“No. My brother was in London for a week, and he accompanied me shopping.”
“Which brother?”
“Samuel, of course.” She drew back. “We pretended it was a gift for him so the shopkeeper could not outright refuse to serve me. You’re about the same size.”
“I’ll have to thank him next time I see him, but I have to say, I always worry when you and your brother get together.”
She laughed softly. “Samuel was on his best behavior, I swear, so you have no cause to worry.” She sighed—an exhalation he loved to hear. “It was no trouble to buy you a birthday present for once.”
“Once, but never again,” he warned. It wasn’t at all proper that she had singled him out. He bent close, intending to place a brotherly kiss on her forehead, as he’d done when Christmas gifts had been exchanged in past years. “Thank you, Jess.”
As he dropped his head, and Jessica’s chin lifted high until she was looking directly into his eyes. He froze, inches away from kissing her on the lips by mistake—something he’d never done and never should. His heart started to pound very hard against his ribs as time stood still.
Jessica might be out but she was destined for another. No doubt she’d had dozens of suitors all vying for her hand in marriage—and kisses.
Her eyes widened slowly. There was no way to pretend he hadn’t been about to kiss her, so he cupped her face and tilted her head down to place a chaste one on her forehead as originally intended.
“I should take my leave,” he murmured.
“Enjoy your dinner.” Jessica nodded, but a frown now added a deep groove between her brows.
He resisted the urge to brush the mark away with thumb. “I hope it goes well. Good evening.”
“Until tomorrow, Giddy.”
Gideon hurried out of the greenhouse.
He was nearly home when he realized his mistake. He stopped, looked down at his clothing and cursed. He had rushed from the Stapleton estate wearing the banyan Jessica had given him for his birthday.
He spun about and slapped a hand to his forehead. He’d left his coat behind, too, along with his hat and gloves and new glasses. He didn’t have time to run back to Jessica’s greenhouse now. He’d have to return for them after the dinner or make do without them until tomorrow morning. What an absentminded old fool he must seem!
Chapter 4
Stapleton Manor was home, and yet Jessica felt decidedly out of sorts as she emerged from her bedchamber early the following morning after a restless sleep. She walked the silent halls briskly, increasing the distance between her and the bedchambers of her parents and also of their guests, so she did not disturb anyone.
They had all stayed up very late last night becoming acquainted with the Garlands. Mama had alternated between laughter and tears all night. Mr. Garland had struggled for many years, and it was only because he had met Mrs. Garland that his situation had changed for the better. The couple were very happily matched, and their children polite and charming.
Nevertheless, she rushed down the main staircase and breathed a sigh of relief to be alone. It was not that she disliked the idea of seeing people in the morning; she loved her parents very dearly. But they were newly married, in the habit of kissing and embracing quite often, which could be somewhat awkward to be around.
She longed to know what it felt like to kiss a man, not that she could tell anyone that.
And she had almost been kissed yesterday, she was sure.
The frustration of missing out was painfully embarrassing.
She crossed the hall, singing out a good morning to any servant she passed. They were used to her ways, pleasant to talk to, but they were not her friends. She could not confide in them the way she could her family or closest friends, and that meant she was often at a loose end. In London particularly, she’d had little to do during the day when not attending parties. Hardly anyone to talk to about her hopes and dreams.
She burst out onto the rear terrace and stopped to drink in the view of the manicured gardens. Her first task was to take a brisk walk around the manor, and then to bring her greenhouse plants to order again before they departed for Sunday services in the nearby village chapel at ten o’clock.
She strolled along familiar paths and neatly clipped lawn, smiling at everything and everyone she passed. The gardeners had looked after everything beautifully in their absence, of course, but they did not love her own plants the way she did. They simply refused to talk to them.
The greenhouse was the only corner of Stapleton that was considered her responsibility.
On an impulse, she made a slight detour. She followed the path toward the brook that separated Stapleton estate and Quigley Hill, Gideon’s property, and looked with longing at the stone footbridge that would allow her to cross over. Gideon’s gardens had always fascinated her.
There was always something new to see flowering along the brook’s edge during the warmer months, and she lingered there, starved for familiar sights. Quigley’s gardens were wild and magnificent in spring, and during winter, the walled garden archways dripped icicles that caught the light. She had spent two whole hours roaming those chilly paths on her own at age six and been roundly scolded for the trouble she’d caused everyone who’d been searching for her.
When Giddy had found her standing on his front steps, shivering, she’d been taken inside to warm herself before the drawing-room fire while Father was informed to call off the search. That had been her first trip into Quigley Hill, but not her last. Father did not know how often she’d crossed that boundary following butterflies or birds, and Gideon thankfully never tattled on her.