—” Gemma apologized again only to be cut off.
“What we want to know is where were you and Mr. Thurlowe for the time between the fight and when you arrived back here? Riding his horse, no less.”
Now Gemma understood why people were cautious around the matrons. It dawned on her that just as they had given their blessing to her tea garden, they could withdraw it. Would her dream survive?
Gemma proceeded warily. “Mr. Thurlowe and I discussed his lecture. I’ve agreed to let him have it here.”
Three stony faces stared at her.
She had the urge to elaborate. She fought it.
It was hard.
But they already seemed to sense what she wasn’t saying.
Mrs. Warbler looked at the other two. “I shall manage from here.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Summerall agreed. “You know what must be said.”
The other two ladies left. “Sit down, Gemma,” Mrs. Warbler ordered, nodding at the chair across the table from her.
Gemma did as she was told. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“We know you haven’t, dear. Of course, from the first, you and Mr. Thurlowe have been at cross purposes.”
“He wanted to take The Garland from me.”
“Yes, he did . . . except there was also something else we sensed.”
“And what was that?”