The Last Garden in England(79)

The tension in my shoulders eased a little bit as he drifted off, but still I started when Mr. Schoot said, “You mentioned before that you’re an admirer of Miss Jekyll, Miss Smith. Have you considered writing yourself?”

“I keep a garden journal, but that isn’t meant for the public,” I said.

“Do you have a mind to try your hand at an article? Or maybe more. The society is starting a journal. I should like it very much if you would consider writing for it.”

From across the room, I watched Matthew’s eyes flick from Mr. Schoot to me and back again.

“That is incredibly flattering,” I said.

“Then you’ll consider it?” the director asked.

“I’m afraid I must decline, Mr. Schoot. It would not sit well with my conscience to write for an organization that would not allow me to join its ranks.”

Mr. Melcourt shifted from foot to foot. “Miss Smith…”

Mr. Schoot put up a hand. “The lady is correct. There have been rumblings questioning the exclusion of women for some time now. I’m afraid, however, that changing the mind of the board has proven to be a challenge. I’m sure you understand, Miss Smith.”

I did not. Not at all.

“To turn down such an opportunity… And with the possibility of writing about a garden such as here at Highbury,” Mr. Melcourt floundered.

Ah. It was not enough that I was giving Mr. Melcourt a beautiful garden for his family. He wanted a famous one.

“Nonetheless,” I said carefully, “I must decline until the day that women are admitted as full members.”

Mr. Schoot rocked back on his heels. “You may find that day comes sooner than you think, Miss Smith.”

I gave him a small smile. “I hope so, Mr. Schoot.”



* * *



I escaped from the Melcourts’ drawing room as quickly as I could, striding across the great lawn, past the reflecting pool that had been completed the previous month, and down to the lake’s edge.

When I could be sure that trees shielded me from view, I pressed my hand to my forehead, willing away my headache. I needed time to think. I needed space. I needed to be alone.

My plan to carry this child until the time I chose and then go away had seemed so clear when I was alone. Now, having seen Matthew again, it was anything but.

If only he’d been cold and distant or furious and indignant. If only he hadn’t looked happy to see me. No, not happy. Overjoyed. Shame and want twisted in me. I didn’t want to let him go, even though I had no other choice.

I gulped in breaths, my back slumped against a tree, desperate for air and fearful I might faint again. I squeezed my eyes shut.

“Venetia?”

I opened my eyes. Matthew stood a few feet away, his hand outstretched. When he met my gaze, it dropped as though he knew that to touch me would be too much.

“You shouldn’t have followed me,” I said.

“You left before I could speak to you. I… I wanted to know what I’ve done.”

I inched around the tree, the bark catching on the fabric of my shirt. “This was a mistake.”

“A mistake?”

“We both knew that what we were doing was wrong.”

“How could what we feel for each other be wrong?” he asked.

“Matthew, I’m carrying your child.”

His lips fell open. I watched him, desperate for some sort of sign of… what, I don’t know. The life I’d created—that I loved—was crumbling around me.

Slowly he asked, “Is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“The affair has to end, for both our sakes. Surely you see that.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How long have you known?”

I fixed him with a look. “Since the beginning of this month. I fainted and the doctor was called.”

“You fainted?” he murmured in disbelief. “I should have been with you.”

“No, you couldn’t have been. You can’t be. If the Melcourts were to find out—”

“I don’t care what my sister and her husband would say. They have far too much hold over my life as it is.”

I drew myself up to my full height. “And they have the power to ruin mine. If I leave Highbury House in disgrace and people find out why, I will never be able to work again. This is my livelihood, Matthew. The jobs that I take don’t just support me. They give Adam employment as well. I cannot leave my brother without means.”

“Your brother could find another position,” he said.

“But could I? If I have a child out of wedlock, all of my respectability goes away. I know that you wouldn’t condemn me to that sort of life.”

“I want the world for you, Venetia,” he whispered.

When he stretched his hand out over the gap between us this time, I let our fingers brush, knowing that it might be the last time we touched. “Then don’t think too harshly of me for what I am about to tell you.”

And I laid out my plan for him. Every detail except for where I would go for my confinement. He listened, as I told him in no uncertain terms that I intended to cut him out of my life. The longer I spoke, the more the distance between us felt like an insurmountable chasm.

I wouldn’t have forgiven me.