Whispers

Whispers.

Did you hear the latest? Oh, my! Do sit down, have a cup of tea. You have met Lady Farnsworth, have you not? Exactly! At the Wendtworth ball. Yes. Her garden is legendary. Or so I’ve heard. I don’t really know anyone who has seen it firsthand. With the exception of Lady Creason, but all she will say about it is that the garden is simply magnificent, divine.

No, really, it’s almost too much. She does it herself! Can you imagine? I shudder to think … Oh, the horror! Dirtying her gloves as she digs in the soil, as if she’s a common maid! My, my! Do you think she sinks to her knees in the dirt?

Oh, it’s all anyone can talk about. More tea? Yes, of course, let me ring for a fresh pot.

And Lord Cecil being so sickly, he had to retire to the country, don’t you know? Can you believe that she has remained here in town, while her husband might very well be on his deathbed? At least Lord John is keeping vigil. She’s not showing him the proper respect, is she? Not at all, at all.

Oh my! The scandal! But what could one expect from such an unsuitable match?

Tut-tut.

***

Three years ago, Lady Martha Worthmore, age eighteen, had been presented. As all young girls will, she had looked forward to all the parties and balls, the flirtations, a stolen kiss. Not surprising, like all young girls, she had dreamed of a love match. After all, who’d want to be part of a mere ‘suitable’ alliance. However, no offers had been made in the first few weeks.

“Not to worry,” Lady, Eagers, her chaperone, had assured her. “Many young ladies do not get a suitable offer till their second, or even third Season.”

However, Martha’s father, Lord John Worthmore, was not of the same opinion or as patient. Thus, when Lord Cecil Farnsworth, an old bachelor friend of Lord Worthmore made an offer, he accepted immediately on his daughter's behalf.

Despite Martha’s protests, Lord John would not renege on the bargain. Even before her first Season had run its course, Lady Marthy Worthmore became Lady Cecil Farnsworth. Married to a man thirty-one years her senior.

For three years Lady Martha and Lord Cecil divided their time between the townhouse during the Season and Lord Farsworth’s sprawling, drafty estate house, somewhere off the beaten path in Durham.

Lord Farnsworth had not bothered to consummate the marriage and rarely deigned to speak to her directly. Of course, dinner invitations to reciprocate hospitality had to be extended. Thus, once every month or two during the Season Martha and Cecil would be in the same room, be it at opposite ends of the table.

Having little else to occupy her time, Lady Martha took it upon herself to bring the neglected garden attached to the town house back to life. To that end she recently charged the butler, Mansort, with hiring a competent gardener. With increasing regularity, she declined to accompany her husband to the country. She was quite content in the smaller, but comfortable house in town.

***

Three months ago, Lady Martha, once again, sipping her morning tea, admired her garden. To be honest, the man cultivating and maintaining all this beauty was much more interesting than the garden itself. After all, the roses he was tending just beyond the breakfast room window had just barely begun to sprout.

He was, she swallowed a sigh, quite muscular. She couldn’t help but feel that he simply exuded an aura of strength, confidence, and capability. Tilling, weeding, and mulching was apparently hot work, even this early in spring for he had put his coat aside and rolled up his shirt sleeves. Oh, my! He straightened, lifted his cap, wiped his brow with the cravat he had stuffed in the waist of his trousers. She could see the damp ends of his russet-colored hair before he replaced his cap.

She was incapable of stifling another sigh when he threw his head back and drank deeply from the flask that had been tucked in one of his pockets. She shamelessly allowed her eyes to drift down to the few loosened buttons at his throat, caress the expanse of his chest and dip further down to … Oh! Surely that wouldn’t do. Quickly she snapped her eyes back to his face. Just in time to see him watching her. She told herself that she imagined the small smile and quick wink before he returned to his labors.

“Ah, yes.” Lady Sarah Creason, Martha’s long-time friend and confidante, groaned. “If my roses were that well-tended, I might even consider cultivating them in my boudoir.”

“Surely you jest.” Martha tried to sound outraged, but the idea did have its merits.

Martha’s father, a frequent guest, and Lord Cecil spent many hours in the library. Martha had been told that they were playing chess. Since her husband did not concern himself with her activities, she did not think twice about their many games of chess.

That afternoon, Lord Worthmore, after he had greeted Martha joined Lord Cecil in the library. Unconcerned with the gentlemen’s game, Martha took a shawl against the chill spring breeze and strolled through the garden. There, near the gazebo, she spotted the gardener. She hesitated, feeling a tell-tale blush flush her cheeks, but she ploughed on.

“Good afternoon Mr. Garreth.”

Garreth doffed his cap. “Afternoon, milady.”

“What are you planting here?” She pointed to the small patch of freshly tilled earth.

“I had thought this might be a good spot for fragrant herbs, like lavender and mint. But if you have a preference …” He smiled as he looked at her.

Martha blushed under his gaze. There was something about his voice, the musical lilt and cadence to his speech. “Pansies.” She smiled shyly. “I quite fancy pansies. They remind me of velvet.”

He nodded. “Very well. I’ll be sure to include pansies, milady.”

She should move on and allow him to return to his work. But she was reluctant to part company.

“Milady.” He seemed hesitant to speak. “There is one section of the garden I have difficulty with. Could you take a look and advise me?”

“But of course.” All shyness forgotten. Someone needed her assistance; she’d be happy to give it.

“There is a bush, it’s just in front of the library window. I would be obliged if you’d give it a look and ponder the situation, Milady.”

“I will do so, right this minute, Mr. Garreth.”

Marth strode off in the direction of the house, specifically the west side where the library was located. She could not see any dead, dying or distressed plants in the bed, but when she looked up, she gasped.

Just on the other side of the library window were her father and husband, however they were not engrossed in a chess match.

“I see you found the problem, Milady.”

“Yes, Mr. Garreth. You’d best move on, lest you’re seen, and risk being fired.” She advised him.

Approximately three weeks passed since Martha inspected her yard. She had instructed Cook to prepare supper for three and invited her father to pertake, thus ensuring that her husband would attend as well.

When the first course was cleared and the fish served, Martha paused and nodded at Mansort, who left the dining room ushering the valets ahead of him. When the room was occupied by just the three of them, Martha took another bite, chewed daintily, and swallowed.

“About three weeks ago I learned something.” She began. “I learned that my father has a birthmark in the shape of the continent of Africa on his left buttock.” She nodded, letting that sink in. “And you, Milord do not. However, I now understand why many of your shirt sleeves are ink stained.”

She indulged in a sip of wine. “Gentlemen, I do not care how you wish to spend your time together, but I believe that there are many people who would be scandalized, affronted if not downright sickened at the thought alone. Not to mention that the activity is illegal. Hopefully that law will change at some point in the future.

She calmly took another bite. Havening had several weeks to come to terms with the situation, she had charted a course. “In that light, I suggest that one or both of you urgently retreat to the country for your health before anyone learns the truth.”

Since both men were still speechless, she took another bite, a sip of wine before she rang the bell for Mansort, asking him to bring the items she had handed him early. She then turned back to her husband and father.

“I will not join you in the country, of course. Therefore, I shall need funds at my disposal to maintain the house, the stables, yard, and social obligations. Ah, thank you Mansort.” She turned back to her dinner guests. “Mansort is placing contracts in front of you. All you have to do is sign to place the townhouse in my name along with the annual sum I have stipulated. There will be no trustees managing my affairs, of course. We will all live separate lives and your secret will be safe with me.”

***

Did you hear? Surely, you must have. Is there no end to her brazenness? With both her husband and father in the country, awaiting Lord Cecil’s demise, Lady Martha has now brought plants in the house! Oh, yes! I have it on the best authority. In every room, no less. Even in her boudoir. My stars!

She does look well, doesn’t she? I might go as far and say she’s flourishing.