Miriam walked beside me as I thought of a topic of conversation that would take my mind from the previous things we had spoken of. The smell of roses caught the breeze and it was if the air was but their perfume. I watched as Miriam inhaled deeply, taking in their scent. I was sure I’d never seen a sight as lovely as she. Sunlight often highlighted the imperfections on one’s face, yet with her, it just brightened the purity of her beauty. I could be happy with her. Not just because I was attracted to her outward appearance but because she was a female I truly enjoyed being around. I sought out her presence and desired her conversation.
“Tell me, Miriam, what is your favorite piece of literature?” I asked her, realizing again how little I knew of the things that delighted her. I was sure no one had ever taken the time to find out what they were and I wanted to know. I wanted her to feel like she mattered. Her dreams, her joys, her dislikes, they all mattered.
“Justine ,” she replied.
“Truly?” I asked surprised by her response. I was unsure if she was but teasing me or if this was, in fact, her favorite novel.
Miriam smirked. “So you’ve read it?” she asked me.
“I have. Like you I too enjoy reading.”
“Even Marquis de Sade?” she asked with an amused tone.
“Especially Marquis de Sade,” I assured her and that caused her to laugh. It was a sound I was sure I would never tire of and felt a moment of melancholy at the idea I might not always hear it.
“Tis nothing but a miracle Mother never found the book in my room. I found it in my father’s library after his death. Mother has no interest in reading and never went in there herself. I don’t even know if she would know the plot of the book, but for fear she had heard gossip among the shallow-minded, I took it and hid it in my room. I lost three nights sleep unable to put it down.”
I pictured a younger Miriam hiding in her room with candlelight, reading Justine while others were sleeping and couldn’t help but smile. It was rather adventurous for someone any younger than she was now. However, knowing she’d read it and enjoyed it also stirred me in a way that was not good for either of us.
“And what is yours, my lord?” she asked me then.
“Ashington ,” I reminded her.
“Ashington ,” she repeated.
“I must say that my favorite novel has recently become Justine by The Marquis de Sade,” I replied honestly.
Miriam laughed loudly this time and the pleasure from being the one to make her laugh with such freedom was rather intense. She was becoming more than I had planned for and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I wanted Miriam Bathurst in my life and in my bed. I just needed her to want me for herself. Not because I would be exactly what everyone in her life wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Miriam Bathurst
Whitney had been ready to explore by Sunday morning after breakfast. I still wasn’t sure if she had been ill or if she had simply been giving me time to be with Ashington alone. As grateful as I was for the time I had spent with him getting to know him, I was more relieved by Whitney’s recovery. However, tomorrow we would leave for London and I worried about her making that trip again so soon if, in fact, the first trip had put her to bed.
I enjoyed watching her talk to the horses in the stable as if they were as human as she and the way she inhaled the perfumed air as we walked through the rose garden. She was truly taken in by the splendor of Chatwick Hall, and even if I was here only for the reason I suspected, I was still thankful she had been given this experience. It was one of her many dreams to live in a place such as this.
While Whitney studied the different roses, calling out a different type of rose with excitement when she found them, I watched the forest in the back of the property where I knew a path was well-disguised. I thought of Emma and what she may be doing today. It had yet to rain, which was a rare gift and the sunshine was out again with but a few clouds. Yesterday, I had thought Ashington would mention her or possibly take me to meet her but neither happened.
Instead, we rode horses and had a picnic. He was an excellent companion and as I had laid in bed last night, I realized I laughed more that day than I had in a very long time. As lovely as the day had been, I did wonder when or if I would be introduced to Emma. His not doing so yet could only mean I had not met his qualifications. Perhaps that was a bit harsh, but it was all I could think. It was hindering an otherwise perfect day.
“Have you ever seen so many Tudor roses in one place?” Whitney exclaimed with glee. Her hands were clasped together as she looked reverently on at the roses she had just come across. I would admit that I knew little of roses, but I did enjoy them. Deciding to focus on Whitney, I turned and walked back down the small path toward her.
“Which are the Tudor roses?” I asked.
Whitney frowned at me. “You can’t be serious. With all those books you bury your head in, you have read nothing of roses?”
Whitney was not one to read, so she did not understand the love of novels or the difference in a story and a book meant to educate. “I read novels that take me to another place and time. They give me an escape from the reality in which I live. I do not read books on botany. I have little interest in that sort of knowledge. However, it is clear that you do. Father had some books in his library that I believe you would find enjoyable. There aren’t any specifically about roses, but there are a few about the flower gardens of the English countryside.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Truly?” she asked as if the idea had never crossed her mind. She had never been one for stories, even when she was young. I tried to read to her and she never made it through one complete story before falling asleep.
“Yes, I should have thought of bringing you one before now,” I said, realizing all along I had been placing the wrong book in her hands.
“You did try to convince me that books were magical and I never agreed. One can’t blame you for not thinking of me when you found the garden books.”
“It could also be I was terrified you would ask me to read them to you and then I would be the one falling asleep after but a few pages,” I teased her.
Her laughter was always good for my soul. It had been since we were young. Whitney’s amusement faded quickly as she stared out across the back yards toward the trees. “I think I saw someone,” she said, studying the exact location of the path that led to the cottage.
There was no sign of someone there now, but that did not mean Emma wasn’t hiding just inside. Would she come out with Whitney here? I glanced at my sister and had to quickly decide if her meeting Emma was something that should happen.
Although I trusted my sister, I knew only what I had come to in my own imagination. I did not know the exact details of Emma’s being here, but I did know her last name was Compton. The rest took very little imagination. For if Ashington had a younger sister, she would be the daughter of Nicholas’s mother and not here at Chatwick with Ashington being hidden in a cottage.
“Tis but the breeze playing with the branches,” I told her and then took her hand to lead her somewhere else before Emma resurfaced.
“No, it was very clear. There was a little girl just inside the tree line. As if there was a path hidden.” Whitney continued to watch the area for another sighting.