The First Snowdrop

PART 2

March and April, 1816

It was a bright spring morning. The library windows were wide open to admit the crisp fresh air and the smell of daffodils and new foliage. Outside, the sun shone from a brilliant blue sky onto a new and shining world below. The woods to the west of the house were in bright-green leaf, and the grass beneath them was painted with snowdrops, primroses, and early bluebells. The formal gardens that stretched before the house had been freshly raked, clipped, and mown even though the flowers had not yet bloomed. The new marble fountain at its center spouted clear water from the mouth of a fat cherub.

Inside the library, a slim young lady sat at a delicately carved escritoire, writing paper and pens spread out before her. But she was not writing; she was reading a letter, a slight crease on her brow. She suited her surroundings admirably. A vase of daffodils stood beside her and complemented the primrose color of her light muslin day dress. Her light-brown hair was fashionably dressed, curling softly about her face, tied high at the back, with ringlets clustering against her head and neck. Her heart-shaped face rested on one slim hand as she read, a rather wistful look in her large gray eyes:

You really must come, my dear. I shall not take no for an answer. Unless every member of the family is present for our fiftieth wedding a

Of course, if he has expressly forbidden you to come, you are in a somewhat awkward position. Let me put the matter this way. His Grace is the head of this family. That means that his word is law to all the other members, your husband included. And His Grace has this moment declared in his most forceful ducal ma

Do not fret your mind over Alex, my dear. You may leave him to His Grace and me. Sometimes he needs a severe set-down; he is too stubborn by half. He will not be able to scold you when he knows that you were ordered to come here by His Grace himself. Alex was always a little in awe of his grandfather.

The letter went on to make very definite arrangements of dates and times. Although it was only paper she held in her hand, A

However, it appeared now that the duchess was not prepared to accept her refusal. And she had put A

She put the duchess's letter down on the escritoire and crossed to the window. It was so lovely outside. There were the spring flowers growing wild in the grass among the trees. And the daffodils were growing almost as wild beneath the window. The gardener had asked her if he should thin them out, and if he should try to cut back the wild growth at the edge of the wood, where it could be seen from the house. But she had said no to both suggestions. It was the flowers that had kept her sane the year before, she would swear until her dying day. Perhaps they did not quite fit the image of formal beauty that she had had created down the long stretch of land before the house, but that did not matter. The grounds were large enough to allow for great variety.

The formal gardens were one of her great triumphs. When she had finally pulled herself free from the dismals that had engulfed her through those long winter months after Alexander had so cruelly abandoned her, her thoughts had turned toward improving the house and the estate. And she had begun with the garden, pla

The improvements had taken all summer to complete, and had been costly, but they had been worth every moment and every pe

She dearly wanted to go. It would be a nerve-racking experience, of course. The duchess made it appear as if all members of the family were to be there, and the house party was to last for two weeks. A

The big problem, of course, was that if the whole family was to be present for the occasion, Alexander would be one of their number. She would see him again. She would be terrified of facing him, knowing that she had disobeyed him in being there. And she had vivid, nightmare memories of that last interview she had had with him, when he had been so cold and unyielding, so devoid of all human sympathy. She recalled with a shiver the distaste and scorn for her that he had not tried to hide from his face or his voice. It had taken her a long time to recover any sort of self-esteem after that experience. He had made her feel utterly ugly and worthless. Should she willingly open herself to another such attack? Would the duchess's assurance that she would explain the situation to him save her from his wrath?