Love Among the Spices Read online

  There is also something in his manner which I do not like; it seemed something too impertinent and too lively, although he was decorous enough in the drawing room. It is certain that he is not a gentleman in the same degree as Charlotte’s Mr. Humley, so perhaps my judgment is made harsher by such a comparison. Since I find him an unsuitable companion for Marianne, you may trust that he will not call here again for her. Charlotte tells me that he barely spoke to Marianne at the card party and seemed quite as friendly with every other young woman present, so I have high hopes that he is not entertaining any notion of pursuing her.

  I should warn you that there is something of a rumor going ‘round that he was seen walking with Marianne upon the public road; but as it was only old Mr. Narrow with his cart who was said to have spied them, I have great doubts as to its truthfulness and will soon set him to rights on the subject if it be false.

  While Mrs. Sotherby’s pen was flying across her letter’s page, the young woman subject to its scrutiny was making a tour of the village shops with her eldest cousin. Although Captain Lindley had not called at Norland Park since the cold afternoon of his initial reception, Mrs. Sotherby had decreed that Marianne must be accompanied on all outings by one or more of her cousins.

  Charlotte did not stir abroad from Norland often, due to her vast interest in her trousseau and her household preparations for assuming her place as mistress of Mr. Humley’s estate; but a shortage of ribbon with which to finish trimming her new night-cap persuaded her to set foot in the village and escort Marianne thither. Marianne, who had no cares to visit the shops, but had a longing for anything besides her cold chamber and the embroidery awaiting her in Mrs. Sotherby’s drawing room.

  “It simply is not proper, Marianne,” Charlotte whispered as she admired a length of pink ribbon trimming one of the shop’s newest bonnets. “To be seen out with a gentleman who is neither a close acquaintance of one’s family, nor an accepted suitor–that is the worst sort of reputation one can have.”

  Charlotte was a timid soul at heart, with few passions and no great desire for anything more than a comfortable, prosperous existence; although she felt a slight sympathy for the friendly young officer from the card party, she would never suggest that such a connection was worth the poor opinion of society. It was her duty to counsel her cousin on behalf of her mother's edict, and do her duty she would–although it was distracting her from thoughts more important, regarding the millinery of the future Mrs. Humley.

  “I can imagine there are reputations far worse than those born of innocent meetings,” Marianne answered, her voice not as low as it ought to be. “There are a great many scandals above walking or conversing–”

  “Quiet, Marianne,” Charlotte warned her in hushed tones. “You mean–” her voice dropped to a whisper again. “Criminal conversations?” The fingers holding the ribbon grew limp, as if the thought rendered the young lady half-faint. “Do not speak of such things, I beg you, for what would Mama say?”

  “I would think she would see a difference between a harmless walk and such goings-on,” replied Marianne, as she idly played with the feathers affixed to a silk turban on display.

  “But such unseemly things, Marianne,” said Charlotte. “I think your mind is too preoccupied with the sort of things–well, the sort of things only gentlemen should know.”

  “Only gentlemen should be aware that such bad behavior exists?” Marianne replied, with a laugh. “Then how should we ever know how to be good if we do not differentiate between harmless and harmful?”

  “That is not what I mean,” protested her cousin. “I mean the sketches about your room and the books you have taken from the library to read. It is not a lady’s place to read about battles and politics and philosophy. No more than a gentleman knows about ... about proper bonnets or ball gowns.”

  “Do you not ever imagine these things?” asked Marianne. “I should think a great and terrible battle cannot escape the thoughts of anyone who feels; that even the meaning of the Catechism must be given thought and not be mere words repeated without the soul’s ardent fervor.” Her voice was soft, not to please her cousin, but with emotion sweeping forth like a summer breeze.

  “Of course I do not,” Charlotte answered, cheeks red with indignation. “I have not imagined such things above twice in my life.” Her hands placed a lace-trimmed hat aside a trifle more firmly than necessary. “Do consider the little flowered head-dress you were admiring, Marianne,” she continued, as if the previous remarks had not been spoken between them. “It would be quite charming with your cream silk for Colonel Hendricks’s ball.”

  With a sigh, Marianne placed the little flowers aside as her cousin’s attention turned to a length of pale pink ribbon at the shop’s counter. She had no interest in Colonel Hendricks’s ball, nor the speculation on the part of Julia and her youngest cousin with regards to their hostess’s fine attire and choice of dishes served. She felt her exposure to Mrs. Hendricks’s lively conversation to have been sufficient without this additional invitation extended to the family.

  “I shall be but a moment, Marianne,” said Charlotte, as she counted out coins from her beaded stocking purse. Her cousin made no answer as she pushed open the shop door and stepped into the cold sunlight outside.

  She had taken but a few steps from the door before she collided with a gentleman from the street, whose figure was obscured momentarily by the brightness of the light. Her eyes were open wide when she moved away from him–enough to see that the gentleman before her was no stranger, but young Adam Nimbley the naturalist.

  It was too much of a coincidence, to be constantly running into gentleman of her acquaintance–once was sufficient, twice, uncomfortable–but three chance meetings was next to impossible, which Marianne should have perceived. Instead, she gazed at him with heated cheeks as he bowed, wishing herself a few minutes later in her departure from the shop.

  “Miss Stuart,” he said, with a smile requiring some effort to seem a natural expression. “It is a pleasant surprise to see you here.”

  “I did not know that you went abroad from London, sir,” said Marianne, stammering slightly. “I confess myself to be equally surprised to see you.”

  Adam's cheeks reddened. “I am a guest of Sir Allen at Combee House. Are you acquainted with his family?”

  “Only by name,” Marianne ventured to answer. “He is a friend of my cousins, I think. The Sotherby’s of Norland Park. But we never see them, for I had heard they were away from home.”

  Her manner of speech was growing warmer. Forgiving him for their previous awkwardness at the ball seemed quite possible now, despite the firmness of her convictions before. Maintaining such feeling against Adam Nimbley seemed impossible, when confronted with his earnest countenance in the loneliness of her exile. The memory of their first meeting rushed to her mind without notice, recalling Adam as the first companion whose acquaintance was made with her interests before her station.

  “The family lately returned from London for a respite,” he answered. “I traveled down with my uncle to meet them–he is on his way to Winchelsea, for he has a ship at port there which is in need of repairs after an encounter with smugglers.”

  “Smugglers?” said Marianne. “How distressing that must be for captain and crew–and how exciting! They must have been brave indeed to face such criminals.”

  “I fear the smugglers were apprehended by the royal navy,” he answered, “and that my uncle’s losses were sustained as an innocent party present by accident in the whole affair. So the adventure in your imagination is much greater than the one they have lived.”

  Marianne’s smile was warm in response. “Then I am sure your uncle is pleased, since no one was harmed and his wares are safe.”

  “My uncle is always in good spirits,” Adam answered, with a shy laugh. “He has the gift of feeling content in life without longing or envy for what he has not.”

  “He is an excellent example for us all,” said Marianne, lowering her ey
es. She was not content with her own station–far from it in her envy of that fortunate shopkeeper whose labors gave him a glimpse of the world. Something Mr. Nimbley might understand if she endeavored to explain it, given his family’s separate livelihoods divided between title and trade. This thought was dismissed quickly from Marianne's mind, however, as if dangerous feelings might follow.

  “Miss Marianne.” There was a note of concern in Charlotte’s voice as she approached. Her gaze shifted from her cousin to the awkward young man across from her in riding coat and cravat.

  “My cousin, Miss Charlotte Sotherby,” said Marianne, by way of introduction. “This is Mr. Adam Nimbley. An acquaintance of mine from London.” The young man bowed to Charlotte, whose face had paled with dismay.

  “Mr. Nimbley,” she replied, flustered. “We must be going, Marianne. Good day to you, sir.” She took Marianne’s arm in hand and hurried away.

  “My dear cousin, what is the reason for your haste?” Marianne groaned. “Must you see my every acquaintance as improper?”

  “I cannot allow you to speak to him,” Charlotte answered. “I have heard of Mr. Nimbley from my mother and I am quite certain that you should not be forming an acquaintance with him.” She was all but breathless with her haste, with Mr. Nimbley reduced to a danger equal to crocodiles in the Nile or runaway horses upon a public street.

  “But why not?” Marianne cried. It was impossible, that she must be pulled away from every conversation by a relative determined to prevent her from any enjoyable subject.

  She endeavored not to think of Mr. Nimbley's embarrassment–what must he think of her relatives, who constantly dragged her away whenever she spoke to him? He undoubtedly believed them to be snubbing him because of his father's limited fortune and small title–crimes of which her own father might plead himself a victim.

  “If you do not know the reasons why, then there is no possible means of explaining it to you,” Charlotte answered.

  *****

  Adam Nimbley had spent a great deal of time considering what to do when Marianne Stuart was no longer in London. He applied himself vigorously to his study of caterpillars in the captivity of a netting cage he had fashioned, then to his sketches of butterflies native to Kent from his summer observation.

  But none of these afforded him relief from his interest in the young lady, nor his desire to speak with her again. The Marianne he had encountered in his uncle’s shop reminded him more keenly of the young girl in the woods than the elegant miss of the Sanford’s ball, and young Nimbley had hoped the spirited side of her character might emerge again in less glamorous settings.

  In the meantime, he grew moody and disconsolate; he did not finish his dinner nor touch his tea. He wandered about with a restless energy one afternoon, then languished at home in the library upon another, his gaze fixed upon an atlas’s page as his mind wandered elsewhere.

  “Would you allow me to go into the country for a bit, Father?” he asked.

  The baronet had been snoring before the fireplace, but was awake at the sound of his youngest son’s voice. “Away?” he said. “Whatever for? ‘Tis the Season, my boy. You must have engagements in London to keep you busy anon.”

  Adam stirred. “My uncle is going to Winchelsea to see the damaged ship in harbor there,” he said. “I thought I might accompany him. He might be in need of assistance if his business there is long.”

  Sir George grunted. “Your cousin is ample assistance for my brother if he needs it."

  Adam was silent for a moment. “Then I thought I might pay a visit to Sir Allen in Esher at his invitation,“ he said. “It is on the road to Winchelsea, so you need not trouble with the carriage. My uncle shall break his journey there as often does; or else I shall take a horse and ride there myself.”

  Something of the eagerness veiled in his tone seemed to reach Sir George’s ear. He looked away from the fire’s glow to his son’s face, with an intent study that served to render the young man’s complexion more pale than wont.

  “So you are to be away, no matter what the means?” he asked. “Well, then, be away if you so choose. The society of London can wait, I suppose.”

  Young Nimbley relaxed. “Thank you, Father,” he answered. “I will not be gone long. But a few days. I shall return in time to honor the card which Lady Lufton kindly sent for her dinner party.” With that, he made his escape from the room, taking the stairs to his chamber with more energy than he had known for several weeks.

  Did Sir George suspect there were other motives at work? Such a thought crossed Adam’s mind as he made haste to pack his things and write a note of acceptance to their friends. He tucked his journal of natural observation into his luggage, along with a book of botany and his edition of Paley identical to Marianne’s copy. She would not have read hers, he remembered, for it was yet waiting at Evering House.

  A gentleman’s wardrobe requires care in packing, even at the hands of a manservant as capable as Sir George’s–although not many manservants must endure their master’s haste to tuck such a number of odd scientific objects among his dinner clothes.

  The last thing retrieved by Adam Nimbley was the little box he had carried with him to Evering House, tied shut with the string. He placed it in his pocket as before, not trusting it to the hazard of traveling beside folded shirts and cravats, the riding coat carefully tucked beside the other articles.

  On Monday, he was upon horseback and en route to Winchelsea alongside his uncle's cart; on Tuesday, he was alone in Esher except for the occupants of Combee House and the brief pleasure of a renewed acquaintance with Marianne Stuart.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Marianne’s blue silk was unpacked by Mrs. Sotherby’s maid, brushed and mended where a small thread was loose upon the seam, then fitted to the young lady with as much enthusiasm on her part as a doll being dressed for children’s play.

  Her cousins declared her “exceedingly handsome” at the Colonel’s ball, including Mrs. Sotherby, who reflected that Marianne had a great deal of the delicate beauty which had made Lady Stuart’s reputation in society–although Marianne’s wildness detracted from such charms. Charlotte’s appearance was more to the good woman’s tastes, not because of her embroidered green lawn, but the demure blushes and downcast eyes which Miss Sotherby displayed.

  “You must stand up with Julia,” Mrs. Sotherby had informed her cousin as they emerged from their carriage, “for Charlotte shall not dance tonight. Mr. Humley is detained in town upon business; but that should not stop your pleasure, of course.”

  “I am obliged to you, Ma'am,” said Marianne, obediently, although her reply brought the young Captain Lindley to Mrs. Sotherby’s mind, much to her chagrin. She had taken pains upon accepting the invitation to be sure that the young man in question was not among the guests; and as luck would favor her, Captain Lindley had business elsewhere on the date of the ball, assuring her that it was safe for Marianne to be one of the party.

  It was a large affair by the county’s standards, with all the local gentry and oldest families of quality present in their fine feathers and brightest gems. Those who had not yet gone to London for the Season, those who were content in their own county without a glimpse of the peerage, all pleased to dance the quadrille and eat cold chicken and ham in a parlor room scarce big enough for a dozen guests comfortably, but was the best which Colonel Hendricks could engage from the local inn.

  “The lovely girl in blue–are you acquainted with her?” Lady Allen asked Mrs. Sotherby. The young lady she was admiring was Marianne, whose figure was indeed striking as she stood by watching couples turn in the dance. Her dark hair was piled elegantly high, studded with small white and silver ornaments, the matching fan beating time against her grey-blue skirts despite the many lessons Mrs. Fitzwilliam had offered on the subject of using a fan properly.

  “That is my cousin, Miss Marianne Stuart,” said Mrs. Sotherby, with a surge of family pride. “The daughter of Sir Edward and Lady Gladys Stuart–my poor de
ar niece whom we have lamented these many years. Miss Stuart is lately come from London to stay with us. It is her first Season, you know–we are to chaperone her when we go on the fourteenth.”

  “Ah,” said Lady Allen. “She is a charming girl, I am sure. And no doubt a very pleasant companion for Julia. For Charlotte, I suppose, has her mind very much on other matters.”

  “She shall be pleased to stand up with her cousin in London,” Mrs. Sotherby answered. “We are not too busy with our own affairs, since so much of her trousseau is ready. Mr. Humley has such a capable housekeeper at Goldenrod, he has scarce left anything to be done.”

  Their conversation continued so pleasantly on the favored subject of Charlotte’s future that Mrs. Sotherby’s eye was momentarily removed from her cousin. Charlotte was conversing with Mrs. Churchill and Julia was dancing with the young Mr. Mayville, so Marianne was momentarily free for the first time in more than a week.

  She had no wish to be dancing, even had a partner presented an opportunity. Whether her low spirits were a result of Norland Park’s influence or the disappointment she felt at Captain Lindley’s absence, Marianne herself did not care to inquire. She opened her fan and fluttered it with boredom as she watched the happy couples moving to and fro.

  “Would you wish to join them, Miss Marianne?” Young Nimbley was close beside her, surprising her in such a manner that a shiver, not unpleasant, stole through her frame at the sound of his familiar voice. Here was pleasant company at last; a friend whose conversation would not be upon London's social engagements.