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“Did we not agree that there were to be no more secrets between us?”
The look Penelope gave him was assessing, her eyes narrowed slightly as she peered at him from her seat across the carriage. She had moved opposite him after the first fifteen minutes of the carriage ride she spent wheedling and cajoling had not moved him to reveal their destination. He had attempted to distract her from her line of questioning in the way they spent their most enjoyable carriage rides, but his overtures were rebuffed as she moved out of his reach.
His petty, stubborn girl.
She had spent the next half hour alternating between trying to lure him into showing his hand and staring out the window attempting to arrive at the answer on her own. Colin knew that knowing things—finding out information that eluded others—was a skill his wife was particularly proud of, and for him to evade her attempts surely nettled. But this had been months in the making, and he was certain that the reveal would be worth any temporary petulance.
“We did,” he agreed, biting back the smile that was threatening to break across his face. “But we did not say there would be no more surprises. Surely my most logical and intelligent wife can agree that a secret and a surprise are etymologically distinct.”
She agreed with a mumbled “fine,” but her pout deepened as she flopped back against the seat, her arms crossed over her chest.
Colin felt a lick of adoration surge in his chest at her sulky expression. He found her delightfully charming in this state, not only because of how pretty she looked with her lips pursed and her brow furrowed. He loved that she allowed him to see her this way—fractious and impatient and obstinate—those qualities and traits debutantes are conditioned to hide, as though they must always be palatable and pleasing. To Colin, those moments felt like she was blooming just for him, reminding him of the strength of their love for one another, the safety of their marriage, where they could be the fullness of themselves without risk of reproach or shame. She was his wife, and that was a side of herself she reserved for him.
“You need only wait another fifteen, perhaps twenty, minutes and our destination will be revealed. And, I hope, your experience will be enriched for the surprise of it.”
The idea for this outing had germinated back in the fall, when he had run into Edward Dawes, one of the lads who had been in his year at Eton, on one of the rare occasions he joined his brothers at White’s. While he and Dawes had not been especially close, they tended to run with the same set, and the acquaintance was congenial enough in nature that they spent several hours reminiscing about their school days and catching up on the developments in their own lives and those of their comrades.
During their conversation, Dawes mentioned his mother’s passion for horticulture and how she had spent several years and an untold sum of the family fortune bringing in exotic plants to the greenhouse and gardens at Mount Ephraim, their country home. Though they had always had a grove of Prunus avium, the species of wild cherry tree native to the area, Dawes supplied, she was most proud of having imported and successfully cultivated a handful of Prunus serrulata, some of the earliest Japanese cherry blossom trees to be found in the nation.
The mention of cherry blossoms snagged Colin’s thoughts, and he spent the rest of the evening slightly distracted, turning the idea over and over in his mind, until he placed it.
Once, some five or so years ago, he had come upon Penelope and Eloise tucked into a corner of the drawing room, in heated discussion with a copy of a book held between them. His relationship with Eloise, at the time, was such that he had no interest in catching her attention when she was in a heated discussion of anything, so he paid no real mind to the two girls, instead making a bee-line for the tray of cakes his mother had prepared for afternoon tea.
He was working hard to ignore their conversation, but when Eloise’s dismissive snort cut across the din of the room and all its many inhabitants, Colin felt a rankle make its way up his spine. Though he was often grateful—if grateful were a thing he was allowed to be in the situation—for the friendship between his sister and Penelope, not only because it threw Penelope into his path fairly often, and he found her largely witty and engaging to converse with, but also because he knew that most of society did not see those qualities in her. Eloise, on the other hand, was happy to eschew the dictates of society at any given moment, allowing a confidence and camaraderie to bloom between the two girls. He thought it was probably an indispensable friendship for the both of them. But there were moments when Eloise pushed just a bit too far, trampling over her more timid friend, causing Penelope to wilt a bit, rather than bloom in the ways he knew she was capable.
He had just made up his mind to intercede, to admonish Eloise for her rudeness, when he heard Penelope speak up herself. “You need not give any credit to the secret language of flowers to acknowledge that flowers themselves hold meaning—they are rich with metaphor and symbolism, and many writers use them thus—or to enjoy the imagery painted through their employ, Eloise. I, for one, would love nothing more than to be caught in a shower of cherry blossom petals as they danced on the breeze.”
Satisfied with Penelope’s rejoinder to whatever sentiment of distaste his sister had been expressing, Colin took his plate of goodies over to the table where his brothers were having their tea, pocketing Penelope’s comment, though it was not intended for his ears.
He could not help but smile as the memory finally surfaced on his lone walk back to their home from his outing. It amused him to no end that he ever thought his firecracker of a wife was timid or in need of his verbal rescue—a lesson he had learned well in the intervening years. Little did he know, at the time, that she was about to become Mayfair’s most celebrated—if also infamous—writer. Although, given the eloquence of her statement at that moment so many years ago, perhaps he should have guessed. It struck him that those words, ones not even uttered to him, had remained so faithfully tucked away in his memory. It never ceased to amaze him how woven she was into his past, even when he was not cognisant of her presence there. But he was also unrelentingly glad that there were so many of these details to recover.
The memory stuck with him for some weeks, niggling around in the back of his mind. It was a cherished moment to him now—one that spoke to the steady presence of her in his life and the way he had been collecting the little pieces of her long before he was aware of their significance—but he doubted Penelope knew he had overheard their exchange, if she even remembered the conversation herself. He pondered sharing this discovery with her, but he wanted to find a way to do so that might showcase that, while he might not have known it to be love in the way she had, she was always important to him. He had vowed, that day in the church, to spend his life begging her forgiveness for not seeing her sooner, but he thought it perhaps just as important to show her the ways he had seen her, though it took him some time to understand the value of that seeing.
And then, one morning, Penelope made a passing comment about their wedding breakfast—some mention of a pastry she had wanted to try but missed out on, being too nerve-racked to eat at the time, and needed to track down—when the idea came to him like a peal of lightning illuminating a dark night: their wedding anniversary! Though it was still some months away, Colin knew it was the perfect occasion to utilise this secret he had been holding onto.
The early weeks of their marriage had been…tense at best (and tumultuous at their worst), and though he did not regret them—without those trials, there would still be so many secrets and injuries between them left to fester; they were so much stronger now that they were on the other side—he did lament that their union started off on such rocky terms, despite the happiness they inhabited now, and he wished to build for Penelope memories and connections with the occasion that might be a bit more pleasant to look back upon.
And so he set about making plans for an excursion to make a dream of Penelope’s—that she might not even remember—come true. He wrote to Dawes to inquire about his family’s plans, securing both permission and a timeline for their visit, once the Dawes family was on their return to London. He also made arrangements with his mother and Anthony to remain at Aubrey Hall for a couple of days after the rest of them left for Mayfair. He wanted to ensure that nothing and no one could intrude upon their plans.
Keeping the whole endeavour a secret (because despite his claims to her, a good surprise required a fair amount of secrecy) from his very perceptive wife was a feat, but now that the time had finally arrived, he was almost as mired in anticipation for the surprise to be revealed as she was. He only hoped that his months of planning and secrecy would have the desired outcome.
Luckily he did not have to wait long, as their carriage rolled through the gates at Mount Ephraim, following the path to drop them at the entrance to the gardens. Colin watched as his wife unfurled—her arms dropped from where they sat crossed on her chest, instead coming to rest on the window ledge, and the storm front that was clouding her face cleared, making way for an expression of delight and wonder that rivalled the very sun. The knot that had been building behind Colin’s chest started to loosen as Penelope took in the sight of the gardens before her.
“Oh, Colin,” she exhaled, not tearing her eyes from the scenery, “it’s wonderful.” He needed not even admire the gardens themselves to know they were amazing—watching her see the view as they came to a stop was enough for him. “Where are we?” she asked, finally turning to meet his steady gaze. Any sign of her earlier petulance or dissatisfaction had long since been wiped away.
“Mount Ephraim. Belongs to the family of a schoolfellow of mine from Eton.” Colin knew the answer would not be enough to satisfy her natural curiosity, but he did love to tease her a bit. The carriage door swung open and he began exiting, first stepping down himself then turning and extending his hand to her.
“Yes, but,” she went on, gathering her skirts with the hand not in his and stepping down, “why are we here?”
“You shall see soon enough.” Now that he knew the odds of his success were fairly cemented, he did not mind provoking her just a touch, certain that the ultimate destination would smooth it over.
He was proven correct as the furrow in Penelope’s brow attempted to return but fought a losing battle against the awe that cast it aside as she got a clearer view of the gardens before them. Colin finally looked around himself, eager to discover what could demolish the force of his wife’s irritation. It seemed that Dawes had not exaggerated the extent of his mother’s skills; even from the entrance, Colin could see a riot of colours extending into the gardens. It appeared to strike the perfect balance between clearly tended and maintaining the essence of something wild about it. He had to admit that it outshone the Aubrey Hall gardens by no small amount—his mother and Kate both had excellent taste, but neither had the passion of which Lady Dawes was clearly in possession.
“Shall we?” he asked her, extending his arm so that she could take it. She gave him one more appraising look before tucking her hand into the space just above his elbow. Colin set off through the entrance and down the path.
His second biggest challenge, he expected, was going to be keeping Penelope on the path to the picnic that awaited them near the lake that sat at the centre of the gardens. If he knew Penelope, and he liked to think that after their many years of friendship and this near year of marriage that he knew her perhaps better than all others (no matter what Eloise might say about the matter), he knew that she would want to roam the paths, following whatever whim and delight took her. And normally he would be happy to allow her this leisure, but his directions to the location of the picnic were from the entrance, and he did not want to risk getting lost before the luncheon and letting the food spoil. (And not simply because he was getting a bit peckish himself.)
Surprisingly, Penelope was acquiescent as they walked, pausing to wait for him to indicate the direction they should go anytime they reached a place where the paths diverged. Though she deferred to his guidance, he could feel her suspicions rising at every moment he did not hesitate to decide which direction they should go. But he supposed she was enjoying the scenery enough—and was far too curious about where they were headed—that she did not ask any further questions, she merely noted blooms she was especially delighted by.
Finally, they reached the first of their destinations, crossing a stone bridge to find a blanket spread out beneath the shade of a tree nestled along the bank of the lake. The lake itself was picturesque, surrounded by an array of large stones, a few trees, giant gunnera leaves, and blooming bushes. Lily pads danced near the edge of the water, a few waterlilies peppered in amongst them. And the picnic, too, was a sight to behold.
Dawes had left instructions with his staff to arrange everything to Colin’s specifications, and they had outdone themselves; there were trays of sandwiches and scones, a platter of fruit and cream, at least three flavours of jam, and a tiered tray of sweets that made Colin’s mouth water. Plates and napkins sat waiting for them, with cups and saucers for the carafe of lemonade that rested on ice. No expense had been spared to make this day as special as Penelope was, and Colin reminded himself that he would need to thank Dawes profusely for helping him to make it possible.
“Happy anniversary, Pen,” he said, finally revealing the larger goal of the day’s outing.
Penelope turned to him then, confusion and adoration mingling in her eyes. “It’s lovely, Colin, only–”
“I know it’s early,” he said, cutting her off. It was positively ill-mannered of him, but he wanted to ensure she knew he knew the date of their marriage without her having to remind him, to make clear that this was deliberately planned. He moved them towards the blanket, helping Penelope to an arrangement of plush pillows that formed a seat before sitting himself. “Our actual anniversary is a few weeks away yet, and I am certain there will be a time and place for an official celebration when we return to town, but I wanted to have a moment that was just for us, away from the bustle of the city and the…enthusiasm, shall we say, of both of our families.”
Penelope laughed, nearly spilling the lemonade she was pouring. She gave him an admonishing look as she handed him the cup she’d just poured.
“Well, they are enthusiastic! You cannot deny that,” he replied, only a little bit chastised.
“Fine, I will concede enthusiastic. But you love your family.” Her expression was affectionate as she sipped her lemonade.
“I do, enthusiasm and all. But I also occasionally need to have you to myself, with no chance of any interference.” Colin started preparing plates, loading them with an assortment of goods and topping each of the veritable mountains with the most delectable looking eclairs covered in a light green frosting. “So when Dawes mentioned his mother’s very extensive gardens, how unique they were and all the rare plants she procured, I thought it would be a lovely place to have a picnic. And so I set to work.”
He handed Penelope’s plate to her before taking a bite of his eclair. “Oh, these are delightful, you must try,” he said as he extended his own to her. Penelope leaned forward to take a bite, and a small dollop of cream landed on her chin. She started to reach up to wipe it away, but Colin caught her wrist gently, shifting forward and swiping it with his tongue. “That cream is just perfect,” he added, flashing her a flirty smile before settling back in his seat.
“You are incorrigible,” she laughed as she popped a strawberry into her mouth.
When they had eaten their fill, they lay stretched out on the blanket together, Penelope’s head resting on Colin’s chest as he ran his fingers up and down her side gently.
“What a perfect day,” she murmured sleepily, nestling in closer.
“Do you really believe so?” His hand stilled, and Penelope looked up at him, roused from her near slumber.
“Colin, it has been such a wonderful surprise—I no longer even want to hold the secrecy against you—and I am so lucky to be loved by someone who would put in so much effort to spend a special day with me. I am still a bit in awe at how long you have been planning this outing.”
“If you are happy, then all my efforts are worth it.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “My only goal was to help you make new memories, ones that might ensure you look back fondly on our anniversary.”
Penelope propped herself up on her elbow, a look of confusion on her face as she asked, “What do you mean by that? Why would I not look back fondly on our anniversary?”
He sighed, a sad kind of smile on his face. “The circumstances of our wedding were…less than ideal. Not for a lack of love or desire to be married. But we were not in the best place at the time, as you well know, and we spent so much of the day with that tension sitting between us, keeping us apart. Much of those first few weeks we were apart, and even when we were together we were not together. I know we have worked out those issues, and that going through the experience has made our relationship stronger, but I cannot help but wish that there were happier memories attached to the occasion upon which we bound our hearts to one another. I want you to think of our anniversary and feel nothing but the depth of my love for you. And so I thought if I could do something special to celebrate, it might allow for that desire to come true.”
Colin was studying Penelope’s face so intently—cataloguing each minor shift in expression as he worried that his words were coming across poorly and he was going to end up ruining all the work he had put in to make this day wonderful—and yet somehow he still managed to be caught off guard when she practically launched herself at him. One second she was looking at him with eyes softening into pools of emotion and the next second her lips were pressed to his, the hand not propping her up now cupping his cheek tenderly. Despite the momentary shock, his body welcomed hers, responding to her kiss instinctually, as though there was nothing else it was meant to do in this life.
It was possible, Colin concluded in that moment, that there was nothing else he was meant for than kissing and touching and holding and loving this force of a woman. He was not going to complain about that.
He lifted his own hand to tangle it in the soft curls at her nape. He knew, somewhere in the part of his brain that still possessed the power of rational thought, that she specifically had her hair pinned up today, as he had told Rae they would be spending much of their time outside, and that he was more than likely mussing the delicate structure of her coiffure. And yet, he could not help himself. This would not be the first time they had returned home with her hair in a different state than when they had left.
Cradling her head with the hand already tangled in her hair, Colin turned them so that she was now resting against the pillows. He managed not to break their contact as he did so, using the new position to angle her head slightly to deepen the kiss. Her hand drifted down from his cheek, her fingers trailing over his neck before dipping tantalisingly below his collar. Her fingers were charting a familiar path towards the knot of his cravat, and a surge of want rushed through him. The thought of having her here, as uninhibited and unrestrained as the greenery that surrounded them, the fresh spring breeze cooling their flushed and sweaty skin, was more than enticing. But he knew they had another stop ahead and he was all too certain it would be easy to lose themselves to those passions and let the day slip away. Another time, though.
Colin nipped her lower lip once before pulling back. Stray curls frizzed in a halo around her head and her cheeks were flushed from their exertions; she was the most divine creature Colin had ever seen, and it never ceased to amaze him that she belonged to him—and that he had nearly missed her.
He pressed a quick kiss to her nose before asking, “Am I to take this as a sign that I have succeeded, or is this your kind way of letting me down gently?”
Penelope laughed, her eyes scrunched and her mouth open wide in delight. It was another thing that made Colin’s heart clench at just how unreserved and free she felt with him. After years of watching her shrink herself in the face of others, he loved being that safe place for her.
“I am incandescently happy, my most thoughtful and earnest husband, and I do not know that it would be possible for me to look back on this day with anything less than resolute joy and fondness.”
Though he had expected her to give him some consolatory response, the sheer sincerity infusing her voice nearly choked him with emotion. And to think, she had yet to see the best part. Colin smoothed the wisps of hair back from her face and leaned down to whisper in her ear, “And we are not done yet.”
This time he let Penelope meander, watching her wander with childlike wonder down the paths, weaving from bloom to bloom as they caught her eye. They passed trellises with climbing roses of every colour, from deep burgundy to tangerine, and dripping with wisteria vines; shrubs bursting with blooms of rhododendron and magnolias; foxglove and camellias and more varieties of flowers that Colin did not know the names of than the ones he did. She briefly considered entering the topiary maze, and Colin would have followed her lead, but she backtracked, too intrigued by whatever final surprise Colin had to want to get lost in the maze.
Eventually they neared the grove of cherry blossom trees, and with the advantage of his height, Colin spotted them in the distance before Penelope caught sight of them. In true surprise fashion, he had her close her eyes as he led her towards their destination. They ascended a small set of stone steps, their footfalls cushioned by petals littering the ground, and arrived at a stretch of the path lined with cherry blossom trees. The blossoms, alternating between pink and white every other tree, formed a canopy along the walkway.
Colin led her just inside the entrance of the tree-bowered lane, far enough that trees surrounded her, positioned her facing towards the stretch of trees ahead, and told her to wait there with her eyes closed until he gave the word. He could feel Penelope practically buzzing with barely-restrained curiosity, and he once again hoped that all the effort he put in would be worth it once the surprise was revealed. Then, he moved towards the line of trees, placing himself between two of the ones whose branches stretched over her head. He gave one small, experimental nudge, a few petals drifting from the branches overhead. Satisfied that he was in the correct spot, he stretched his arms out to meet the trees on either side of him, giving them gentle shakes as he called to her, “Open your eyes.”
Penelope gasped as a soft shower of petals rained down around her, a mosaic of pink and white filling the air as they floated to the earth. As though the universe was conspiring alongside him, a breeze swept by, catching some of the petals on their descent. Everything seemed to slow. It was, Colin believed, a moment of true magic.
She twirled, taking in as much of the scene as she could, before ending her pirouette facing him. She extended both her hands to him, and in the gesture Colin felt her heart extend as well. He moved towards her as though she were a magnet and he incapable of resisting her pull. The last of the blossoms were dusting the ground as he took her hands in his, tucking them into his chest. She was looking at him as though he was magical, awe underlined with love etched across her features.
“How on earth could you have known about this wish?” she asked him, her voice light enough to not break the spell of the moment.
The grin that crossed his face was somewhat sheepish, his eyes ducking down to the ground for a fraction of a second before he admitted, “I overheard you say something to Eloise once, some time ago. I honestly was uncertain if you would even remember the comment, but I hoped that if you did not, the experience would be lovely enough to still exert its powers of enchantment.”
Penelope’s azure eyes welled. “But Colin, that—that was years ago. I cannot believe you held onto such an obscure comment for so long.”
“I honestly did not know I had, until Dawes mentioned cherry blossoms and the thought wiggled its way free from the recesses of my memories. And once I did remember, it became such a wonderful thing—to discover another way that the past tied us together. I know that I did not recognise it as love nearly as quickly or easily as you did, but you have always been important to me, Penelope. I wanted today not only to supersede the recollections of the less pleasant associations with our wedding day, but also to show you just how integral you have been to my life, woven into its very tapestry in ways that neither of us are fully aware of even now.”
The tears were flowing now, and Colin brought one of Penelope’s hands up to kiss the back of it before releasing it so he could wipe them from her cheeks. Penelope sniffled, a hiccup of a laugh escaping, then reached the hand Colin had freed up to his own cheek, her thumb caressing it tenderly.
“You are the kindest, best man in all the world, nothing will ever convince me otherwise. It saddens me that you have been carrying this unease alone for so many months, but I am grateful that you have shared it with me now, and I am overwhelmed by the thoughtfulness with which you have designed the day. If cherry blossoms signify renewal, let us use the language of the flowers to affirm the rejuvenation of our anniversary forevermore. It is the most wonderful way to memorialise our first year of marriage that I could imagine.”
She lifted onto her toes, using the hand he held as leverage, and drawing his face towards hers with the hand on his cheek. This kiss was gentle—soft and slightly salty from the tears that had slipped over her lips. It was brief, but Colin lingered, pressing his forehead to hers for several moments after the kiss had broken. He breathed in deeply, drawing in the sweet, lightly floral scent surrounding them and committing it to memory.
Penelope sank back to her heels, and Colin straightened, glancing up at the sky as he did. He took the hand he was still holding and wrapped it around his arm so that it rested in its customary place. “As much as I wish this day could last forever, it does seem that the sun will begin its descent soon, and we must still find our way back to the carriage. Would you like to explore the grove any further before we set off?”
She reached over and plucked a petal from where it had fallen inside his waistcoat and gotten trapped. “I have already gotten more from the cherry blossoms than I ever dreamed of,” she said, watching the lone petal drift to the ground and join the rest.
“Then let us begin our journey back…so that we may begin our longer journey back.”
His wife laughed, rolling her eyes a bit as she did so, but then her expression turned coy, her eyebrows raised. “You know, I have a few ideas about how we might entertain ourselves on the long ride back to Aubrey Hall.”