Dressing quickly, I swept up my sketchbook and pencil. I knew the Melcourts would be at church, servants in tow. I would use the time to check my final drawings for the winter garden against the physical space. Then I would pack my things.
Outside, the weak sun felt warm when I tilted my head back to sample it. A goldfinch chirped, and leaves whispered as they floated to the earth. Underground I knew that the hundreds of bulbs Mr. Hillock’s men and I had spent hours planting would be beginning their life cycle, emerging from dormancy before the first green stem burst out of the ground in defiance of the winter.
I took my time, enjoying the solitude as I made my way through the sculpture garden with its slow-growing topiaries. I turned the corner to round the hedge between the water and poet’s gardens and walked straight to the winter garden’s gate. They key was in the lock, so I let myself in.
I breathed deep.
Starting on the right edge of the circular garden, I began a slow progression around the space, letting myself dream. Although meant to look its best at the bitterest time of the year, I wanted it to be beautiful in spring, summer, and autumn as well. Mr. Hillock and I had agreed on a climbing rose that would spread over the wall, a tribute to Matthew. Echinops’ silver spikes of leaves would rise up and show off their pale purple flowers in the summer, and by winter they would have died back to perfect pom-poms of seed heads swaying in the wind and scattering their bounty. I made a note with my pencil to ask Mr. Hillock to be sure to leave the seeds for the birds as long as he could.
I don’t know how long I stayed. I was lost, absorbed by my task and compelled to finish. To be done with Highbury House so I could try to move on.
My concentration was broken when I heard the squeak of the gate. I looked up from where I’d crouched to scribble a note. Matthew.
He paused, his right hand resting on the iron gate, his eyes locked on me. “Venetia.”
My name drifted to me on the autumn breeze.
Hesitantly I rose. “Why are you here?”
“I hoped to find you alone.” He took a step forward. “I needed to see you.”
My hand flew up. “Stop! Please don’t come any closer.”
He froze midstep, his expression agony. But so was mine. I could leave this place behind. The pain and loss may never completely leave me, but they would fade. But I could not do that if Matthew kept opening the wound.
“But, Venetia—”
“Whatever you’ve come to say, I don’t need it. I don’t want it.” My voice cracked, and I looked down at my shaking hands. “Why did you have to come now, when I’m finally ready to leave?”
“I wanted to come earlier,” he said.
“Then why didn’t you?” I hurled the words at him, aiming to wound.
“Helen told me that you didn’t want to see me,” he said.
“Your sister said that? And you believed her?”
His shoulders sagged. “Why shouldn’t I? You didn’t return any of my letters.”
“You wrote? The only correspondence I’ve received is Adam’s.”
He shoved a hand through his hair and gripped the roots. “They kept us apart.”
“And we believed them,” I murmured.
“Why wouldn’t we? If we no longer have a child, you are freed of your obligations to me.”
My obligations to him? I was the one who was being cast out.
“Matthew, I appreciate that you were trying to do the noble thing when you asked for my hand.”
He stared at me so long that I began to shift from foot to foot under his scrutiny.
“You think I was doing the noble thing?” he finally asked.
“With no child, there is no scandal. If you’re worried that I will hold you to your offer of marriage, don’t fear. I’ll absolve you of all responsibility.”
“Then you don’t wish to marry me?” he asked.
I turned away. “I have accepted that what I want and what I can have are two different things. I’m leaving Highbury House today. I cannot stay any longer knowing that our daughter died here.”
He hinged at the waist, gasping out, “A daughter? We had a daughter?”
“You didn’t know?” I asked.
Tears shone in his eyes. “My sister said that it was impossible for the doctor to tell.”
My free hand balled up into a tight fist. “Your sister lied. We had a girl. I thought to call her Celeste.”
He dashed tears from his eyes. “It’s a beautiful name.”
“It was what my father called my mother sometimes.”