Free The Wicked Marquess by Maggie MacKeever

quite properly attired in green frockcoat, buff trousers, Hessian boots and black felt hat, was notable for being notable for nothing at all.
    The gentlemen were not flourishing, but trailing in a somewhat wilted manner after Miss Russell as she conducted her inspection of the grounds. She made a pretty picture in her round gown of figured muslin and Venetian bonnet. If none of the gentlemen shared the young lady’s enthusiasm for botany, neither would any forego this excursion, thereby leaving his rivals a clear field.
    Miranda could have cared less if her companions weren’t enjoying themselves, save Nonie, who seemed to feel about the gardens exactly as she should, accompanying Miranda on her inspection of the plants without protest, even venturing into the damp warmth of the hot-houses, currently that hot-house known as the Great Stove, which when built in 1761 had been the largest of its day.
    Miranda noticed that Nonie looked unhappy, despite her new dress of lilac silk with lace-edged satin sleeves, her straw bonnet and yellow shoes. She left off her inspection of the tropical plants and ornamental foliage to draw her companion outside. “Poor Nonie! Are you feeling unwell?”
    “Not in the least,” fibbed Nonie. Miranda had already subjected her to any number of home remedies, from chamomile and peppermint and pennyroyal to water betony, which according to the estimable Mr. Culpeper was an excellent remedy for sick hogs.
    Miranda was not surprised that Nonie was in low spirits. Miranda would be in low spirits also if her heart had been broke.
    Odd to speculate that she knew more about kissing than did Nonie. The memory of kissing Sinbad sent a shiver down her spine. Not that ‘shiver’ was the right word, implying as it did a lack of heat. A definite warmth accompanied Miranda’s memories of her encounter with a rogue. Not that ‘warmth’ was the right word, either, to describe these feelings, which involved twitches and tingles in places never heeded much before. She was beginning to understand why her forebears had misbehaved.
    Nonie saw Miranda shiver, which was odd of her, the day being very warm. “Have you taken a chill?”
    “Oh, no!” Miranda decided that Nonie was too prone to notice things. She needed something to occupy her mind. Such as finding a husband for herself.
    Unlikely that Nonie would attract a husband without putting forth some effort. Nonie probably didn’t know how to put forth an effort. Miranda would demonstrate how to enchant a gentleman.
    She smiled on her entourage. “How very kind of all of you to escort us here today! I wouldn’t have enjoyed myself half so much without your company.”
    The gentlemen promptly stumbled all over themselves and each other in an attempt to impress. Mr. Burton, who had a military background, sought to take the field with an enthusiastic albeit insincere declaration that he had passed a charming interval among the posies, and a vow that he liked nature above all things; Mr. Dowlin, who was a quiet watchful sort of fellow, turned red as a beet and remained silent as a clam. Mr. Atchison outdid them both by stating that it was ever his pleasure to be of service to Miss Russell, and in this instance he had the additional privilege of inspecting the exceptional ornamental beauty of Kew. Was Miss Russell aware of the history of the gardens, which consisted of two estates joined together by the present monarch? Did she know that Sir Joseph Banks, as unofficial director, was largely responsible for the gardens’ world-wide fame? That the maidenhair tree, Ginko biloba, had been introduced to Europe about 1730 from Japan, and the famous male tree at Kew – for the maidenhair was a deciduous tree, with the male and female separate — had been transferred in 1761 from the Duke of Argyle’s estate in Twickenham?
    Amazing, mused Miranda, that a paragon of all the virtues should be so very dull. “You are a veritable encyclopaedia, sir.”
    Mr. Atchison