a small stab of something that somehow echoed of loss.
After leaving the horses and stable in Timothy's competent hands, Julian had no reason to stay. So he had difficulty explaining to himself why he did.
They walked in the greenhouse for a while and Izzy explained her current endeavors. Julian smiled indulgently at her justifiable pride in her geraniums, which waved grand, heavy heads of brilliant scarlet. When she explained the use of the many scented flowers she was planting, he blinked when she casually admitted her skill with the hives in the bee garden. And although the many seedlings looked alike to him, he nodded attentively as she recited the list of vegetables that her labor would provide for the Marchwell table.
He tried to remember ever meeting a woman like Izzy. The women of society were no doubt industrious in their way, but he had never seen any sign of it. Still, the world of women was largely a mystery to him.
Izzy's world, however, seemed uncommonly sensible. She thought about such things as the weather and seasons, and good horseflesh.
He thought it almost a pity, really, that she must marry someone like him. She would likely be happier setting out into the American frontier, as she dreamed of. What a wife she would make for a man striking out into a new land! Skilled and competent, she would be a partner, a helpmate, in an exciting world.
Her abilities would be largely useless as the duchess of Dearingham. She would not have the running of the house, aside from a general sort of supervision, nor could she be permitted to actually soil her hands in the garden.
He would allow her to ride, he decided. A lady could be expected to ride occasionally.
Feeling rather magnanimous with that decision, he was surprised to see Izzy looking at him with impatience. Casting about for the source of her irritation, he realized she had just asked him a question.
"Pardon me, my dear. I was woolgathering."
"Julian, I shall be leaving in several months. What will I do with the mare?"
"Elizabeth," he corrected.
"Isadora," she shot back, frowning.
He laughed. "The mare, Izzy. I named her after you. Elizabeth."
"Oh, dear. Don't say it."
"Quite right." He smiled angelically. "Lizzie."
Izzy looked at him fondly. Dear Julian. He liked to make her laugh, she knew. She was more than happy to oblige.
"I wonder," he pondered aloud, as if to himself, "whatever happened to all those hideous yellow flowers?"
"It wasn't the same without Sheldon," she answered, coming to stand with him. "I could wallow in their ugliness when they were my protection from him. But then he left, and they were merely awful."
"You don't mean… ?" He gave her a look of mock horror.
Nodding, she assumed a fiendish expression and drew her forefinger across her throat.
Laughing, he took her hand and escorted her from the lush, steamy environment of the hothouse into the cool spring air.
"Feed me my tea, Izzy, and send me on my way. I have still some things to arrange before the Waverlys' ball."
Izzy's heart sank. She had managed to forget about the ball for a few hours. She had no idea what she was going to do. She had spent all last evening going through Millie's old gowns, but the only ones close to her size were from her cousin's schoolroom days. After seeing herself in the childish dresses, Izzy had decided that her black gown would at least be the raiment of an adult, albeit an elderly one. Perhaps she might be able to soften it a bit with some lace or ribbon trimming. She sighed. At least it was new.
She made cheerful chatter with Julian during their tea, detailing some of her more creative vengeance against Sheldon, but her joy in the afternoon was gone. When he left, she stayed on the steps until the last flip of Tristan's tail had disappeared down the tree-lined street.
"Oh, miss, come see!"
Izzy looked up from her menus. Betty bounced before her, eyes wide with excitement.
Izzy rarely saw Hildegard's maid, since the girl's
After leaving the horses and stable in Timothy's competent hands, Julian had no reason to stay. So he had difficulty explaining to himself why he did.
They walked in the greenhouse for a while and Izzy explained her current endeavors. Julian smiled indulgently at her justifiable pride in her geraniums, which waved grand, heavy heads of brilliant scarlet. When she explained the use of the many scented flowers she was planting, he blinked when she casually admitted her skill with the hives in the bee garden. And although the many seedlings looked alike to him, he nodded attentively as she recited the list of vegetables that her labor would provide for the Marchwell table.
He tried to remember ever meeting a woman like Izzy. The women of society were no doubt industrious in their way, but he had never seen any sign of it. Still, the world of women was largely a mystery to him.
Izzy's world, however, seemed uncommonly sensible. She thought about such things as the weather and seasons, and good horseflesh.
He thought it almost a pity, really, that she must marry someone like him. She would likely be happier setting out into the American frontier, as she dreamed of. What a wife she would make for a man striking out into a new land! Skilled and competent, she would be a partner, a helpmate, in an exciting world.
Her abilities would be largely useless as the duchess of Dearingham. She would not have the running of the house, aside from a general sort of supervision, nor could she be permitted to actually soil her hands in the garden.
He would allow her to ride, he decided. A lady could be expected to ride occasionally.
Feeling rather magnanimous with that decision, he was surprised to see Izzy looking at him with impatience. Casting about for the source of her irritation, he realized she had just asked him a question.
"Pardon me, my dear. I was woolgathering."
"Julian, I shall be leaving in several months. What will I do with the mare?"
"Elizabeth," he corrected.
"Isadora," she shot back, frowning.
He laughed. "The mare, Izzy. I named her after you. Elizabeth."
"Oh, dear. Don't say it."
"Quite right." He smiled angelically. "Lizzie."
Izzy looked at him fondly. Dear Julian. He liked to make her laugh, she knew. She was more than happy to oblige.
"I wonder," he pondered aloud, as if to himself, "whatever happened to all those hideous yellow flowers?"
"It wasn't the same without Sheldon," she answered, coming to stand with him. "I could wallow in their ugliness when they were my protection from him. But then he left, and they were merely awful."
"You don't mean… ?" He gave her a look of mock horror.
Nodding, she assumed a fiendish expression and drew her forefinger across her throat.
Laughing, he took her hand and escorted her from the lush, steamy environment of the hothouse into the cool spring air.
"Feed me my tea, Izzy, and send me on my way. I have still some things to arrange before the Waverlys' ball."
Izzy's heart sank. She had managed to forget about the ball for a few hours. She had no idea what she was going to do. She had spent all last evening going through Millie's old gowns, but the only ones close to her size were from her cousin's schoolroom days. After seeing herself in the childish dresses, Izzy had decided that her black gown would at least be the raiment of an adult, albeit an elderly one. Perhaps she might be able to soften it a bit with some lace or ribbon trimming. She sighed. At least it was new.
She made cheerful chatter with Julian during their tea, detailing some of her more creative vengeance against Sheldon, but her joy in the afternoon was gone. When he left, she stayed on the steps until the last flip of Tristan's tail had disappeared down the tree-lined street.
"Oh, miss, come see!"
Izzy looked up from her menus. Betty bounced before her, eyes wide with excitement.
Izzy rarely saw Hildegard's maid, since the girl's
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