I squeezed my eyes shut tight, knowing that when I turned around, I would find Mrs. Melcourt in the open-topped carriage, her driver, Michaelson, pretending that he was not listening to every single word.
Easing my hand back into my pocket and wrapping my fingers around my handkerchief, I pulled it out and made a show of dabbing my forehead as I turned.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Melcourt,” I said.
The other woman frowned. “Are you quite well?”
“I must confess, I may have misjudged the summer afternoon. I went for a walk, only to find myself overtaken by the heat.”
“There are far more pleasant walks than this road,” said Mrs. Melcourt.
“That is true, but Mr. Hillock’s son, John, said that he spotted a crested cow-wheat not far from here,” I said, the first lie I could think of.
“What is that?”
“It’s a rare flower,” I said.
The woman stared at me for a moment. But then she nodded to the carriage. “If you’ve had enough of hunting for flowers, perhaps you would enjoy a ride back to the house. And your work.”
The word stung, just as she’d intended. There was nothing that I wanted less than to ride even a mile with this woman who seemed to barely tolerate my presence in her house these days, but to insist on walking home was foolish. I would only spite myself and my swollen feet in the process.
I nodded, and Michaelson climbed down to open the door for me. Drawing up my skirts, I climbed into the carriage with his help.
As soon as I was settled across from Mrs. Melcourt, she said, “I have just been visiting Lady Kinner. You will remember her from the ball.”
“Yes, I recall. I hope she is in good health.”
“Any woman with that much money and so few obligations should be. Her niece is returned from Boston.”
My awareness sharpened, even as I fixed my gaze on the countryside passing us by.
“Miss Orleon is such an accomplished young lady and quite charming. Matthew was taken with her when he went up to London for the Season last year.”
I couldn’t help it when my brows shot up.
“Is it so amusing that Matthew would have done the Season?” asked Mrs. Melcourt.
“He seems so content at Wisteria Farm with his roses.”
“Life is about more than flowers, Miss Smith. He has a duty to marry, and I am determined to see him marry well. He cannot continue to live on the generosity of Mr. Melcourt for much longer.”
“Generosity?”
“My husband provides Matthew with the use of Wisteria Farm as well as other necessities.”
We slipped into an uncomfortable silence until the gates of Highbury House came into view. I glanced at Mrs. Melcourt, thinking to thank her for the ride back, when she leaned in. “You occupy a peculiar position in this household, Miss Smith.”
“I do not think of myself as ‘in this household’ at all, but rather a guest of it,” I said.
Mrs. Melcourt tilted her head. “And yet my husband pays you a wage for your work. Payment is not customary for guests.”
I was about to reply when my heart began to pound and my head became light. My hand went to my chest.
“Miss Smith, are you quite well?” Mrs. Melcourt asked me for the second time that afternoon, that voice of hers freezing the very air.
But just as soon as the sensation had overtaken me, it fled. I shook my head slightly and said, “I’m fine, thank you,” resolving to apply a cool cloth to my neck and loosen my corset as soon as I could retire to the gardener’s cottage.
Mrs. Melcourt squinted at me. “You look a little pale.”
“Nonsense,” I said as Michaelson drew the carriage to a stop. A boy ran out from the stable and caught the lead horses to hold them.
I had risen when Mrs. Melcourt said, “You’d do best to let Michaelson help you down.”
“I’m made of sturdier stuff than most,” I said. I put one shaky food down on the carriage’s short ladder. My head swam again, but I sucked in a deep breath. One step. Two steps. Three steps.
When my boot touched the ground, the world rushed closed to a pinpoint and then everything went black.
* * *
When I opened my eyes again, I was looking into the face of a man in a black coat with an impressive set of muttonchops, last in fashion during the previous century.
“There you are, Miss Smith,” he said, sitting back.
“Who are… ?” I tried to push myself up only to realize that I didn’t know where I was or how I’d gotten there.
“I’m Dr. Irving,” he said.