While Nia and Eve were settling in, Daria and Artemis gabbing happily with them, Gillian took advantage of the distraction and slipped out of the house. The grounds called to her, as they always did at Houghton. Even in London, she was drawn to the parks and greens. Nature was calming and restorative. It was a balm.
But the siren song of nature was not the reason for her excursion that afternoon; Gillian was on a mission.
She made her way to the walled garden at the back of the expansive lawn. Artemis had said Charlie was wearing his “garden” clothes, and this, Gillian had been told, was Charlie’s garden. He was there, bent over a flowerbed, pulling weeds.
Charlie looked up at her, apparently hearing her footsteps. A smudge of dirt marred his forehead. So many gentlemen wouldn’t be willing to risk something Society considered so undignified. He didn’t even seem embarrassed.
“This is a lovely garden.” She meant it. A mature rowan tree in the middle reigned over the expanse. The paths through the garden were designed in such a way that they offered access without seeming to cut swaths through it. The flowers were abundant and varied. The shrubs were neatly trimmed. The two benches were sturdy but inviting.
“You’re welcome to stay, if you don’t mind me tending the flowerbeds while you’re here.”
She most certainly did not mind. “Had I brought any garden clothes with me to Brier Hill, I would help you.”
“You like working in gardens?” He didn’t seem horrified at the possibility.
“I like being in nature. Nothing beats a meadow or a stand of trees or a well-kept flowerbed for clearing the mind and bringing serenity.”
Charlie plucked a weed out of the soil. “I have pondered many a mathematical mystery while tending these beds. I have my best ideas here.”
She crossed to the nearest of the stone benches and sat. “You clearly care about this garden.”
“It was my father’s. He had it built when my parents were first married. He loved gardens—flowergardens, in particular.” Charlie’s tone had turned nostalgic. There was sorrow there too though. “He and I spent a lot of time here during the visits our family made to Brier Hill when I was little, before he...” He took a deep breath as he looked around. “My father taught me to love this garden.”
“You must miss him.”
He nodded. “Every day.”
Gillian knew how that felt. She loved her father. They’d been as close as any father and child could be. And they’d had a happy life, even as they’d mourned her mother. Now she saw him every day when she was at Brownlow, but she could only watch and wait for even a glimmer of paternal regard. “I miss my father too.”
“You are welcome to come here while you are at Brier Hill.” He adjusted his work gloves. “Though I’m a mathematician and, therefore, unfailingly logical, I firmly believe this is a magical garden.”
A magical garden. If there truly were such a thing, Gillian would never leave it.
“I sought you out to ask you to tell me a little more about your friends who are coming tomorrow,” she said. “I know their names, that you met them at school, and that they hail from the gentry, but I’d like to know what sort of people they are.”
“Artemis thoroughly interrogated me on the topic of my chosen friends.” Charlie returned to his weeding while he talked. “She spoke sweetly, but her eyes promised dire consequences if any of my friends proved less than exemplary.”
“She is ‘Artemis, slayer of men,’ you realize,” Gillian said.
“Oh, I know.” He tossed her a laughing grin, something the Jonquils were famous for. Their grins. Their golden hair. Their inherent goodness. She really ought to trust more thatthisJonquil wouldn’t invite people to the house party who would cause the Huntresses grief or misery. But she’d known too much of both to be at ease on that score.
“I have four particularly close mates from my years at school.” Charlie spoke as he continued his work. “Newton, whom you know because he married a member of your group.”
He was the student of law who had married Ellie.
“Thomas Comstock, whom we all call Toss, on account of the name Thomas often being abbreviated T-O-S. You met him very briefly in Town after my lecture at the Royal Society, though I suspect the gathering was too chaotic for much more than a word of introduction. He is quick with a joke and a smile. He is instantly everyone’s friend. He is also utterly incapable of keeping still.”
Being “instantly everyone’s friend” could mean he was either very personable and kind or inauthentically suave. The second possibility worried her.
“Dubhán Seymour is the one we call Duke. He is the same age as Toss and me, but you will insist he is older. Everyone does. There’s a fearsomeness to him that, coupled with his tendency to be particularly untalkative, makes him intimidating. Artemis is the Huntresses’ fierce defender, ready to do battle on your behalf at a moment’s notice. Duke is that for us.”
“I am not certain I like the idea of ‘fearsomeness.’ That is often used as an excuse for cruelty.”
“I have never, in all the years we’ve been friends, known Duke to be harsh with anyone who didn’t inarguably deserve it. You are more likely to find him unsociable than unkind.”
She didn’t have objections to that.
“Lastly,” Charlie said, “is the one we call Poppy. My oldest brother gave him that nickname four years ago, and much to Poppy’s chagrin, it has somewhat stuck. His actual name is Fennel Kendrick. His two sisters are married to two of my brothers, so we have declared ourselves brothers-in-law-in-law. He is younger than the rest of us by about three years but might very well be more mature than all of us combined. He is quiet, but don’t let that fool you. Poppy can see into your soul.”