Mabel didn't sleep well. Everett was a dangerous sparring partner, and she drew him out. Why, oh why, couldn't she just leave him sulking in his corner? Radcliffe's words weren't free of mockery either, possibly even more poisonous than Everett's. The two brothers could have very well been toying with her for some perverse amusement.

At mid-morning, her sandy eyes cried for fresh air. It drizzled overnight, so Lady Catherine deemed it too unhealthy for her lungs to set foot outside, but Mabel begged for a turn in the garden with the dogs. Without their Mistress Fifi and Peppe trotted after her gingerly, their tails hanging between their legs instead of wagging. Fifi had to snip at grass, so Mabel had to stop right before the entrance to the maze.

A strand of hair fell out of the bonnet she had tied on in haste to curl across her nose. She lifted her face, but the raindrops never reached her inflamed eyes, suffused somewhere in between the low sky and the bedewed grass. "Fifi, Peppe, come along..."

The dogs stared at the maze as if they had not seen it before.

"Come on, it's not scary at all." The walls reached to her hip with yet to be trimmed fresh growth. The roses also leafed out among the boxwoods, so finding the way became more challenging than in the winter, but a far cry from anything trying. The dogs treated it as a thrill. They cuddled to her legs, winding their leashes round her skirts.

"Let's just get to the middle, please," she begged her cowardly companions, crouching to untangle their ten legs. "And then we go back, I promise."

The two pooches glanced to the centre, then back at her, doubt clear in their brown eyes.

"Merciful Heavens, what is it now?" She looked and gasped. In the middle of the maze, the familiar figure loomed behind the marble statue. Radcliffe's stooped back was to her, so she could have tip-toed away, but her feet wouldn't listen. She ran, dragging the dogs along. Mother-of-thyme perfumed the air in her wake as her shoes pressed the leaves down the cracks between paving stones.

"Lord Chesterton! What a pleasant surprise! I thought you would have gone to the Parliament already."

"I should have been." He turned to watch her progress with his hands locked behind, straining to maintain their grip and straighten his shoulders.

"And?" Out of breath, this was as much of a conversation she could offer once she'd gained the small paved square. Between Radcliffe, two dogs, a stoney maiden and her, the place was positively crowded.

"After yesterday's kerfuffle, I needed solitude." He winked out of the dark shadows that circled his eyes. "I am shirking my duty like a schoolboy."

She fanned herself with her handkerchief. "Your brother. Of course."

"Yes." A corner of his lips curled up. "Fortunately my truancy was undeservingly rewarded."

He pointed, and Mabel spotted the pink ruffles finally out of the green restraints of its bud. It protected it for as long as it could, holding them tight in its embrace. Yet, the spring called, and no amount of caution could stop the flower. The first rose of the year opened on this grey morning.

She sighed, taking in the delicate beauty of the flower. For a minute, they gazed upon it in silence. Even the clouds seem to lighten overhead. The leaves barely trembled. If she held her breath, she could hear his heart beat... or she imagined she could. "Nature is perfect."

"Perfect," Radcliffe sighed. "Too damnably perfect."

The profanity sounded awkward in his mouth, as if he'd never cussed before. His fingers spasmed on the top of his cane. Her mouth fluttered, ready to burst open, like the rosebud. She envied it. By its mere presence the rose said everything it needed to say. Women had to fumble for words.

He smiled apologetically. "Forgive my foul mood, I beg you. It's not worthy of a gentleman to snap like this."

"It is forgiven. But what sorrow eats at you?"

The pause lingered after her question for so long that Mabel thought he'd never reply. Finally, his head dipped in that strange manner of a hunchback. "I've been puzzling over Everett's antics. What does he desire to stop bemoaning his life?"

"Mr. Chesterton incensed me before," she said quietly, meaning, I understand.

A chuckle escaped him, both appreciative and bitter. "He is handsome and young, and fought with honour. He survived where the other heroes had fallen. Any man could only dream of a fate this glorious."

"I think..." Mabel hesitated. Even if she hadn't known it, yesterday's night made it perfectly obvious. This was between the brothers, and the history of their feuding stretched far too long for a stranger to blunder in.

"Now, be frank, Miss Walton." The crease between his brows relaxed a little. "What do you think?"

"I suppose, Lord Chesterton," she said, chewing her lips, "I suppose that not every man has the same dreams, even though many do share them."

"As every woman doesn't have the same dreams as all others?"

"Precisely."

He bent painstakingly, wielding his cane for support. The dogs watched in fascination. And, more importantly, in silence. She would have hated their yapping to spoil the moment. His movements were as slow as everything he did, but Mabel didn't hurry him in her mind. Her heart ached with a pleasant anticipation, for she guessed his intention. He plucked the first blushing bloom in his garden, straightened ever so slowly to offer his sweet bounty to her. "Thank you for the insight."

The stem of the rose snapped too close to the bloom for their fingers to avoid a butterfly touch. She wished it lasted longer. "I am glad you found merit in it."

The petals preserved the delicious cool of the night. She'd drink them like wine after dipping her nose in. Not being able to do so, she let the flower roll over her lips. "The fragrance is divine."

Radcliffe stood still, until his thoughts returned to the unhappy track. He gave the statue a somber look. "Unlike the practical Romans, I cannot adopt Cordelia's children as my heirs, so if Everett persists with his follies, I must resign myself to passing down the title to some distant cousin."

"Or you could stop belittling your fine qualities and marry. I should think that not all women of the society are so shallow as to overlook them."

He scoffed. "They are not overlooking my qualities, I assure you, Miss Walton."

"Oh?" She dropped her eyes, embarrassed by the obvious curiosity in her voice. He'd take her for a gossip. "Forgive me."

He shook his head ruefully. "I am too proud to marry a woman who would take me out of pity, convenience or any consideration other than heartfelt affection."

"Ah. I understand." Mabel found that she must immediately fix Fifi's collar and knelt by the dogs.

"And I am too clever to delude myself," Radcliffe said above her lowered head.

"You mistake my meaning." Mabel pushed back to standing. They were of a height, so their gazes met squarely.

"Do I?" Radcliffe asked.

It occurred to her that she would be arrogant to imagine herself as the only person who had given him this advice. But it was true, so she breathed out a tiny 'yes'.

His glance fastened to the rose she was twirling in her fingers. "Out of two of us, Everett and I, natural laws that you've only now extolled, dictate that he has children."

Mabel thought of Everett's impossible moods. "There is more to a human being's perfection than beauty. We're not flowers."

"But you see beauty. Everyone does," he replied. Peppe built up enough courage to sniff Radcliffe's trousers. The furry haunches trembled suspiciously.

"Peppe, no!" The last thing she needed was a faux pas in front of Radcliffe.

He glanced at the dog and smiled. "You have a kind heart, Miss Walton."

It was a compliment, but for the first time in their friendship, she felt dismissed like a servant. It stung.

Alas, if she insisted, he might think she was encouraging him, because that's what society expected of her. Her mother would have expected it of her. Perhaps even Radcliffe expected it. They all expected her to be on a fruitless hunt for a potential husband before the fleeting years curtailed it. She was a provincial girl, after all, twenty and not very pretty.

She turned around, and walked out of the maze, with the pink rose clutched in one hand, the leashes--in another. Radcliffe didn't understand! After embarrassing herself with Everett, she didn't place this natural expectation upon herself.

But, Mabel thought, placing the first rose in a jar of sand intending to dry it to perfection, but what if I fall in love?

She sucked the palm of her hand where the thorns prickled it to stave any bleeding. Then she scooped more sand and poured it over the rose. The grains ran in a silky thread, burying petal after petal, until the whole flower was hidden away. Now, it will dry perfectly in an upright position, with every petal opened in welcome, like nature intended. Only it would be lifeless.

If I can't help falling in love, what then?