Bees in the Butterfly Garden (21 page)

“And don’t tap your toes or drum your fingers. Those are signs of emotional stress.”

“The sort you’re feeling at the moment, by telling me all of this?”

He didn’t acknowledge her attempted interruption. “I’ll be using the name Ian Vandermey. We’ve known each other all our lives, but not so well that we know all about one another. I can help fill in only what’s necessary to share. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

“Of course, Ian. I’m so glad you’re recognizing my potential. In these past few weeks, I’ve felt as though I’ve gotten to know my father better just by knowing his past. I want to do this. For him.”

Those were the first words she’d uttered with a trace of kindness toward John. Too bad for her he saw right through them to the truth. “You act as though what you intend to do would make him proud of you.” He shook his head. “You were more correct—and I suspect more honest—when you said you were trying to prove how wrong he was to shut you away. It’s revenge spurring you on, Meg. Not some kind of belated love for him.”

Before she could defend herself or deny his words, the music ended and Ian took a step back, bowed, then politely excused himself. He wasn’t sure which of them he despised more at that moment: her for deceiving herself or himself for using her.

Every bit of elation that he’d agreed to work with her abandoned Meg upon hearing his words. What right did he have to tell her how she felt? She ought to know. . . .

Just then Geoffrey came to claim his second dance of the evening, the single waltz she’d allowed him. But her stubborn gaze never stopped following Ian around the room.

Ian seemed entirely at ease, first laughing with Dex Markingham, then asking Dex’s sister to dance. She watched him twirl the other woman around the floor, surprised when she found herself wishing he’d looked at her that way. Happily, without any concern except to enjoy the dance. How grand he looked, so strong yet graceful. So handsome.

“Someone you know well?”

She’d nearly forgotten she was dancing. “Yes, my cousin. I’ll introduce him to you if you like.”

Geoffrey turned his gaze back to her. “Yes, I would like to meet your cousin. I’d like to meet everyone in your family, or anyone at all who is important to you.”

She smiled, but only briefly. “It’s a very small group, actually. I have no siblings, and my parents are both gone.”

“Then I imagine you’re all the more eager to establish yourself in a new family—through marriage. With a husband whose family will welcome and love you. And then children of your own so you’ll have a private portion of society to celebrate with, to hide away with, to enjoy every day of your life with.”

His face was so friendly, so purely hopeful, as if everyone everywhere wanted exactly what he proposed. And why should they not?

But as appealing and natural as Geoffrey made a family sound, as much as Meg might secretly admit she’d wanted that all her life, she’d never allowed herself to dream of one. Not when the only family she’d ever known consisted of staff at a remote, if exclusive, school.

“You’re a wonderful man, Geoffrey, with wonderful dreams about how a family should be. I hope you find just the right woman to share those dreams.”

He leaned closer, nearly scandalously so, and spoke in a whisper. “Perhaps I already know her.”

Meg laughed as if he’d shared a jest, but from the corner of her eye she caught Ian again. His gaze on her both intrigued and surprised her.

Such a frown! Perhaps he was jealous.

She laughed again, knowing it was foolish to think so. More likely he didn’t trust her discretion. He probably wished she wouldn’t talk to anyone but the Pembertons. And him.

Ian finished the dance, going so far as to kiss the fingers of the woman he’d just danced with. Then he returned her to Dex’s side, where he’d found her, thanked them for a lovely evening, and said his good night. Their protests over his early departure assured him his identity would never be questioned.

After collecting his top hat and refusing the footman who offered to summon a carriage, Ian walked down the street as if he hadn’t a forlorn thought in the world.

While inside he called himself the idiot he was—at the same time unable to ignore an inescapable, accusing voice.

This is my daughter, Ian. The child I gave up so she could have a better life—without me or my ways. You’re going to make a fallen woman of her without even touching her.

It didn’t matter that Meg was pushing him into this endeavor or even that it was the best way he could think of for her to be free of Brewster’s interference. If Brewster refused to be cut out of their lives, Ian would be the buffer between them, shielding her until they were both free of him.

Even the fact that it was the
Pemberton
coffers—including gold John himself had coveted for years—seemed dwarfed by how monumental a mistake this felt.

A fine mist permeated the air, but there was more than that dampening Ian’s spirit. Surely his soul didn’t sag because of the way he’d allowed himself to be manipulated by her. As much as he’d tried not to think of Meg in these last few weeks, he’d suspected all along that he lacked as much control over his own heart as he apparently lacked over Meg herself.

If Skipjack were here now, he’d knock Ian off his feet and be right to do it. Any feeble protest Ian could muster—that he was only trying to stop her from going to Brewster—was nothing more than a weak excuse.

But Ian knew there was more even than that. It wasn’t the dance she shared in that other man’s arms. It wasn’t even her laughter. Rather it was the
kind
of laughter she’d enjoyed. It had made its way straight to Ian, piercing through his heart and into his soul. Laughter that bubbled out of pure enjoyment, honest and true, the kind that made it past the mouth, up to the eyes. He hadn’t needed to see it, though he had tortured himself and looked anyway. And there it was, in her eyes, just as he’d expected.

Such thoughts had nothing to do with anything so simple as jealousy. They came from the sure knowledge that not only was the man she’d danced with far better for Meg than Ian could ever be, but he was also no doubt the kind of man Skipjack himself would have chosen for his daughter.

Because John had made one thing absolutely clear before he died: he’d never have chosen Ian. Not for his Meggie.

21

It is an utter violation of good breeding and training to speak or to behave in a way that disrespects, embarrasses, or otherwise denigrates another human being; in so doing, you denigrate yourself as well.

Madame Marisse’s Handbook for Young Ladies

“Both of you walk slower than Nomi.” Evie’s pace quickened as she uttered the words. “I’m going ahead and will meet you round the bend, at the
usual
settee.”

Meg was familiar with Evie’s disdain for Claire’s favorite iron-and-wood settee in the park. Although she hadn’t been told the entire story, Meg knew it was the spot Claire had most often shared with her first and only love, the neighbor who’d left her behind and eventually taken his entire family with him.

Just now Claire didn’t seem to possess a hint of the wistfulness she often held when nearing that spot. She looked ahead to where Evie soon disappeared, a troubled frown on her otherwise-perfect forehead.

But Meg wasn’t in the least worried about Evie. She had other thoughts on her mind as she continued to scan the area for a familiar figure. Because the weather was so fair today, they’d left earlier than usual. Meg was in no hurry to get to the park settee. It would be at least a half hour before Ian expected her on this end of the vast parkland. She must draw out their visit for as long as it took him to find her.

“I’m hoping to see Ian here,” Meg said, perhaps a bit too eagerly. Was her manner as it should be? Her tone ordinary? Heaven knew it wasn’t the first time she’d lied in her life, but doing it so calculatingly might be harder than she thought, particularly in light of all Ian’s instructions. “Do you recall that I mentioned him last night? I don’t think you saw me dancing with him. My cousin.”

Claire nodded, but her mind was clearly still on her sister, who was beyond sight altogether now.

“I do hope you’ll like him. He’s a very distant sort of relative. I’m actually not even sure how we’re related. He mentioned he would make a point to walk this end of the park today and hoped to spot us.” Perhaps she’d said too much. . . .

“It’s a fine day for a walk.”

Meg obviously had little to worry about regarding Claire’s scrutiny. “You’re worried,” she said.

“Yes, I am.”

Meg put her arm through Claire’s as they strolled along. “About what?”

“The usual. But today I worry for your sake, I’m afraid.”

“Mine! Whatever for? Evie has been especially nice to me. She picked up the glove I dropped before we left, and this morning she noticed when my juice glass was nearly empty and asked for it to be refilled.”

“Yes, that’s just it. She’s only nice when she has something up her sleeve.”

Meg waved away Claire’s concern. “Evie and I have been getting along well. Nothing’s changed that. She knows I’m not interested in Geoffrey.”

Claire continued to stare ahead as if she could still see the young troublemaker. “Last night Geoffrey danced with you twice. He brought you punch three times. He stayed by your side whenever he wasn’t obligated to dance with someone else. For all practical purposes, Geoffrey was your escort rather than Nelson and I.”

Meg refused to be concerned. “You kept track of what went on as well as Evie might have, had she been there.”

“I told you she’s figured out a way to lay hold of what goes on at every party Geoffrey attends. I was watching him because I wanted to know if we should expect trouble.”

“I’m sure Evie is clever enough to find out anything she wants to know. But have you forgotten I danced with a number of other gentlemen as well? My . . . cousin, of course, and I danced with Nelson twice. I even sat next to Nelson at supper. It wasn’t as if Geoffrey were at my side the entire evening.”

“But her spies only report what
Geoffrey
does, not anyone else. She would have been told only that Geoffrey brought you punch three times and danced with you twice and was very attentive.”

Meg wished she had the heart to laugh, but in truth she was weary of Claire’s fear of her own sister. “I’ll speak to her again, then.”

Relief flooded Claire’s face. “Will you? Whatever you said soon after you first arrived was so effective, I know she’ll listen again.”

“It’s ridiculous for her to expect Geoffrey to wait for her. I noticed there were a number of young ladies eager to dance with him, and whenever he approached, he received nothing but smiles. Sooner or later, someone closer to his own age will catch his eye.”

Claire sighed. “Not while his eye is on you, I’m afraid. And you know Geoffrey is only nineteen years of age. Not so very much older than Evie herself, which is why she thinks it’s logical for him to wait.”

“I thought he was young! Why hasn’t he gone off to college, then, and ended all of this nonsense? If he were no longer constantly around, perhaps Evie would outgrow this infatuation.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps absence will make the heart grow fonder, as they say. When Geoffrey said he was delaying college for at least a year, I think Evie convinced herself he didn’t want to leave her side.”

They turned the bend in the pathway where the trees grew dense behind the pond. It wasn’t the most secluded location in Central Park because of its relatively close proximity to the edge, but it hinted at privacy with overgrown foliage, a swell in the land, tall granite ledges, and fewer places to sit along the way.

Meg looked for the usual settee, only to find it gone entirely from its spot.

“There she is,” Claire said. “Whatever has she done now?”

Evie must have been on the lookout for them because she hastily grabbed something off the wooden seat nearby, then put whatever it was behind her back, awaiting them with the friendliest of smiles. All of which made even Meg suspicious.

“Why isn’t the settee in its usual place?” Claire asked.

“I don’t know,” Evie said. “It was like this when I arrived.” She spread out her arms as if to embrace the area, revealing nothing but a handkerchief in one of her hands. “I think it’s a lovely improvement, so snug among the trees. I saw a frog just a moment ago. Why don’t you sit and enjoy it awhile?”

“Let’s push the settee back to its regular place,” Claire suggested.

“Oh no!” Evie turned to Meg. “Aren’t you positively exhausted of the same view every time we come to the park? At least this way you can see some of the setting from a new angle. Perhaps it’ll inspire images for the garden.”

Meg looked around. The trees were taller here, but other than pine needles and leaves decaying from last fall, there was little to see that might inspire a garden. “I can’t imagine why someone thought the seating would be better here. You can’t even see if someone is coming along the pathway.”

“Of course you can, if you just glance over your shoulder,” Evie said. “Now sit, because I really don’t think hauling a Central Park settee around is something Madame Marisse graduates should be doing.”

Meg exchanged a glance with Claire. That was certainly true.

Claire neared the seat first. “All right, but I plan to tell our driver about it when he comes for us. He’ll either set it right or find someone from the city to do it.”

“We could find another settee,” Meg suggested. She wasn’t sure she wanted to cock her head around every few seconds, in search of Ian.

“No, positively not.” Evie’s voice was all confidence. “This is the one Claire’s precious Jude sat on last. She won’t sit on another.”

No sooner were Meg and Claire settled than Evie stepped back toward the path. “I’ve just had a wonderful idea! Since the weather is so perfect today, why don’t we walk home instead of that tedious carriage? I for one could use the movement. I wish I could positively
run
today!”

Claire tsked. “Run. No lady ever does such a thing, particularly in the city, and most assuredly not in the kinds of dresses any of us are wearing.”

Evie snapped her arms into a folded position against her chest. “Well, I won’t run, then, but I
will
walk home. Short of wrestling me to the ground—something
else
none of us are dressed for—you cannot stop me.”

She marched back in the direction they’d just come, leaving Claire and Meg behind.

Claire watched her sister leave, the frown back on her face. “She brings out the absolute worst temper in me. I’m always saying no to her, but more egregious than that, I seem to look
forward
to saying no. She makes me dislike both myself and her whenever we’re together.”

As she spoke, Claire pulled the strings on her reticule. She was in the habit of carrying a small book of sermons, and often when they sat in the park, she read portions aloud. Meg had believed the spiritual content was for the sole benefit of Evie—though it seemed to have produced little in the way of results—but evidently even with Evie’s absence, a sermon would be read.

Despite a preference for one of Evie’s novels instead, Meg sat back to listen to Claire’s pleasant voice. Meg had heard many sermons in her life, since church attendance was mandatory at school. More than once, she’d shifted in her seat, wishing some of the goodness of the words would seep into her soul and make the behavior she knew she needed to maintain come more naturally. But it never had.

At least now she understood why it had always been so difficult: she truly was her father’s daughter, as she’d reminded Ian only last night. Instead of trying to please her father all these years with her false goodness, she should have embraced the rebellion she’d given up when she was fourteen. Perhaps then he might have loved her enough to want her company.

“Oh!”

The startled sound made Meg jump, and she looked around, expecting to see Ian coming straight toward them. She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t been diligent about trying to spot him.

But there was no one around. Claire pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve and dabbed at what appeared to be a bird dropping on the cuff of her dress. “That Evie! I knew she was up to something.”

Meg couldn’t help but laugh. “You can’t seriously blame her for that, Claire. Unless you think she brought Pindar out here somehow and trained him to wait until just now to . . . ?”

“I know you’re right. You see how eager I am to blame her?” She glanced at Meg angrily. “You would be too, if you were her victim as often as I’ve been.” With the mark as clean as it was likely to get with just a handkerchief, Claire picked up the book again. “I suppose I’m not exactly the picture of virtue, reading from this book one moment and in the same breath casting blame my sister’s way.”

“If it’s any comfort, I’m sure I’d think the same if I were you. She did leave suspiciously quickly, and here we sit under all these trees. Only it’s really impossible, isn’t it? I know she loves birds, but she can’t train those out here in the wild.”

“She studies them enough to make me wonder.”

Then Claire laughed, and Meg joined in. It was just too outlandish an idea.

Claire resumed reading, eventually passing the book to Meg to carry on at the halfway point as she often did. Meg took the book, hiding her reluctance to read about a God who wanted her best, who sent His Son so that they could spend an eternity in heaven together. Such thoughts poked at her conscience, despite her confidence that none of it should matter.

She glanced up now and then to see if Ian might be approaching on the path nearby. Surely he was looking for her by now, and this was the edge of the park she’d told him they frequented. He could be here at any moment.

But there was no sign of him, and so Meg’s eyes returned to the sermon—only to freeze on the page in front of her.

“Oh!”

There, in exactly the middle of the book, was another dropping from above. Meg held the book away, tilting it for Claire to see what had happened.

“That Evie!” Claire exclaimed. “It
must
be a prank!”

They both sprang from the settee.

Meg looked up in search of some sort of cage, impossibly but intentionally placed in the trees by Evie. But there was nothing, just the sound of birds hiding among the new green leaves.

Then she looked at the settee, seeing for the first time where several splotches had been wiped away. Because of the faded paint on the wooden slats, the blotches hadn’t been readily visible before they’d taken their seats.

She looked at the back of Claire’s gown, seeing more than a couple of dabs that must have transferred from the settee to the material in her bustle. The same must have tainted Meg’s own gown, although she wasn’t about to attempt looking. At least Claire’s dress was white; marks on Meg’s dark-blue gown were probably even more noticeable.

“We’ve both been spattered, I’m afraid.” Meg faced the settee again, tipping it back. “Would you look at that?”

Claire came up behind her. There, speckling the natural carpet of twigs and leaves, were bird droppings of various size, shape, and color. The settee had been set directly in line with a habitual droppings path.

“Evelyn Annabel Pemberton,” Claire said between gritted teeth.

She stomped around the settee, bending down to pull back some of the ground cover that, upon closer inspection, appeared to have been deliberately thickened. New rows of leaves looked to have been brushed into place along where the settee now sat.

“That wicked girl dragged this settee over here on her own. Look at those tracks!” A fuming Claire started off toward the walking path, but Meg caught her hand. They couldn’t leave! Not before Ian arrived. And yet, how could they stay, soiled as they were?

“Perhaps we both ought to wait a bit longer, Claire.”

Claire looked at Meg as if she’d lost all sense, and Meg patted Claire’s hand even quicker.

“First we might find someone to move the settee so it won’t be in line with the bird droppings any longer. And then . . . well, we’re both so angry at the moment, I don’t think either one of us should see Evie until we’re less . . . irritated. Madame Marisse always said never to act in anger or haste. Remember?”

Claire exhaled a long breath. “You’re right, of course. You’re as good at handling me as you are with Evie herself. Let’s go to our driver and tell him about the settee.”