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“What,” Phillip asked with weary impatience, “would it take to keep you from moving from this spot?"
“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Eloise replied curtly.
He sighed in resignation. “What if I sit with you for a little while? Then would you promise me to be still?” He took a seat on the chaise next to hers. “Why don’t you tell me about the book you finished? It must have been very good for you to have read it so fast.”
“It was something about the varieties of the vegetable kingdom. It was very dull.”
Phillip reached across her to pick up the volume from the arm of her chaise and looked at her incredulously. “Eloise, this is Bartram” He held it up, “William Bartram’s Travels, There isn’t a finer or more interesting book of natural science than this. You didn’t give it a chance.”
“It was talking about wheat.”
He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think you got past the first page of the introduction. You have to start with the storm when he sets sail. You said you like poetry, he writes like a poet. Here, let me find a passage for you. This one,” he said as he flipped eagerly though the pages, “this is about the ixia, the Calydorea caelestina. It’s a rare flower that burns away from the touch of the sun. Let me read it to you:”
The flowers open in the Morning, soon after the day breaketh, whose petals appear as a transparent film framed with singular beauty consisting of a number of longitudinal fibers, which take their rise from the bottom departing from each other gradually to near the middle, then they divide, thus again to the end, and are so very minute preventing altogether an appearance of the finest webby membrane, of so tender and delicate an excellence, they are bruised and ruffled by the gentlest breath of wind, and no sooner than the slightest glance of the sunbeams pass over them then they disappear. The acres of ground were partly covered in such manner as to cast a glowing purple around. Soon after the sun is above the horizon, it would be almost impossible to find a flower, and one would be apt to conjecture all the beauty seen this moment to be mere delusion.
Phillip read with animation, emphasizing “singular beauty’ and ‘gentlest breath’ and lowering his voice to a near whisper for the “tender and delicate” petals. The timbre of his voice, so low and smooth, made the hair on the back of Eloise’s neck stand up. She hated to admit it, but having him read to her with such authority was thrilling. And she had to agree, as well, that the passage was like a poem.
“Oh my, that is lovely,” she said, chastened. “I would like to see such a flower. Do you have one in the greenhouse?” she asked.
“I wish I did. I have only ever seen the illustration, here,” he said, pointing and handing her the book so that she could see the drawing. “The Earl of Derby has a pressed specimen at Knowsley, but I have not been there. You can only see it in life by travelling to America, where it grows in a tiny part of the wild country in the south.
“Is there anything here that’s like it?”
“I have some specimens from the family Iridaceae in my study, but they’re in disarray. I doubt I could locate the right one. I suppose a wild iris would be the close, as it is in the same family. He hesitated, “there are some fine examples growing over at the edge of the woods there, but I think it is too much of a walk for you.”
“No it’s not,” she said boldly, standing up, “show me.”
He sighed again, twice defeated in less than quarter hour. She really must let him get back to work after this. He held out his arm to her and led the way.
“I know I told you that my sister is named Hyacinth. Is hyacinth related to ixia?”
“Yes, actually, hyacinth are in the same order as the ixia.”
“They are related then,” Eloise asked, brightening.
“Distantly,” he said, “but as you will see, they don’t look much alike.”
They walked on in silence for a moment, then Eloise asked what she had been wondering all afternoon, “What is it you are doing in that greenhouse all day?”
“I have a couple of projects,” he said, as if settling in to the topic like a cozy chair, “The peas, which you saw. And I am studying the morphology of a rare variety of wheat I have just introduced in the fields on our estate. But for my own part, I am most interested in understanding flowers. Right now I am working on the classification of chrysanthemums, particularly the Chrysanthemum indicum of Carl Linnaeus, and whether it is rightly connected with the Chinese chrysanthemum that your mother probably grows in her gardens. I grow and collect samples and look at them under a microscope to see what parts of them are consistent from one flower to the next.”
Eloise raised a brow. At least some of that seemed useful.
“Here,” he said, as they arrived at a small clearing just at the edge of the woods. He pointed to a small clump of pale lavender flowers. “Let me help you down,” he said, lowering Eloise to the ground beside the plant. He knelt down next to her and gently straightened the stem so that Eloise could better see the flower. “Do you see how the petals are of different sizes, five of them in all? The ixia has light purple petals as well. He plucked one from the flower and held it to the light. “they are a little bit translucent, do you see? He leaned in and held the petal up before Eloise’s eyes. “However, the ixia has six petals, all of the same size, while the wild iris has two large and three small. But the leaves here, he reached out gently to touch the grass like blades, the leaves are similar, and typical of this family.”
Eloise felt another shiver, this time across her back. It was exhilarating to listen to Phillip, so completely engrossed in his study of this delicate flower.
“Each species has its attributes, the name tells you what those attributes are,” he went on. “Wherever in the world you find it, the Iridicae family grows from a bulb. It’s essential characteristics are fixed, even if its color or size vary.” He paused a moment as if to consider his words. “It doesn’t matter if last season it froze early and thawed late, or if there was a drought, or a violent storm. And it certainly doesn’t matter if a war raged all around it. If the conditions are right the next spring, the iris simply grows. It has no resentment of its past difficulties, or scars from the seasons prior. It follows the plan set out in its parts, or even in its cells.”
“And it is your occupation to discern what those parts are, and what they tell you about how it fits with the rest of the vegetable kingdom.”
“Yes,” he smiled, delighted that she had understood.
Eloise laid her hand over his and squeezed it. “I’d never thought of flowers quite that way, but I will now. Maybe someday we will have the chance to see an ixia.”
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe you can help me with labeling and sorting my specimens. They need a managerial temperament like yours. You have just the organized mind to make an exceptional cataloger.”
“Am I going to be under your employ?” she asked, frankly charmed at the idea of doing something at which she suspected she could, indeed, excel.
“If you stay,” he said, looking directly at her. “I can see that if you do, you will need something very engaging to occupy you.”
“Well if I am to stay, I will need to spend more time getting to know you first,” she replied.
“Eloise,” he shook his head, “you are nothing if not tenacious. Let’s get you back to your chaise. You promised me you’d rest.”
She decided not to argue with him until she knew whether he really meant to leave her again. They had not had lunch, having breakfasted so late. She thought he might be persuaded to join her for tea. And then perhaps she might be able to stretch things until dinner. They walked along chatting amiably about the flower and the grounds until they reached the patio.
“I will leave you now. Try and stay off your feet, and try again with Bartram,” he said, nodding slightly as he turned to leave.
“You are really going? she asked incredulously.
“Yes,” he said firmly, “I am really going “We have just spent the whole morning together. I worked in the greenhouse for a scant forty five minutes before spending a very pleasant interlude with you. Now, as I have said repeatedly, I need to get back to work.”
“Need to, Eloise asked, “or want to?
“Eloise,” he gritted out, growing annoyed, “plants have their own timetable. They won’t wait for mine.”
“We have a fortnight to see if we suit,” she persisted, “I simply cannot understand why you can’t spare more time for something so important.”
“What more do you really need?” he asked, frustration growing to anger. “We clearly enjoy each other’s company, and our letters prove we have plenty to talk about.” He lowered his voice, “and I know we are compatible in other important ways.”
“It’s not enough,” she replied.
“Not enough?” he replied, sharply “I find myself wondering what, if anything, is ever enough for you?”
“You are asking me to promise to spend my life with you, to come and live with you, to raise your children. I would not undertake such a thing lightly, and I would not do so without a firm understanding between us that we can make each other happy for a lifetime.”
“That is a tall order indeed, and I cannot help but wonder if more time is not just more time to find one flaw or another to pick at. Perhaps it is no wonder that no one so far as suited you.”
Eloise’s jaw dropped. There was an awful silence. Was he suggesting that is was not the closed and unvarying society of the ton, or the dullness and uniformity of its men, but her unreasonably high standards that accounted for her single status? It was an insult to her, of course, but also to himself. Could he not see all the things that made him special to her, not that she now had any charitable feeling towards him at present. What he suggested was so outrageous, so utterly horrible that in that moment she knew, nothing he could ever say and nothing he could ever do would ever make her wish to see him again.
“I would like an apology,” she said, “and until then, you had just as soon go back to your greenhouse,” which, to her surprise and outrage, he promptly did.
She rose on her wobbly hip and did her best to stalk into the house. She should pack her things and go. There was no point in continuing this one-sided project. She was a bit hungry, though, and it was too late in the day to make it home before nightfall. She’d stop in the kitchen to see about lunch and then retire for the rest of the evening to her room. Then she would absolutely, without a doubt, leave in the morning.
She marched into the kitchen and took a deep breath so as to hide her pique. She pushed back her shoulders and pulled in her chin as she addressed Mrs. Smith, “Excuse me, Mrs. Smith, would it be alright if I took lunch in here again?”
“Of course, miss, I’d be happy to have you here. What would you like? I’ve more of that ham and those rolls you like.”
“That would be lovely,” Eloise replied, taking the same stool at the table she’d taken the day before. Here again, alone, she thought. She tried to appear nonchalant, but her mind could not stop turning over her argument with Phillip. How dare he? How could he possibly think he could woo her and speak to her like that? And how, she wondered, had they gone from such congeniality to such rancor in such a short time? She had been thoroughly enjoying his company, and now the mere thought of him enraged her. She felt Mrs. Smith’s sympathetic gaze and the pregnant silence. Perhaps there was something the cook wanted to say to her? “Mrs. Smith,” Eloise asked, hoping to prompt a conversation, “might I ask you how long you have worked for the Cranes?”
“Oh going on thirty years now,” she said.
“So you’ve known Sir Phillip since he was a boy?” she asked with great curiosity.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Smith, “a good quiet child he was, always in a book or walking in the woods. His brother, though, oh, he was so charming.” Her face lit up at the recollection. “An absolute delight that one. You’d think the Master would have been jealous of George, but he adored him. Thick as thieves, they were. If he weren’t in a book, the two were off in the woods, or riding, or running about.” She shook her head as she placed the ham on plate, “It was a terrible loss when Sir George died. The Master had had a hard time of it, even before that, though, and I daresay he’s never deserved any of what grief he got.” She raised her brows as she lay the bread on top of Eloise’s sandwich, hesitating a moment, “I have to remind myself often…,I’d say apart from those plants, the poor man’s never had anything that was just his own.” She looked up at Eloise pointedly and held out the plate.
“I see,” said Eloise, taking it from her hands.
Mrs. Smith looked at her and smiled a bit ruefully, and Eloise sensed that she wanted to say much more. “I should step out now to fetch some things from the garden. Do you have all you need?”
“I do,” said Eloise, “thank you, I’ll just take my lunch to my room.” She let her smile convey both the depth of her thanks for Mrs. Smith’s honesty and the hope that they might speak again, and then turned to go.
She would stay in her room and rest and pack in the morning. If she waited until after breakfast before departing, she could still make it home in good time. That would give her a chance to see Phillip once more before she left. Just to say goodbye, definitely no more than that.