Mary Moore - The Aristocrat's Lady

He knew his request was odd, and should Nicole’s mother be of a matchmaking bent, he could be jumping into the proverbial frying pan. But he believed Nicole’s intent never to marry, and he had actually invited her mother to join them to dash any hopes he might have raised.

“I am sure you do not need me along for a few moments of fresh air,” her mother had kindly answered. “Indeed, I should only be in your way.” He was caught unawares as she then finished, “Toby will be chaperon enough, to be sure.”

He had hoped his astonishment had not shown as she bid them both good-night and cautioned her daughter not to stay outside long enough to catch a chill.

He had learned from the afternoon not to let his confusion over the servant cause an outburst of anger, but he felt the need to defend himself anyway. In a polite but serious tone he stated, “I promise I do not intend to compromise you by my request, Nicole.” He had risen and gone to her chair to take her hand and place it upon his arm.

She shook her head and laughed as they wandered onto the terrace. “My lord, you must stop seeing Toby as a threat. I’ve tried to explain that Toby is a fixture in our lives and we often take his presence for granted. In fact, you have made me quite conscious of the fact that we do not appreciate him as we should.” Before he could respond, she laughed again. “Be assured my mother would never have allowed this without Toby’s presence.”

Devlin had to lean closer to hear her words, a habit he had come to enjoy in earnest. She led him to a bench at the end of the terrace. “Would you like to sit a moment?”

Devlin could not see the large servant, but he assumed her lowered voice meant that he was near and that she did not wish him to hear their conversation.

Nicole instantly began to talk of the garden now twinkling in front of them. Her love of it was very obvious to him, and his own interest was piqued by their mutual pursuit.

“It was Mr. Benson, our gardener, who thought of interspersing the plants with covered lanterns so it could be savored by day or night. He allows me the honor of the plants on the veranda, but the garden is his domain.” She sat quietly a moment. “I feel so close to God when I am out of doors. I am amazed that His creation is available to us just by sitting amidst a small garden.” He had waited for such an opening, when alone, to discuss this God she and his grandmother allowed to pervade their lives. Would now be the time?

Quite unexpectedly she said, “Devlin, close your eyes.” She leaned her head back against the rough brick while closing hers. He was so surprised he had not even time to enjoy her use of his name.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, I am not a lunatic! Close your eyes and tell me what you smell.”

He felt a little foolish, but did as he was bid. “I suppose flowers would be too obvious?”

She giggled, then shushed him. “God has given us five wonderful senses. What a waste not to use them all. Try again.”

He sat with his eyes closed and wondered if she was a little more than he bargained for, when suddenly a specific scent overcame him. “I believe I smell roses. Are we near roses?”

“Yes, yes!” she exclaimed as if she were a teacher happy with her student’s progress. “The trellis next to us has climbing roses. They are my favorite.”

He felt exuberant, just because he had pleased her! He suddenly anticipated a continuation of this exercise.

“But they are the flowers that are closest to you,” she said. “You must try again, but now you must get past the roses. Try to determine some others.”

His pleasure quickly dissipated. It had proven harder than it seemed, and he had worried about disappointing her. His only hope was to turn the tables.

“What do you smell, Nicole?”

She took a long time to speak and he wondered if she had heard him. He opened his eyes to await her reply and decided he was content to simply watch her.

“I, too, smell the roses. But when I get past the roses I can smell grass, freshly scythed. And, of course, I smell the fishpond. When the passion flowers fall into the water, it changes their scent. It goes from a cloying sweet one to an amazingly pungent one. But flowers are only a part of it. I can smell the smoke from the chimney and the new hay from Mr. Loft’s stable. It makes me think of the country and wagon rides.”

She had grown quiet again, but seemed perfectly relaxed.

And he had been surprised. He had been able to smell those things, too, when she had pointed them out. He was sure he would never view his horticultural interest in the same way!

But Nicole began to speak again. “I can picture Mr. Keats in such a setting as this when he wrote,

‘And in the midst of this wide quietness/A rosy sanctuary will I dress/with the wreath’d trellis of a working brain/with buds, and bell, and stars without name …’”

Then she had told him, a little shyly, “I also smell you. I mean, your cologne. I am not familiar with it but I remember it from the night we met on the terrace. So it evokes memories of a lit cigar and the faint aroma of leather and horses.” She suddenly sat up straight but did not look at him.

“What are you about letting me … ramble on like this?” Her cheeks flamed and she knew he could see it in the well-lit garden. “I believe I may have to stay off moonlit terraces with you, my lord. I promise I am usually much more proper and much less fanciful.”

“You were not rambling, my dear, and I thought we agreed on Devlin. I do believe I shall never take a simple garden lightly again.” He paused a moment, then went on, “I admit I had an ulterior motive for wanting to share your terrace.”

This had lifted her face, and he noticed questioning apprehension in her posture. “It is nothing untoward or nefarious, Nicole.” He did take a more serious turn, however. “I know it is not my business, but you say you will never marry. I should like to know why.” He went on hurriedly, thinking that even as he asked it, he felt a niggling desire that it were not so. “I find it surprising that such a delightful, intelligent woman should disdain that illustrious institution.”

He sensed another of her inner battles raging and felt a little remorse that he had broken the pleasant mood. Once again, she surprised him.

“I do not suppose my reasons much different from your own. I am aware that is a great presumption on my part, as we have not yet discussed your reasons for avoiding it, but I suspect that both are based on the general premise that we should be better off unmarried.”

“That is very vague, Nicole. If you would rather not confide in me, you may certainly tell me to mind my own affairs.”

“I have no reluctance to discuss it. It is more that while you may understand my overall desire to escape the institution … as a man you may not comprehend additional personal reasons.”

“As a man I may not. As a friend I would certainly try.”

“That was very prettily said, sir.” She sighed and gave a resigned shrug to her shoulders. “I suppose I should most object to relinquishing my freedom. I believe one reason is a result of my upbringing. My father allowed me such free rein, and you already know how much I enjoy sharing the daily management of Beaufort Hall with Ben, our bailiff. I have yet to meet a man who would allow me that partnership.”

She was relaxed again, but her thoughts had turned inward. He did not wish to interrupt her contemplation. She finally said, “I thought once that I had, but it came to nothing.”

He was surprised that jealousy had been his first response; he knew instantly he had no right to be so. “You have had your heart broken and fear it happening again?”