Actually, Gemma believed in the value of good education for everyone. Another opinion she kept to herself. “And what was the geology lecture?”
Mrs. Warbler gave a distracted nod of her head. “Something about rocks and the earth. Dirt, maybe. Mr. Thurlowe is keen on the matter. He wastes too much of his time in books.”
Reading was a waste of time? Again, Gemma bit her tongue. “Does he allow women to attend these lectures?”
“Why would he?” Mrs. Warbler seemed genuinely perplexed.
“Some women are interested in such topics.” She paused a moment and then confessed, “I would be.”
“Oh, well, talk to Miss Taylor about that. Supposedly, she was most upset when she learned the lecture was for gentlemen only. She will appreciate a supportive voice when the next lecture rolls around, which it will shortly. They held it the day after the Cotillion last year and will do so again. Come, there is the dowager. Let us pay our addresses.” She guided Gemma right into the circle of women surrounding the duchess.
And it felt good to be included by these women. They were far different from Lady Latimer and her shallow friends. Yes, Mrs. Warbler sniffed at egalitarian viewpoints and yet, there was not a woman in front of the church that she did not pull into their circle.
The chatter was about Gemma’s plans for The Garland. Several women were as keen on gardening as Gemma and offered her seeds or plants from their own gardens. Even their husbands acted interested. And the Reverend Summerall seemed almost joyous over the idea of him and his wife sitting in The Garland’s gardens . . .
There was a knot of young men over by the horses casting sour looks toward Gemma’s group. Some of them were the ones who had tried to stir up trouble the night before. They appeared to be doing most of the talking. She noticed that Mr. Thurlowe was not amongst them.
Nor was he gathered with any of the other gentlemen.
She wondered where he was and yet, didn’t want to be open about her interest—which wasn’t really interest, she told herself. One should always know where their enemies are lurking.
As they made their way into the church, she asked nonchalantly, “Is Sir Lionel here?” This was a roundabout method of learning what she did want to know.
“He never comes. Mr. Fullerton, his companion, is here.” She nodded to the older gentleman in a back pew, who Gemma noticed had been watching them. Or watching Mrs. Warbler. She tucked that observation away for safekeeping.
Directing Gemma to follow her into a pew, Mrs. Warbler said, “Sir Lionel is probably muzzy from drink and still abed. When I take over his life that nonsense will come to an end, as well as that silly red fez he enjoys wearing.”
“Ah, the fez.” Gemma remembered the fez wearer from the night before. He’d been quite drunk, even before he’d arrived to start drinking.
Miss Taylor and her family were seated in the row behind them and she gave Gemma a welcoming smile.
Mrs. Warbler leaned close to Gemma’s ear. “Those aren’t her people, you know. Lovely family—Squire Nelson, his wife, and three daughters. I’ll introduce you later. They took her in after the Reverend Taylor died. He wasn’t her father, either. Found her as a babe left on the doorstep of the church. Sad story.”
“Who left her?”
“It is a mystery.” Mrs. Warbler then smiled at Miss Taylor as if she hadn’t just been gossiping about her. That observation, too, Gemma tucked away.
The service started. Gemma had been raised to attend church, although she had a tendency to use this time to think instead of worship. She always said her prayers and she did believe in a Supreme Being . . . but her idea of what form that took was often at odds with what the churchmen claimed—
There was a disturbance behind her. Someone had entered late and taken a seat in Miss Taylor’s pew.
Gemma didn’t think anything about it until the small hairs at the base of her neck started to twitch. It was an alarming sensation. She didn’t need to turn around to know that Mr. Thurlowe had arrived.
She let out her breath and willed herself to calm, but that didn’t stop the uptick in her pulse.
It was almost as if she could feel his eyes upon her. They bored into her. She knew it.
Mrs. Warbler smiled at her over something the Reverend Summerall said about “consciences.” Gemma smiled back and used the moment to catch a glance over her shoulder.
Her senses had not lied. The physician sat almost directly behind her.
However, he was not paying attention to her. He looked toward the pulpit with rapt interest.
The liar.
She knew her instincts were right. He was plotting against her.
When at last the final “amen” had been said, Gemma was ready to leave. Of course, she was in the middle of the pew. She had to wait for the women in front of her to have their chat. There would probably also be chatting in the churchyard.
A hand touched her arm from the pew behind to claim her attention. Gemma turned to see Miss Taylor smiling at her, and beside her, of course, was Mr. Thurlowe. Right now his attention appeared everywhere but on Gemma.
“You look well rested. I hope you are feeling better,” Miss Taylor said with her lovely smile.
“I am, thank you. And thank you for the work you did. The Garland had been frightfully abused.” Gemma took pleasure in saying this in front of Mr. Thurlowe.
“I actually enjoyed the cleaning. I’m proud that we could all come together. It was rather fun. I think even the dowager had a good time, although her servants did the work.”
“She and I supervised,” Mrs. Warbler said proudly.
Mr. Thurlowe broke in. “Excuse me, ladies, I must leave. Miss Taylor, forgive me. Patients, you know.” Before anyone could respond, he was gone. There was no peck on the cheek or loving regret in his manner. He just left.
Gemma realized he must truly abhor her if he was going to dash off and not spend time with the woman he was supposed to marry very soon.
However, he did not travel far before the dowager cornered him.
Miss Taylor began introducing Gemma to her companions. “These are my guardians, and better angels one could not find. This is Squire Nelson and his wife—”
She continued with introductions. However, the duchess had a carrying voice and Gemma doubted if there was anyone in the sanctuary who didn’t hear her say, “—Mrs. Warbler shared this salve she received from Gemma. I rubbed it on my knee and it feels immeasurably better. In fact, Gemma”—she turned, drawing Gemma into the exchange—“please come here.”
“Excuse me,” Gemma murmured to the Nelsons to give the exchange between doctor and dowager her full attention. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I need more of that salve.”
“Unfortunately, I gave Mrs. Warbler all I have.”
“Then make more.”
“I will, once I have the ingredients,” Gemma assured her. “They are expensive.”
“I will buy them for you. I need that salve. I can move my knee easily without pain for the first time in ages.”
“Well, thank you, Your Grace. Thank you.” By now, everyone in the small church was listening to the exchange.
“And you should look into the salve, Mr. Thurlowe,” the dowager advised. “It has beneficial properties.”