From the way Olivia’s expression brightened, Vanessa concluded that her presence was welcome.
“I thought I might investigate your beautiful rose gardens this morning,” she began cheerfully, “but I could use a guide. Since your brother is occupied with his steward, I hoped you might be willing to show them to me.”
“You want me to show you the gardens?” Olivia asked warily.
“I’m told you are very fond of roses.” Vanessa nodded toward the wheeled invalid chair standing in the corner. “We could have a footman carry you downstairs, and I think I could push your chair along the paths.”
Olivia made a face. “I despise using that chair. I feel so helpless in it. But I suppose that is a childish sentiment.”
“No indeed. But it can offer you a measure of freedom you couldn’t have otherwise.”
“I suppose so.” The girl raised her chin gamely. “Very well. I will show you the gardens if you like.”
“You will need a bonnet to protect your lovely complexion. The sun is quite bright, even for the first day of June.”
“Is it June?” Olivia asked, startled. “I hadn’t realized.” Her voice turned wistful. “I’ve been lying abed for so long, all the days run together.”
She rang for her abigail, who, along with two other maids, helped her dress in a white Swiss muslin gown and red velvet spencer as well as a heavy shawl to ward off the last of the morning chill.
Her eagerness was heartbreaking. When the footman carried her out into the garden, Olivia blinked at the golden brightness. But the instant she was settled in her invalid chair, she raised her face to the warmth of the life-giving sunlight and gave a sigh of pleasure.
“I have missed coming here,” she murmured as Vanessa moved behind her to guide the wheeled chair.
“There is no reason you cannot come every day, is there?”
Olivia’s mouth curved in a wry half-smile, and when she glanced up, Vanessa caught the hint of amusement in her blue eyes. “You will not need a guide every day.”
“No, but I will need a companion.”
“You are indeed persistent, Lady Wyndham.”
She smiled. “I did give you fair warning. And, please, call me Vanessa.”
They wandered the paths slowly, admiring the flowers and discussing the variety of roses in the vast gardens. Olivia was quite knowledgeable about the subject, and could even quote details about individual bushes.
They were not alone. Gardeners moved among the beds with hoes and shovels and pruning shears, and several strangers dressed as scholars occupied the paths, pens and notebooks in hand. In a corner near the house, an artist had set up an easel and was thoughtfully painting in watercolor.
Vanessa took care to avoid the others and stopped frequently for Olivia to rest. There were benches scattered here and there, arranged artfully beneath ornamental shade trees, and several times she guided the girl’s chair to get her out of the sun.
“I never realized,” Vanessa said during one of those intervals, “ho
w complex the breeding of roses could be.”
“Indeed. Damien deserves credit for reestablishing the cultivation program. He made Rosewood famous for its collection. Even Napoleon has heard of us,” Olivia added with pride. “Several years ago, when Empress Josephine acquired a sample of every living rose for her gardens, her nurserymen began the search here. The Prince Regent issued special passes for them to work here. And despite our naval blockade of France, the Admiralty ruled that if her plants were ever intercepted at sea, they should be forwarded to her at once.”
Nearly an hour had passed when Olivia’s head began to droop wearily, even though they hadn’t seen half the acreage or gone near the conservatories.
“Would you like to return to the house?” Vanessa asked. “I don’t want to tire you.”
Olivia nodded, then gave a sigh of frustration. “How absurd that I cannot even sit in this horrid chair without becoming exhausted.”
“Your brother tells me you’ve agreed to see the doctor. Perhaps he can suggest some ways to alleviate your weariness.”
The girl grimaced. “I doubt it. But I decided the sooner I gave in to Damien, the sooner he would leave me in peace. You cannot believe how vexing he has become, always pressing me to stir myself from my bed, as if I weren’t really a cripple. I wish he would just return to London.”
“I’m certain he’s only thinking of your welfare.”
“No,” the girl disagreed. “I am merely a burdensome duty to him, and he wants to be done with it as soon as possible.”