The flowers, the food, the effort on my behalf. I nodded, afraid of speaking. Words might make it all go away. Not in a million years would I have expected my pragmatic father to have picked flowers for his daughter.
“What beautiful flowers,” I said at last.
He looked at them blankly. “Oh yes. Montgomery thought they’d add a touch of elegance you might be homesick for. He arranged for this, the food and all. You know I’ve little skill for that sort of thing. Where did you find them, Montgomery?”
Edward stood a little straighter, picking a little too hard at a splinter in the wagon gate.
Montgomery strained against the leather cinch. At last the buckle clicked into place. “North side of the island,” he said gruffly.
I could feel blood rushing to my cheeks. Montgomery had gotten the flowers. Sometime yesterday he’d picked wildflowers like he used to when we’d visit cousins in the country. Mother would put them in a glass jar on the servants’ kitchen table, saying the grand dining table was only for proper arrangements.
Edward wiped his brow, eyes lingering on the flowers. And then they slid to Montgomery, who was looking at him with equal hardness. I swallowed. Were they jealous? Of each other?
“Are you coming with us?” I asked Edward.
He started to speak, but Father cut in.
“Family only,” Father said. I briefly wondered if he counted Montgomery in that or if Montgomery was coming along merely to drive the wagon. “I’ve given Prince a project anyway. Cataloging the pantry supplies. Well-educated boy like you can manage that, can’t you, Prince?”
Edward turned away, a little too abruptly. “Enjoy your flowers,” he muttered to me before sauntering off toward the salon. I took a deep breath. Lucy had never said how complicated boys could be.
Father offered me a hand. “Let’s go before the sun melts us.”
I climbed into the back. Montgomery tied off the last straps and took the reins in the driver’s seat. Puck and one of the hunchbacked servants opened the gate for us, and we were off.
THE DAY WAS BEAUTIFUL. A blue sky stretched as far as the ocean, which we glimpsed between breaks in the trees. I’d traded a bitter English winter for the lush tropical sun and beautiful calls of faraway birds.
As we rode, Father described the unusual vegetation and wildlife that I’d only read about in books. I listened, though my thoughts kept sliding between Edward and Montgomery. If I’d been in London, and still wealthy, this coming spring would be my Season. Lucy and I would have talked endlessly about the boys—the men—at the dances, the galas, the summer picnics in the park.
But after we lost our fortune, I couldn’t afford to think about boys. I was just trying to stay off the streets. And now there were two boys my thoughts drifted between. Yet one had been a servant, I reminded myself. And the other . . . well, the other would surely leave the island the first chance he got.
Montgomery stopped the wagon on a windy bluff high above the compound, just below the volcano’s smoking peak. I climbed out and made my way to the bluff’s edge, where the full expanse of the island stretched below us, meeting the sea in a line of sandy beach. The wind pulled at my skirt, blowing loose my hair, and I closed my eyes, enjoying it.
“Not too close,” Montgomery murmured. My eyes snapped open.
“Over here,” Father called. “Out of that confounded wind.”
We made our way back to the wagon. Montgomery started unloading the supplies. He stretched out the blankets in a shady spot away from the cliff. He’s not a servant anymore, I reminded myself, watching him unpack the baskets. Even if he still did the work of one.
“You’ll have to forgive our basic fare.” Father uncorked a carafe of water. “We live simply here out of necessity. I’m afraid we’ve only cold vegetable stew with bread. And some fruits from the jungle.”
“I don’t mind.” I settled onto the blanket. Montgomery casually laid the bouquet of flowers near my feet before filling our china bowls. Father and I set into the meal.
“Well, Juliet, what skills have you acquired?” Father asked expectantly.
“Skills?” I briefly met Montgomery’s eyes. He knew that the only skills I’d acquired were cleaning mortar and avoiding the gutter. Not exactly what Father hoped for. “After Mother died, I found employment at the university.”
Father raised an eyebrow. “A job? Shouldn’t a relative have taken you in?”
I paused. This wasn’t going to be easy. He disapproved of his daughter working, yet he’d been the one who’d put me in that position.
I took a sip of water, trying not to feel irritated. I suppose he hadn’t had much of a choice. Maybe he thought that by leaving he was doing the best for us. He hadn’t known Mother would die. Or that the relatives’ kindness didn’t extend very far.
“It wasn’t so bad,” I said. I don’t know why exactly, but I didn’t want to make him feel guilty. Our relationship was so fragile, like one of the trailing vines bursting with soft white flowers along the garden wall. One harsh word and the flowers might shrivel. “I learned to clean. To sew a little.”
“To sew? To clean?” He looked unimpressed. “A professor’s daughter shouldn’t do that sort of work. What about piano? Needlepoint? All those things your mother taught you.”
I swallowed. “I might remember a little piano.”
“I see.”
I looked to Montgomery for help. He rested an arm on his knee, tapping a thin twig against his shin. “Little good needlepoint would do us around here,” he said. “Maybe she could help Alice with the cleaning.”