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“Where are you going?” Tibby’s mother asked.
Tibby looked up as she put on her shawl, surprised to see her mother standing in the doorway of her bedroom. Tibby suppressed a groan.
It had taken all night to work up the courage to decide to make another attempt to speak with Michael. To have her mother question her only made the task seem more impossible. Especially after what Tibby had overheard her telling Lady Trafford yesterday.
I don’t know what I’d do without Tibby.
But her plan would benefit her mother as much as herself. It wasn’t healthy for either of them that her mother was so dependent on Tibby.
She’d turned the options over and over during the night and realized she had to try. Living with regret wasn’t an option.
Michael might actually agree to her plan and begin to see her in a new light, just as Phoebe’s earl had.
If Tibby did nothing and Michael was soon courting someone else, she couldn’t bear it. That was enough to have her rise with purpose this morning.
She searched for an answer to her mother’s question, but nothing came readily to mind. She was terrible at lying. A portion of the truth would have to do. “Michael has a few cuts on his hand, so I am taking him some of our salve.”
The fact that her mother was out of bed this early came as a surprise. She rarely left her room until mid-morning. Why did she have to change the pattern today?
The loose grey wrapper with cream-colored lace she wore suggested she was up for the day. Her dark hair had faded, and touches of white marked her temples, clearly visible due to the tight knot in which it was bound.
“He won’t want your ointment.” The discouraging frown on her mother’s face sent Tibby’s heart sinking once again. Why did it feel as if her mother referred to her rather than the ointment?
He won’t want you.
Hadn’t that same worry circled her thoughts as she’d prepared for her errand?
“He might.” Tibby lifted her chin and repeated that to herself. He might want her. It was a chance she had to take. Before it was too late. “I will offer it anyway. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Her mother’s lips twisted with familiar disapproval.
Tibby was used to condemnation since she received it every time she left the house for any reason. That wasn’t going to stop her this morning. The only thing that might was her agitated stomach.
“Don’t stay too long,” her mother said, her frown still in place. “I’m certain we wore out our welcome yesterday.”
“I thought you enjoyed visiting with Lady Trafford and Lady Stannish. Has that changed?”
“I suppose I did. However, I’m sure they have other callers today.” Her mother’s tone almost seemed to suggest she was envious. But she’d turned away friends so often that now they rarely called. “Isn’t it too early for visiting?”
“We are friends and neighbors. Surely the rules don’t apply.” Tibby pulled on her gloves then reached for the small tin of ointment she’d prepared using yarrow. “I will be back directly.” She kissed her mother’s cheek as she passed by.
Then she marched down the stairs and out the door, fearing that if she slowed her pace she might turn around.
She had already rehearsed what to say and hoped she could remember it. She knocked on the front door, relieved their familiarity meant she needn't bother bringing a maid.
Stokes, the butler, opened the door and smiled. “Good morning, Lady Tabitha.” He gestured for her to come inside. “To what do we owe the honor of this visit?”
She held up the small tin of salve, grateful for the excuse it gave her. “I would like to give this to Captain Shaw if he's available. I noted yesterday that he had several cuts and thought this might help.”
“How kind of you. I believe he’s in the greenhouse again this morning.” The butler led the way toward the back of the house.
With each step, Tibby’s heartbeat sped. She pressed a hand to her chest and drew in a deep breath, hoping to calm herself before she had a seizure or the like. Perhaps she should’ve simply checked the greenhouse before knocking on the front door.
“He has been spending a lot of time out there since his return.” Tibby didn't know what made her say that when Stokes already knew it.
“I do believe he prefers to keep busy.” Stokes paused at the back door and gestured for her to precede him. “I'm certain he'll be happy to see you.” He nodded and remained in place.
Relief filled her at the realization that she wouldn't have to speak with Michael in front of Stokes. She hated to imagine what he might think if he heard her.
The path to the greenhouse was short, and she soon opened the door, greeted by the familiar scent of plants, soil, and moist air. The aisles were narrow, packed with pots of plants in various stages of growth as well as gardening supplies. The sound of someone muttering drew her toward the back of the greenhouse.
Michael stood before a work table, his suit coat removed, and his shirt sleeves rolled up. The sight of his muscled forearms covered with dark hair sent tingles along her skin.
He didn't look up at her approach, so she took a moment to simply admire him. His dark hair was mussed, and a smudge of dirt marked his cheek. Various pieces of stems lay strewn across the table along with several pots of dirt.
She slowly approached as memories filled her. This man had remnants of the boy who had presented her with a frog but was more like the young man with whom she had walked through fields during summers in the country.
Times had been much simpler then.
Unable to resist, Tibby drew closer still to look around his shoulder, curious to see what he was doing. “Grafting roses?”
He jerked, making it clear he hadn’t heard her. She pressed a gloved hand on that tanned masculine forearm to reassure him. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you.”
“Tibby.” His gaze raked over her face before it fell to where she touched him.
She quickly removed her hand, realizing how forward the gesture was. Never mind that she wished she could pull off her glove and touch him again. She longed to feel the same connection that she’d had before he’d left for the army.
Unfortunately, she didn't know if that was possible. They were both different people now.
“What brings you by this morning?” A smile played about his lips, suggesting he was pleased about something. Was the work going to his satisfaction or was he happy to see her?
Either way, she would much rather see the smile than the furrowed brow he'd worn so often since his return.
She closed her eyes briefly and gripped the tin as if her life depended on it. This was her chance.
Could she do it?
“I made some ointment for you.” She shook her head, frustrated that the words weren’t coming out correctly. “I mean I made the salve, and I thought it might aid your injuries.”
He took the offered tin and looked at it with wonder followed by a broader smile. “So you're saying you made it, but not for me.”
She recognized the teasing note in his voice but couldn't keep from defending herself. “I didn't make it for anyone in particular. I just—”
Michael chuckled. “I'm sorry. I couldn't resist teasing you.”
There was that smile again. The one that caused her stomach to dip as if she’d taken an unexpected step off a cliff.
Maybe she had.
Suddenly she realized her plan would be more difficult than she had thought. If for some unknown reason Michael agreed, how was she ever going to hide her feelings for him?
Before she could respond, a stem he had just connected to a larger plant in a pot came apart, dropping to the table.
“Blast it.” His wrinkled brow returned as he retrieved the short piece. “These never seem to want to stay together. I have yet to determine what I'm doing wrong.” He spun the stem between his fingers, staring at it as if it might reveal answers.
“I'm sorry to say that I have no experience with grafting. I wish I could help.”
“I reviewed the instructions again last night, and it seems fairly simple. But executing my plan is not.”
Tibby couldn’t help but smile. That was something to which she could relate. “Execution is often a challenge.” She studied his profile. “You never liked to garden in the past. May I ask why you're doing this now? To what end?”
He looked at her in surprise. “For my mother. I would like to make a rose similar to one she admired at a garden party we attended.”
“Hmm.” While admirable, it didn’t seem like enough motivation for the effort he was putting into it.
“What does that mean?” he asked with narrowed eyes.
“It’s very kind of you.” Tibby glanced around the greenhouse before meeting his gaze again. “But is all this making you happy?”
“Occasionally.” He huffed out a breath. “That's not the point.”
“It should be. You need to do something you feel passionate about.” She removed her gloves then took the tin and opened the lid as she spoke. It was much easier to have this conversation while performing a task. “Something that you can’t wait to return to each day.” She dabbed a finger in the ointment and reached for his hand which bore another fresh cut. With a gentle touch, she placed the salve on each of the injuries then looked up at him again. “Something that drives you.”
Michael stared at her with questions in his moss-green eyes as if she spoke a foreign language. As if he didn't know her as well as he thought he did.
The thought sent her stomach dancing.
That was the purpose of the For Better or Worse agenda. To help the man who held their affection to see them differently.
Though tempted to let it go at that and hope that what she’d said might be enough to help him truly see her, the brief moment wasn’t enough.
She’d only be letting down herself, as well as the other league members. Boldness was required, and that was what she’d promised herself.
“The salve isn’t the only reason I wanted to speak with you.” Hoping her fingers weren’t trembling, she released his hand, replaced the lid on the tin, and then set it on the table. “I would like to know if you’d consider assisting me with something.”
“Of course.”
She nearly smiled at his easy agreement, even if she couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “As you may have noticed, my mother often feels ill. However, she isn’t. Ill, that is.” Heat stung her cheeks as embarrassment took hold again. “She is unhappy. Remaining home and encouraging me to do so as well isn’t going to change that.”
“Tibby, I—”
She held up a single finger to hold off whatever he was going to say. She had to finish this before she lost her courage. “I couldn’t help but notice your mother mentioning that you should look for a wife.”
He scoffed. “She is far too focused on the topic.”
“I might have a solution for us both.” She swallowed hard, staring at the small expanse of skin visible above his loosened neckcloth and trying to pretend she was merely saying this before the mirror again. That bronzed skin only made her mouth drier. “What if we agree to a pretend betrothal?”
The words rushed out even as her heart rattled in her chest as if it wanted to flee the scene. So did she.
Still, she pressed onward. “I would like to encourage my mother to look at her future in a new way rather than relying on me to remain at her side for the rest of her days. My suggestion would also quiet your mother’s reminders that you should marry. At least, until you’re ready to do so.”
“A pretend betrothal?” His befuddled expression hinted that he had no idea of what she was speaking.
She ignored that in favor of moving on to the details. “We could agree on a length of time. Perhaps three months. Maybe even six.” She lifted one shoulder, uncertain how long would be best.
Long enough for him to realize he loved her. How long would that take?
What if he never did? Her chest tightened painfully at the worry.
“During our betrothal,” she continued, willing him to remain silent for just another moment or two, “you would have time to decide what you want to do with your future without being pressed to find a wife. And I would have time to ease Mother back into the world.”
She risked another glance at him, only to find him staring at her as if she’d lost her wits.
Dear heaven, she probably had. But it was too late to worry about that now. She jerked her gaze away, determined to keep going before her dwindling courage fled completely.
“At the end of that period, we will part ways with each of us having gained what we wanted.” Except if they parted, she wouldn’t have him. She would’ve lost everything, including his friendship most likely. Was her plan truly worth the risk?
“Tibby.”
She glanced at him again and saw the answer written clearly on his face.
No. Most likely, Hell, no. And, Are you mad? for good measure.
Her breath caught. She couldn’t bear hearing any of that. Not now at any rate. Managing to state her suggestion was as much as she could endure for now.
“I only ask you to consider it,” she quickly added. “This could be the solution we both need.” She tapped a finger on the tin. “Apply the salve twice more, preferably before bed.”
The image of him preparing for bed had her blinking rapidly in an effort to clear it. Yet her physical reaction to the thought only confirmed her attraction to this man. She’d never had such thoughts about other men she’d met over the years.
“Do you have something in your eye?” he asked with a note of concern.
“No. I’m fine.” She managed a smile and forced herself to stop blinking. “I must be going. Mother will wonder what’s kept me. Enjoy your day.”
Then she bolted as fast as her feet could carry her, leaving her gloves behind in her haste.
~*~
MICHAEL PACED THE GREENHOUSE for the next hour, his thoughts in turmoil even as he avoided looking at Tibby’s gloves.
A pretend betrothal?
What on earth was she thinking? She was like a sister to him.
But wait. His mind rebelled at the lie. Those moments when she’d been speaking to him about finding passion while putting the ointment on his hand had made him feel anything but brotherly.
If not brotherly, then what?
He waved his hand in the air to dismiss the question only to knock over a clay pot and send it crashing to the floor.
“Damn.” He bent to clean up the mess, his thoughts still reeling.
He was a man, wasn’t he? A red-blooded man with...needs. And she...
Well, she was a woman, obviously. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noted that. She was also attractive, he supposed.
He paused while picking up the broken pieces as he considered that further. Yes, she was nice enough to look at. Smooth skin, wide eyes the color of melted chocolate in a heart-shaped face. Her dark hair was rich in color. Her long limbs and slim hips might have stirred him once or twice since his return home.
In truth, he hadn’t been able to keep from comparing her to the ballerina once the thought had come to mind. Especially in the dark of night.
None of that mattered. He shook his head and returned to cleaning up the mess. He and Tibby couldn’t possibly become betrothed.
While he was growing weary of his mother’s not-so-subtle remarks about marrying, that didn’t mean he was prepared to act. She would get the hint soon enough. If she didn’t, he would simply tell her again that he wasn’t ready. While doing so might hurt her feelings, she’d understand.
He tidied up his work area, deciding he’d had enough of the greenhouse for now. His decision to stop for the day had nothing to do with the scent of lavender still lingering in the air. That smell more than likely came from one of the roses.
As quickly as possible, he strode out the door, only to return for the gloves and the ointment. He stuffed them in a pocket and then went into the house, more than ready to forget Tibby and her suggestion.
He entered the drawing room. “Good morning, Mother.”
“And to you, dear. Have you been in the greenhouse again?”
“Yes.” He glanced at the cuts on his fingers, noting they already felt better and no longer stung. But he didn’t mention the ointment tin and gloves in his pocket or Tibby’s visit to his mother. Somehow, it seemed like a poor idea.
“I’m so pleased you’ve found a hobby you enjoy.”
“Hmm.”
Tibby’s words returned to him. She had a point. He didn’t have a passion for botany. It was somewhat interesting, and he would like to create a rose for his mother. But that was the extent of his interest. He couldn’t seem to get grafting right, nor could he repeat the names of various roses to save his life.
If he didn’t continue with botany, how would he spend his days? Should he seek an occupation of some sort? The question was certainly worth consideration, especially given his limited finances.
“What else do you have planned in the coming days?” She lifted a brow, the picture of innocence.
He knew better. That look boded ill. He considered possible answers, but none came readily to mind. He didn’t want to lie. “Difficult to say.” Perhaps that would satisfy her.
He should’ve known better.
“We received an invitation to the Willaby Ball for tomorrow evening. It should prove to be a wonderful event.”
“Oh? That’s nice.” He moved to the window, feigning interest in the street below.
“I have it on good authority that Lady Sophia Barnaby will be there.”
“Who is she?” He wracked his memory but came up with nothing.
“A lovely young lady I would like you to meet.” His mother paused for dramatic effect. “I think she could be the one.”
“The one for what?” He turned back to look at her, knowing what she’d say but refusing to play along. Hadn’t he already made it clear he wasn’t ready to consider marriage?
“For a wife.” Her smile was overly bright. “She could be perfect for you.”
“Considering the fact that we’ve never met, I highly doubt it.” Tibby’s proposal returned to mind, not that it had ever left, and was suddenly more appealing.
“She is a beauty and comes from a good family. Her mother and I are dear friends,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Rumors are that her dowry is significant.”
“Oh?” He stared out the window at Tibby’s house while wondering what other qualities his mother would use to entice him.
“I only ask that you meet her. She is delightful.”
“Have you spent any length of time with her?”
“Well, not really. But our brief encounters have been very enlightening.”
He turned from the window to look at her, curious as to what would make a young lady “enlightening.” “How so?”
“Well...” His mother seemed to realize she might have gone too far with her claim.
He took several steps closer. “Mother, as I have mentioned before, I’m not ready to consider marriage. Nor am I looking for a wife any time soon.”
“Of course, dear.” She waved her hand. “But what is the harm in looking? Meeting new friends is the first step.”
“I don’t want to take a step. Not in that direction.”
“Michael.” The pleading expression on her face nearly did him in. “I only want you to be happy. It is clear to me that you’re not.”
He ran a hand through his hair, disappointed that he hadn’t managed to hide his restlessness. “It’s not that I’m unhappy.”
“But?” She lifted a brow.
“As we’ve discussed, it will take time for me to readjust to life in London.” He swung away only to face her again, wanting to explain so she’d understand. “Life is much different here than what I am used to. For ten years, my days were filled with duties and responsibilities from dawn to dusk.” He lifted a hand only to let it fall. “Here, there is little to do.”
“You should relax after all you’ve endured.”
“I’m not sure that’s possible. Not yet.” He shook his head. “Thinking of the future is more than I’m prepared to do right now.” Especially when he didn’t know how he wanted to spend tomorrow let alone the empty months that stretched ahead. As a second son, he had a limited income. He’d need to find a career of some sort eventually, especially once he moved to a place of his own.
“I understand. Truly. But what better way to pass the time than to meet people your age?”
Tibby’s pretend betrothal was sounding better and better. He hated the feeling of disappointing his mother and didn’t care for the pressure she unwittingly placed on him.
“Even your grandmother was impressed by Lady Sophia.”
He smothered a groan. At the first opportunity, he needed to speak with Tibby and tell her that his answer was yes.
Definitely yes.
