positively refusing to consider that she was close to throwing her cap over the windmill for a hell-born here-and-thereian who was, moreover, there, Rowanne decided to try harder to find Gabe a wife and then get herself a husband. Such feelings as were disturbing her rest and muddling her senses were permissible in the married state, and she was not getting any younger. In addition, Aunt Cora's letters were growing more and more condemning of the Wimberlys' failure to provide her grandnieces and -nephews; living with her as an ape-leader after Gabe married held as much attraction as going to the tooth-drawer. Rowanne could no longer consider raising roses in Dorset now either, though she had contrived a cunning trellis for a scale-model patio out of a broken ivory hairpiece. She fashioned climbing vines out of painted string and silk, despairing that she would never get much closer to the real thing.
"Why don't you take over from the gardeners here, then, if you are so eager to get your hands soiled?" Gabe asked, after her third sigh finally penetrated Plato's Republic. "We have ample room out back, you know."
"Yes, but that would almost be like growing things in tubs in a conservatory. I have always wanted a real garden, one that would blend into the landscape and look natural despite the planning. The London garden is lovely but can only look as contrived as my silk roses, with its walls and terraces and spouting-dolphins fountain."
"Then why don't you accept Aunt Emonda's invitation to go visit at High Clyme?"
They had just received a pleasant letter from their new relation, thanking them for their kind congratulations and the gift of a Wedgewood tea set. The gift had taken a great deal of discussion, for Rowanne's first answer to the question of what to get the new bride was a younger husband. Then she thought to send a family heirloom, one of the ugly ormolu clocks or the silver epergne that seemed to depict Hannibal crossing the Alps, elephants and all. The heirlooms already belonged to Uncle Donald, Gabe reminded her, so they settled on the tea set, which suited admirably, judging from the warm thank you.
"I am sure she would let you dabble in the mud," Gabe went on. "Lud knows there is enough ground."
Rowanne put down the magnifying lens. "But it would not be mine."
"Still, she seems an all-right sort, trying to mend the family breech."
"And she hasn't thrown us out yet, nor sent word of a coming happy event. Likely she wants an unpaid companion."
Gabe wiped his spectacles with a lawn cloth. "That's not like you, to be so judgmental without evidence."
"You forget, brother, that I do have evidence, in an incorrigible rake. If she is anything like that nephew of hers…"
"Gammon, Ro, they are not even blood relatives, and I am not sure Delverson's wild reputation is entirely deserved."
Rowanne murmured to herself, "Trust me, it is."
"What's that, my dear? Never mind, you have been resty lately. Maybe you have been trotting so hard you'd benefit from a month or more in that clean country air and all that nice dirt."
"What, a month in someone else's household? Last week's halibut would be more welcome. Besides, you yourself know how awful house parties can be, with no solitude, no familiar servants who care about your comfort, and no choices. A female guest has to sew when the hostess feels like sitting quietly, entertain when she invites company, even retire for the evening when the lady of the house is tired!"
"But you would not be such a guest, you are family."
"And a stranger to both our uncle and new aunt. No, Aunt Emonda may enjoy her teapot in peace—and her honeymoon too. I am too busy to leave town now anyway. Did you see the pile of invitations? No one goes to the country in the middle of the Season."
Especially if they want to shop at the Marriage Mart.
Rowanne did not read purple-covered novels from the lending library. Not often enough, at any rate, to have her heart set on a storybook
"Why don't you take over from the gardeners here, then, if you are so eager to get your hands soiled?" Gabe asked, after her third sigh finally penetrated Plato's Republic. "We have ample room out back, you know."
"Yes, but that would almost be like growing things in tubs in a conservatory. I have always wanted a real garden, one that would blend into the landscape and look natural despite the planning. The London garden is lovely but can only look as contrived as my silk roses, with its walls and terraces and spouting-dolphins fountain."
"Then why don't you accept Aunt Emonda's invitation to go visit at High Clyme?"
They had just received a pleasant letter from their new relation, thanking them for their kind congratulations and the gift of a Wedgewood tea set. The gift had taken a great deal of discussion, for Rowanne's first answer to the question of what to get the new bride was a younger husband. Then she thought to send a family heirloom, one of the ugly ormolu clocks or the silver epergne that seemed to depict Hannibal crossing the Alps, elephants and all. The heirlooms already belonged to Uncle Donald, Gabe reminded her, so they settled on the tea set, which suited admirably, judging from the warm thank you.
"I am sure she would let you dabble in the mud," Gabe went on. "Lud knows there is enough ground."
Rowanne put down the magnifying lens. "But it would not be mine."
"Still, she seems an all-right sort, trying to mend the family breech."
"And she hasn't thrown us out yet, nor sent word of a coming happy event. Likely she wants an unpaid companion."
Gabe wiped his spectacles with a lawn cloth. "That's not like you, to be so judgmental without evidence."
"You forget, brother, that I do have evidence, in an incorrigible rake. If she is anything like that nephew of hers…"
"Gammon, Ro, they are not even blood relatives, and I am not sure Delverson's wild reputation is entirely deserved."
Rowanne murmured to herself, "Trust me, it is."
"What's that, my dear? Never mind, you have been resty lately. Maybe you have been trotting so hard you'd benefit from a month or more in that clean country air and all that nice dirt."
"What, a month in someone else's household? Last week's halibut would be more welcome. Besides, you yourself know how awful house parties can be, with no solitude, no familiar servants who care about your comfort, and no choices. A female guest has to sew when the hostess feels like sitting quietly, entertain when she invites company, even retire for the evening when the lady of the house is tired!"
"But you would not be such a guest, you are family."
"And a stranger to both our uncle and new aunt. No, Aunt Emonda may enjoy her teapot in peace—and her honeymoon too. I am too busy to leave town now anyway. Did you see the pile of invitations? No one goes to the country in the middle of the Season."
Especially if they want to shop at the Marriage Mart.
Rowanne did not read purple-covered novels from the lending library. Not often enough, at any rate, to have her heart set on a storybook
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