“A woman like you needs to be married, loved, adored. Don’t pretend otherwise. You’re passionate, caring, and intelligent. You’d make any man a fine wife.”
“Thank you.” She smiled faintly, a little afraid by the depth of sincerity in his tone. Again her heart seemed to liquefy and she frowned at the response. Was this love or compassion? How could she know? “Let us walk.”
Without waiting for his assistance, she scrambled down from the gig, nearly tripping on her skirt in the process.
He quickly joined her, but his ready smile and usual witty remarks were lacking as they stepped though the dry undergrowth. She’d become used to the crisp clean air of the bush now, of the loud native birds that squawked their song instead of trilling it like English birds did. Sometimes she missed the damp density of the woods back home, but she also found a strange contentment in the harsh Australian bushland. Perhaps she identified with the struggle of the plants and animals to survive, the hardiness of their existence. Yet, their beauty still showed through as though resolute in letting nothing diminish their right to live.
Nicola stopped to study the unusual yellow flowers growing on a large bush. “Do you know what this flower is called? I’ve seen it before and always admired it.”
Nathaniel stopped close beside her and studied the long cylindrical flower, that stood straight and proud amongst its needle type leaves. “It’s called a Banksia, I believe. There are red ones too, I’ve seen them along the coast, and they also have different shapes.”
“It looks spiky.” She reached out to touch it gently and found the spikes were actually soft petals. “No, they aren’t sharp.” Smiling, she glanced at him under her lashes. “I should have brought my sketchbook. I’m ashamed at the small amount of sketching I have done since arriving. My mother would be displeased if she were alive.”
He stood quite still. “Do you miss your parents?”
“Yes, very much. My father was such a tremendous man, generous, knowledgeable, amusing. I adored him with every ounce of my being. His death was a blow I thought I would never recover from.” She looked up from the flower into his eyes. “You’re the first person I’ve been able to admit that to.”
“Then I am deeply honoured.”
“Oh, I’ve talked about him before, many times, but I’ve never acknowledged the pain of his death. When my father died, for the first time in my life I felt lost, without guidance, unloved.” Nicola walked on, amazed she’d spoken so personally to him. Her parents were a treasured part of her that she rarely shared with anyone, fearful of the ache that talking about them brought, but surprisingly, she had mentioned them to both Hilton and Nathaniel, and she didn’t know what to make of it.
“Look at this one, Nicola.”
She turned as he bent down near a large rock. Crouching beside him, she examined the fragile pink flower on a long stem. “No, don’t pick it, let it be.” The yellow wattle he’d given her on Frances’s birthday picnic was still in her diary, to add another would be accepting too much. “I wonder what it is called.”
“It has the appearance of an orchid, don’t you think?”
“Why, yes.” She grinned at him. “You are knowledgeable about flowers.”
“No, not really. Though I grew up having access to a very impressive and varied collection of plants from all over the world. My mother collected them. She had an immense green house built adjoining the conservatory at the side of the house. My father used to rage at the amount of money she spent on paying botanists. She commissions them to find her beautiful and rare plants.” He carefully touched the tiny pink and white spotted petals. “The odd time I spent with her in the greenhouse was the closest I ever came to being her son, instead of a person sharing her house at holidays.” He stood abruptly and cleared his throat.
She watched him, the sudden stiffness of his manner, the pulse ticking along his jaw. He still suffered from his parents’ actions. “We should go back.”
“Yes, we don’t want to become lost.” He took her elbow and led her back to the gig.
“Perhaps next time we can bring a picnic and I’ll remember my sketchbook.” She didn’t look at him as he helped her up onto the seat.
“Will there be a next time, Miss Douglas?” His eyes widened