Love's Fortune by Laura Frantz

here, had ever been. All his melancholy had flown.
    Izannah stopped her fanning. “Would you like to walk in the garden? There’s usually a blessed breeze off the river.” With a last look at James, she smiled. “Mama won’t mind.”
    Wren hated to leave her rich meal unfinished and cast her aunt Ellie an apologetic glance as she followed Izannah’s graceful exit from the table.
    Izannah’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mama usually spends summer evenings in the garden but tires easily of late. My father and yours will likely shut themselves in the study and talk business, corralling James if they can, unless my brothers get to him first.” She expelled a little breath. “I believe you’ve met everyone at River Hill except Great-Aunt Elspeth.”
    “Elspeth?”
    “She’s Grandmother’s half sister.” Izannah’s brow knotted and she paused, as if unsure how much to share. “Daddy sort of inherited her when he married Mama. But Elspeth is now so old she doesn’t make as much trouble as she used to. She lives in a stone cottage at the east end of the garden with her maid and nurse. See that far chimney?”
    They stepped onto a side porch that overlooked acres offlowers, a large fountain at its heart. Far beyond was Elspeth’s domain, a safe distance from the main house.
    “I’ve never seen such a garden,” Wren said.
    “It was naught but weeds when my parents wed.” Izannah plucked a cluster of wisteria climbing a near column. “Daddy employs three gardeners to tend it for Mama.”
    “We have a small patch,” Wren said. The confession seemed a shameful thing, almost laughable. Theirs was no bigger than a wagon wheel, hardly worth mentioning, though Molly tended it like a baby. “Herbs and vegetables mostly. A kitchen garden.”
    “We have a physic garden too, between the house and summer kitchen, but it’s so full of bees and snakes I stay away. Poor Cook is forever chasing the boys out of it.”
    They started down stone steps into fading sunlight and cooler air when a maid appeared behind them, apology in her tone. “Your mother needs you upstairs, Miss Izannah.”
    “Coming,” she answered, sudden alarm in her eyes. “Feel free to wander about, cousin. If you go far enough, there’s a yew maze with a pond at the center . . . swans.”
    Swans? Wren took the remaining steps by twos, bypassing a bubbling fountain. Its music fed her unsettled spirit, its windborne spray a welcome mist on her flushed face. She’d always felt nearer to God in a garden than any place on earth. If not for the pinch of her crinoline and slippers, she’d be nearly free.
    Glory, but it was a wonder to be alone.
    All day long Aunt Andra had kept her busy at New Hope, cataloguing wedding gifts and arranging them just so in the twin parlors in case callers happened by, while Charlotte sat and penned copious thank-you notes. They’d had tea with Grandmother at three o’clock before resuming theirunwrapping and admiring and writing. As the day wore on, Charlotte seemed more unsettled and near tears—but what was Wren to do?
    She quickened her step as if to outdistance the thought, passing flowers she had no name for. Recognizing a climbing rose, she tucked one into her upswept hair. Just ahead was the promised yew hedge. She disappeared into its green folds, befuddled. Several wrong turns and dead ends later, she stumbled into the maze’s middle. Twin swans glided over the pond’s shimmery surface in the hush of twilight. Never in her life had she seen swans. They seemed the stuff of fairy tales. Like Izannah.
    Bending down as easily as the detested corset and crinoline would allow, she shed her stockings, garters, and shoes. The sides of her taffeta bodice were soaked through, more from nerves than the heat. Oh, to shed her dress! If she was home she would.
    Fists full of fabric, she waded into the water, a shiver of delight dancing down her spine. The swans drew nearer, undisturbed by her presence.