Retreat. Wield a shield. Return fire.
Gillian knew the strategy well. And just as Daria had pointed out, she knew which of the approaches she was best suited to.
And so she closed off her mind and thought of other things, ignoring the pain of being laughed at. Scott was helping Mrs. Brownlow return to herself, and that was worth enduring all the mockery in the world.
Chapter Fourteen
The next morning, Scott finisheda letter for Sarah, ate his breakfast, and looked in on Mrs. Brownlow. She not only appeared more hale and hearty than she had, but she also expressed a longing to be outside. Dr. Lowry responded with no concerns except that she be carried, so as not to exert herself, and be provided with ample blankets for warmth.
“Well, my dear Mrs. Brownlow,” Scott said, “it appears you will be spending your morning outside.”
“We have a gazebo not far from the back terrace,” she said. “I would adore spending some time there.”
“Then, that is where we will go.” Scott tugged at the bellpull, knowing full well he would need assistance to make certain that she arrived at the gazebo without exertion and that everything was prepared.
Mr. Walker answered the summons. He was grave and proper and standoffish, as a great many butlers were. His coldness, though, bothered Scott. Mr. Walker’s rigidity was a source of unhappiness for Gillian, and Scott didn’t like that.
“The doctor has approved of an excursion for Mrs. Brownlow,” Scott told the man. “She would like to spend some time in the gazebo. I am happy to carry her there, but would you see that all is prepared for her comfort upon her arrival?”
“Of course, Mr. Sarvol,” Mr. Walker said.
“Thank you.”
Scott stepped into the adjoining sitting room while Mrs. Brownlow’s lady’s maid dressed her for the small outing. He did his best not to pace, but his mind was ceaselessly spinning, no matter that he was enjoying himself at Houghton Manor. He’d not been to Thimbleby yet and didn’t know the state of it. His elongated sojourn was costing him money he didn’t have. Gillian had been oddly quiet through a good portion of the previousevening’s conversation, and he didn’t know why. He hadn’t yet received a letter from Mater, and he was growing anxious to hear from her. Mr. Walker irritated him, though what could be done about that, he didn’t know.
Too many things pulled at his thoughts, and he felt helpless to address any of them.
Still, he pasted a smile on his face as he carried Mrs. Brownlow out to the gazebo and saw her settled comfortably with a blanket tucked around her legs and pillows placed behind her back.
“Thank you for this,” she said.
“It is my pleasure.” Scott sat himself on the bench near the chaise longue that had been brought out for Mrs. Brownlow. He was close enough to her that he could address any need she had. He looked around at the lovely and well-kept garden. “This is a beautiful spot.”
She nodded. Her eyes were sharper than they had hitherto been. He hoped that was a sign that she was continuing to recover. “My husband and I . . . often sat here and watched as the seasons changed.”
“I can understand why.” He spied Gillian walking along a path in the garden. “I am not surprised to find Gillian here. I discovered at Brier Hill that she has a deep love of nature.”
“She does,” Mrs. Brownlow said. “And a keen eye for gardens. After she came here to live with me . . . she offered the gardener a few ideas for changes and improvements all over the grounds. Our gardener still hasn’t stopped singing her praises.”
“I don’t imagine her skills and interest are overly common,” Scott said.
Mrs. Brownlow shook her head. “She and her father had been struggling for a long time before her arrival here. She’d not had the ability to beautify the grounds at her childhood home.” Mrs. Brownlow paused to breathe but didn’t seem done withher recounting. “Making changes here seemed to help Houghton Manor feel like home to her. I was grateful for that.”
Gillian continued her slow circuit far enough away not to hear their conversation but near enough that he could see that her mind seemed heavy.
“She was very quiet during supper last night,” Scott said. “I had expected her to laugh along with us, but . . .” He wasn’t certain how to explain. “It almost seemed like she wasn’t paying us the least heed, yet I think she was listening quite closely.”
“Very little escapes her notice.” Mrs. Brownlow leaned back on her chaise, resting more fully.
“My sister is that way as well. I think the two of them would be very good friends.”
“You think of Gillian like a sister, then?” Mrs. Brownlow asked.
“No. Not at all.” The speed of his response surprised even him. But hedidn’tthink of Gillian the way he did his sister. “You’ll forgive me if I’m overstepping myself, but Mr. Walker seems to make Gillian very uncomfortable. She won’t tell me why, but I don’t at all like the way she pulls into herself when he’s nearby. She gets . . . smaller, somehow.”
Mrs. Brownlow nodded slowly. “It is not my story to tell, Mr. Sarvol. But yes, there is difficulty there.”
“Please, call me Scott. I believe we are good enough friends now for that.”