Had he been taking advantage of his staff? He had given them only two weeks of notice, and not even considered that his letter wouldn't have arrived, despite it being a known problem. Not only that, but his coachman had hardly had the time to catch his breath, and being new, they’d not even had the time for a proper introduction.
Even now, he didn't complain; he simply opened the carriage door to assist Elmore inside and said, “my name is Alexander, but I really don't mind that you didn't ask, My Lord. Most employers wouldn't even care.”
Wasn't that the problem, though? Wealthy men like Elmore had a reputation for being cold and callous, but reputations like that didn't come from nowhere. A lot of titled men and womenwerecruel to their staff, too focused on their own lives to think of others.
Elmore wasn't like that, though. At least, he hoped not.
“I've been looking forward to coming back to London,” Elmore said now, “it has been a long time since I've spent real time here, and this botanist meeting was the perfect reason to return. That isn't an excuse for bad behavior, though, so I thank you for your patience.”
The coachman — Alexander — only offered a shy smile as he shut the carriage door. Then he shuffled to the front and out of sight.
A moment later, the carriage lurched into motion. It began to roll down the road at an easy pace, towards the open gates that led out onto the quiet street.
For not the first time, Elmore was grateful that his London home was more modest than his home inGlouchestershire. It was a lot easier to go unnoticed if people didn't immediately assume his title. It was also why he chose a plainer carriage than usual, a natural wooden brown instead of his favorite one painted gold and green.
Even so, as they reached busier streets, a few people turned to watch the carriage go. Mr. Washam was relatively wealthy, or at least wealthy enough to own a large house with acres of land, but it seemed that carriages were still unusual here. Perhaps these people were more used to the simple coaches for hire, or perhaps they preferred to walk everywhere instead.
It didn't matter, because in only twenty minutes they had reached the street where Mr. Washam lived. It was a quiet place, the houses separated by sprawling gardens and tall wooden fences. It was peaceful, and beautiful in a way that made Elmore's shoulders relax at the sight.
The carriage rolled to a stop outside of the most stunning house of all, the gate and fence flourishing with bright red roses. Across the way, Elmore saw more of that beautiful red shade travel around the side of the house and out of sight.
It was something else, this place. While his own gardens were always kept perfectly neat, this garden was wild. Free. The plants were left to grow naturally, instead of being clipped into place. Several types of flowers grew together, spilling from their flower beds and out across the grass, which was left to grow long and thick.
Even then, it was clearly loved, as not a single flower failed to bloom and there was not a single dry patch of greenery in the entire expanse.
Elmore was left in awe at the beauty of it all, and for a moment he forgot why he was even here.
Chapter 4
Aurora Washam
Although Aurora loved nothing more than the beaming sunshine, it wasn't always what was best for the plant life. Some species bloomed in summer and died off in the winter, but even the most hardy of flowers needed a little love in the dry summer months.
She had taken to watering some of them by hand, even though the English rainfall usually took care of most of it. Given that some plants needed more water than others, it was best to wander around the garden every so often and check the dryness of the soil, just to make sure everything was as it should have been.
Although it was getting late now, Aurora had still taken time after dinner to check on her favorite parts of the garden. Now she was with the wildflowers, running her hands through the delicate white chamomile flowers as she wandered past on her way to the bergamot.
Although she was unsure that the bergamot helped her cough as much as Father and the physician insisted, she was still grateful that Father had taken the time to grow his own. It was a beautiful, faded purple, with slender green stalks. It grew in great clumps that resembled shrubs, and sometimes Aurora liked to sit close by and feel the leaves tickle her cheeks.
It was too wet to sit on the ground now, though, and so Aurora settled for bending down to smell the sweet aroma.
When she popped back up, it was with a nervous squeak as she caught sight of someone standing just a few feet away. It wasn’t Father like she had first suspected, but a tall and broad-shouldered man with sandy blond hair.
“Excuse me,” she said, “I didn’t notice you approach. Are you here to see Father? It’s a bit late.” Nearing on eight o’clock, she suspected.
The man offered a smile, showing bright teeth. “You must be Aurora Washam, Mr. Washam’s daughter?” he asked, “I see you’re standing amongst the wild bergamot there; it’s a beautiful flower. Excellent for cold or cough remedies, I believe — and delicious in tea as well.”
Aurora felt her stomach twist. “Yes, it's quite beautiful indeed. My father grows the bergamot, along with everything else you see.”
“Then your father is an incredible gardener and botanist. Did you know that wild bergamot and bergamot are different, but people often get the two confused?”
Was this man trying to condescend her? He had seen her, standing in herowngarden, and assumed she didn't know her own plants.
Of coursewild bergamot was different, it was a herb and not a citrus — but she hardly needed to specify each time, when it was only wild bergamot that they even had here. Aurora knew the difference, as did Father; they'd been growing wild bergamot since she was four.
Shouting at this stranger wasn't helpful, though, and so Aurora forced herself to take a calming breath. “If you're here to see my father, he's inside. Perhaps you should let him know he has a visitor?”
“Oh, but this garden is so wonderful. Perhaps a tour, first?”