A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(37)

Thank heaven for scheduled activities. After yesterday’s . . . excitement . . . on the green and yet another restless night, Susanna was grateful for the distraction. She walked with vigor and purpose, inhaling deep lungfuls of the green-scented air.

“The wildflowers are lovely.” Charlotte plucked a stalk of lavender-tipped rampion from the hillside and twirled it between her fingertips.

Minerva tromped along at Susanna’s side. “Miss Finch, you cannot know how much I hate to sound like my mother. But are you certain this exertion is good for Diana’s health?”

“Absolutely. Exercise is the only way she’ll grow stronger. We’ll go slowly at first, and no farther than is comfortable.” She touched Diana’s arm. “Miss Highwood, you are to tell me if you feel the slightest hint of difficulty with your breathing. We’ll stop and rest at once.”

Her straw bonnet bobbed in agreement.

“And”—Susanna reached into her pocket and withdrew a small, capped bottle—“I have a special tincture for you. Keep it in your reticule at all times. It’s too strong to be taken every day, mind. Only when you feel you truly need it. The cap measures the proper dose. Aaron Dawes fashioned it specially at his forge. He’s so clever with these small things.”

Miss Highwood accepted the small vial. “What’s in it?”

“The layman’s name is shrubby horsetail. Rather common-sounding, but its ability to open the lungs is unique indeed. The plant normally grows in warmer climes, but our coastal weather is mild enough that I’m able to cultivate it here.”

“You made this?”

“Yes,” Susanna answered. “I dabble in apothecary.”

Minerva eyed the bottle warily. As they all continued their slow, steady climb, she drew Susanna aside. “Forgive me, Miss Finch, but my sister has suffered greatly. I don’t like the idea of entrusting her health to a ‘dabbler.’ ”

Susanna took her arm. “I knew I liked you, Minerva. You’re absolutely right to protect your sister, and I should not have described my work that way. No more than you should say you ‘dabble’ in geology. Why is it that we women so often downplay our accomplishments?”

“I don’t know. Men are always boasting of theirs.”

“Too true. Let’s boast to each other, then. I’ve made a careful, scientific study of apothecary for several years. I make remedies for many of the visitors and villagers, and I have solid, scientific reason to believe that in a breathing crisis, the contents of that vial can do your sister some good.”

“In that case, I trust your expertise.” Minerva smiled. “Now for my boasting.” With a glance toward the other ladies, she slowed. They’d fallen well behind the main group now. “Can you keep a secret? I am the first—and only—female member of the Royal Geological Society.”

Susanna gasped with delight. “How did you manage that?”

“By neglecting to tell them I’m female. I’m just M. R. Highwood to them, and all my contributions are made through written correspondence. Fossils are my area of specialty.”

“Oh, then you are in exactly the right place. These chalk hills are filled with strange little nuggets, and the cove—wait until you see the cove tomorrow.”

They went quiet for a while as the way grew steeper, and narrower—so that they were forced to walk single file.

“There’s the castle.” Up the path, Charlotte stood on her toes and waved her growing posy of wildflowers in the direction of the ruins. “It’s so romantic, isn’t it? With that backdrop of the sea.”

“I suppose,” Susanna said, keeping her own eyes on the ground. She knew very well what a picturesque sight it made, but she’d been trying to keep castles and romance in two distinctly different, tightly corked bottles on her mental shelf.

“Your turn, Miss Finch,” Minerva whispered, following close behind. “Don’t you have your own secret to tell?”

Susanna sighed. She did have a secret—a scandalous, explosive secret that involved Lord Rycliff and kisses in the armory and a great many emotions she couldn’t sort out. She wished she could trust Minerva with it. But men and fossils were different things.

They rounded a bend in the path and nearly collided with the other ladies. They’d all stopped in their tracks at the edge of an overlook, staring down in mute wonder at the valley below.

“Cor,” said Violet Winterbottom. “Isn’t that a sight?”

“Just look at them all,” Kate Taylor breathed.

“For heaven’s sake, what is it?” Susanna asked, pushing to the fore. “Did Mr. Yarborough’s cows escape again?”

“No, no. These are beasts of a different sort.” Kate grinned at her.

Sounds floated up to Susanna’s ears. Halting, erratic drumbeats. The shrill squawk of a fife. The impatient whinny of a horse.

Finally, she got a look.

The men. There they were, down on the flat meadow just north of the castle bluffs. From this vantage, it was difficult to distinguish any of the men as individuals. She could not have singled out Mr. Fosbury or the smith. But Bram, as usual, stood out from the crowd. This time, not merely because he was the tallest and his coat the brightest, but because he rode on horseback, giving him the advantage of height to gauge the formation’s precision. As they marched, he directed his mount to circle the group, giving direction from all sides.