Page 4 of The Wayward Lady (The Wayward Widows of Willoughby Hall #1)

T he following day, Lavender sat with Daphne and Eden in the conservatory, one of their favorite rooms. The glass walls, tile floors, and various potted flowers and fruit trees gave the impression of being outdoors but kept them warm and dry on days like today when a spring squall was churning the sea in the distance.

She absentmindedly flipped through the pages of her sketchbook, replaying the conversation she’d had yesterday with Mr. Wycliffe in her mind. All her excitement about creating something meaningful and contributing to Willoughby Hall’s gardens had disappeared. However, she could not find it in herself to be mad at him. He had been straightforward with her, a rarity that she appreciated.

She knew how she appeared to others—delicate and easily broken. Her gentle nature often led people to believe that she could not handle difficult truths, but she knew deep down that she was stronger than that. After all, she had survived Geoffrey's death and the subsequent humiliation of being talked about and mocked.

He had never explicitly said she couldn’t do it; he’d simply warned her that it would require years of dedication and effort. She finally understood what he meant by passion. Without a strong drive and determination, she would not have the motivation or perseverance to see the project through to the end.

She could admit now that she did not feel that way about gardening. She had a passing interest at best. And even if she threw herself into it wholeheartedly, she knew she would falter and ultimately fail. The problem was that she could not for the life of her come up with something she might enjoy more. She liked to sketch and read, spend time with her friends, and walk along the beach hunting sea glass. But none of those pastimes were something she could really describe as a purpose .

Daphne and Eden sat across the room, completely absorbed in their own activities. None of her friends ever seemed to struggle with finding things to keep them occupied.

Eden was obsessed with history. She read everything she could get her hands on and had been planning to lead an archeological expedition ever since her husband had died. Genevieve was involved in half a dozen charitable organizations. She truly cared about making a difference in the world. Daphne had an eye for fashion and a rare talent for designing clothes. She was even thinking about opening a dress shop of her own.

A sharp pang of jealousy shot through Lavender, catching her off guard. She couldn’t help but envy how confident her friends were about their passions. How did they discover them so effortlessly? It felt like an odd question to ask, but she couldn’t shake the desire to know their secrets.

When Lavender closed her sketchbook with a heavy sigh, the sound drew Daphne and Eden’s attention. They exchanged knowing glances, silently communicating their concern. Daphne set aside her embroidery and moved closer to Lavender while Eden abandoned her book on the table to join them.

“Lavender, dear, is everything alright?” Daphne’s voice was laced with genuine worry as she reached out to place a comforting hand on Lavender’s arm.

Lavender mustered a weak smile, trying to push away the feelings of inadequacy that clouded her thoughts. “I’m fine, truly. Just... contemplating things.”

Eden perched on the arm of a nearby chair, her keen gaze fixed on Lavender. “Contemplating what, exactly? You know you can share anything with us.”

Fiddling with a loose thread on her skirt, Lavender hesitated before speaking. “It’s about the garden project,” she began, her voice soft but tinged with uncertainty. “I thought it was what I wanted to do, but now... I am not so sure. Mr. Wycliffe made me realize how much dedication and passion it requires, and I don’t think I have that for gardening.”

Daphne smiled, obviously relieved to find out that was all that was bothering her. To her, it probably seemed inconsequential. “Darling, it is perfectly alright to have doubts. Finding your true calling takes time and exploration. Do not be disheartened if this particular path doesn’t turn out to be the one meant for you. You have a whole world of possibilities waiting.”

Eden nodded in agreement. “Remember, Lavender, you are more than just your hobbies or interests. Your worth is not defined by how well you design a garden or any other project. Your kindness, compassion, and strength are what truly shine through. That is why we all love you so much.”

Lavender felt a rush of gratitude for her friends’ understanding and support. Their words offered her a sense of comfort she desperately needed after having beat herself up all night over the issue.

“How did the two of you find out what you were good at?” she asked eagerly, hoping for some insight.

Eden shrugged, her dark eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she pushed her red braid over her shoulder. “I’ve always been interested in the past. Even as a child, I roamed the halls of my father’s estate, wondering about all the people who lived there before us. What were their lives like? How did they spend their time? And then I learned about Egypt, which was even more ancient, and I wanted nothing more than to go there and find out for myself.”

Lavender was glad her friend had such passion for the subject, but she had never cared much for anything she’d learned in the schoolroom. “What about you, Daphne?”

Daphne smiled, her blue eyes dancing. “After I’d been married for a few years and produced the requisite heir and spare, I was looking for something to fill my time. I imagine I was feeling much as you are now, but I had always had a knack for sewing, for coming up with my own designs. I made a few dresses for myself and wore them out in society, and I was surprised when people started asking who my modiste was.” She laughed. “Of course, at the time, I didn’t have the courage to admit they were my own.”

Lavender listened intently to her friends, but unfortunately, they did not help. They both seemed to have always been passionate about something. It may have taken them some time to develop their passions into something meaningful, but they had not conjured them out of thin air.

As the storm outside intensified and a crack of thunder split the air, Lavender felt a sense of clarity wash over her. No one else could help her find her passion, and her friends’ stories were bound to be different from her own. She needed to quit looking to others for inspiration and look deeper inside herself.

“I suppose finding one’s passion is not always a straightforward journey,” Lavender mused aloud, her voice gaining a hint of conviction. “Perhaps it’s about trying new things, stepping out of one’s comfort zone, and being open to unexpected opportunities.”

Daphne smiled encouragingly. “Exactly, my dear. Life has a way of leading us down different paths, and sometimes the destination is completely unexpected.” She gestured around at their lovely surroundings. “I don’t think any of us could have imagined that life would bring us here, but I’m very glad it did.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Lavender let out a soft sigh. “Thank you, both of you. Your words mean more to me than you know. I may not have it all figured out right now, but I won’t give up trying to find what truly speaks to my heart.”

As they all three returned to their own pursuits, Lavender’s thoughts drifted back to Mr. Wycliffe. Despite his gruff exterior, there was a vulnerability in his eyes that she could not ignore. His passion for gardening was evident in every plant and bloom under his care. And while she may not share that same fervor for horticulture, she couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward him.

Was it just because he was the only man she had spent time with since Geoffrey died? It troubled her to think that her entire existence had revolved around a man. Before she’d become a widow, she’d been nothing more than a wife. She didn’t want to depend on anyone else for her happiness in the future now that she knew how risky loving someone could be.

Lovely as his gardens were, and no matter how much she enjoyed spending time with him, perhaps it was best if she stayed away from him. He was simply too much of a distraction.

A fter almost a week passed without any sign of Lavender invading his garden, Kendrick tried to convince himself that he was relieved. Perhaps she had lost interest in it after all. But deep down, he couldn’t deny that he still found himself wandering the paths several times a day, hoping to see her again.

His heart raced with excitement when he finally caught a glimpse of her on the beach from his lookout in the cliffside gazebo. Without hesitation, he descended the rocky path leading to the shore with Daisy close behind him.

Seacrest and Willoughby Hall shared a narrow isthmus that jutted out toward the sea. On his side, the terrain rose steeply, and rocky cliffs overlooked the water below. Willoughby Hall’s portion consisted of a long expanse of sand. He had often observed the Willoughby Hall widows frolicking on their private beach, but he usually paid them little mind. However, today, his gaze was drawn to Lavender, who strolled gracefully along the edge of the frothing waves. The ocean breeze tousled her golden hair, and she again wore buff trousers and a white blouse. The sight of her against the backdrop of crashing waves and rugged cliffs took his breath away.

She looked a little lost, and he hoped it wasn’t because of the sharp words he’d spoken to her the other day. Had he hurt her feelings? He hoped not. She was perhaps the brightest, sweetest person he’d ever met. He would hate to be the one who dimmed her light even a little bit.

He had never been one to apologize easily, but seeing Lavender standing alone on the shore, looking lost and vulnerable, made him realize that it was probably his own damned fault that she hadn’t come back to Seacrest. Why would she? He had pretty much told her that she didn’t have what it took to complete the task she’d set for herself. Whether that was true or not, he should have kept his opinions to himself.

Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?

Approaching her cautiously, he took in her appearance. Her long hair was pulled back into a loose braid, allowing a few strands to frame her face. He couldn’t help but notice how her features softened, and a smile curved her lips when she noticed him. It made his heart leap in an unfamiliar way.

Perhaps she didn’t hate him.

She’d been about to head back to Willoughby Hall, but when she saw him, she hurried toward him, meeting him where the path met the sand. “Hello,” she said brightly, with no sign of the melancholy he’d thought he had seen from a distance. ”Sorry if I was trespassing again. I guess I was lost in my thoughts.”

“It’s fine,” he told her, a bit surprised by her pleasant greeting. “I see you’re wearing your trousers again.”

Her smile slipped a bit. “Does it offend you?”

“Hell no,” he said with a laugh. In fact, he’d done little in the past few days other than think of how the soft fabric had stretched over the lovely curves of her bottom when she’d fallen into his garden. He’d like nothing more than to drop something right now just so he could watch her bend over to pick it up. “It makes perfect sense for you to wear them. I can’t imagine trying to do most forms of physical activity in the fifteen layers of clothing most women wear.”

She laughed and, as if she’d read his mind, squatted down to pet Daisy, who was so pleased by the attention that her whole body quivered. “What a good girl,” she murmured.

“Do you like dogs?” he asked inanely, wanting to keep the conversation going.

“I love them,” she replied, her eyes sparkling. “I’ve always wanted one of my own, but Geoffrey hated them, and I don’t feel right asking Genevieve if I can have one now.” She petted Daisy one last time and stood, glancing down the beach. “Would you two like to walk with me awhile?”

“We’d love to,” Kendrick said, relief washing through him. Perhaps he hadn’t ruined things between them after all. He wanted to apologize again but thought it might be better not to bring it up if she had already forgiven him.

A few yards down the sand, she let out a happy little cry and bent down, picking something up and brushing it off on her trousers. “Sea glass,” she proclaimed happily. “I have a little collection. It’s always a good day when I find a piece.”

She held it up for him to see. The sea glass was milky white adorned with swirls of ocean blue. Its edges were worn and rounded as if the waves had caressed it for centuries.

“It’s beautiful,” he told her, but he wasn’t just talking about the little piece of broken glass. The way she looked at the world was beautiful, so hopeful and able to see the best in everything. Perhaps that’s why he had sought her out. His outlook was usually considerably darker.

“It is,” she agreed, slipping it into her pocket with a grin.

For a few minutes more, they continued walking in companionable silence. He found a stick and threw it ahead for Daisy to chase, and she laughed when the dog brought it back to him.

“Can I throw it?” she asked.

He nodded and handed it to her, impressed that she didn’t seem to mind the slobber. She certainly wasn’t like any lady he’d ever met, and he meant that in the very best way. She pulled back her arm and hurled it as far as she could, which actually wasn’t that far. Daisy barked and tore after it, obviously happy to have someone else to play with.

She threw it several times, obviously having a grand time, then finally handed it back to Kendrick. “Thank you, Mr. Wycliffe.”

He shook his head. “I think we’re beyond that, don’t you? Please, call me Kendrick.”

“Kendrick,” she said, and he absolutely adored the way his name sounded on her lips. “And you must call me Lavender.”

“Of course,” he murmured, glad to have her permission to do what he had been doing in his mind since the day they’d met. “Lavender.”

“Well, now that we’ve settled that,” she said with a smile, “I’d like to thank you for what you said the other day.”

“What did I say?” he asked, confused. He couldn’t think of anything that she should be thanking him for. Quite the contrary.

“For talking to me about how difficult it would be to design a garden for Willoughby Hall.”

He cleared his throat, discomfort streaking through him. “Don’t thank me. It was a stupid thing to say. I have completely forgotten how to speak to people.”

“No,” she said, stopping and turning to look at him. “So few people are ever honest with me. My friends try to be, but they don’t want to hurt me.”

“That wasn’t my intention either,” he hastened to assure her, though he wasn’t actually certain. He had lashed out at her for no reason. What would it have mattered to him if she’d tried to design Willoughby Hall’s garden? In that moment, he’d just wanted her out of his own. Because, if he were truly being honest, he had to admit that she frightened him a little. Or, perhaps more truthfully still, he feared the way she made him feel.

As if he might have finally found something worth caring for again.

She shook her head, her sky-blue eyes gentle. “No, I needed to hear it. And I have spent the last week really thinking about my life and what I want from it.”

Daisy saw a seagull down the beach and took off after it, barking her fool head off. Momentarily distracted, he clapped for her to return. When she finally gave up the chase and headed back, Lavender began walking again.

“I know that sounds silly, that I should reach such a mature age without knowing that already, but until recently, I never really had any choices. I was married off when I was but nineteen, and from then on, I was nothing more than the Viscount of Crestwood’s wife. I wanted to be a mother... wanted it desperately... but that never happened.” She stared down at the sand as she spoke, her face flushing in obvious embarrassment. “But since I’ve been at Willoughby Hall, the whole world has opened up to me. Perhaps there are too many choices. I don’t seem to know how to move forward.”

He laughed darkly. “Well, moving forward definitely isn’t a strong suit of mine, either.”

She cast him a curious glance but didn’t press the issue, which he appreciated. How far should he let this friendship go before telling her about Isabella and Miranda?

They’d probably already passed that milestone. But didn’t he deserve this? After so many years of loneliness, he just wanted to savor a few sunny afternoons spent in the company of someone who seemed truly sweet and good. Was that too much to ask?

“Perhaps, but I don’t believe you wake up every morning wondering what to do with your time. You have many interests. And I’ve read your books. They’re wonderful.”

Pleasure swelled inside him. He rarely spoke to anyone who actually had an interest in what he did. Even Isabella hadn’t read his work. “Thank you,” he replied simply. “And you’re right. If anything, I have too many things I would like to accomplish. I rarely go to bed without wishing I had done more.”

She nodded. “I would do anything for that problem. I spend my days searching for something to hold my attention.”

“The sketches you made of the roses were wonderful,” he told her. “Is that something you enjoy?”

She bit her lip, that sweet flush rising in her cheeks again. “I suppose. Ever since I was a girl, I have been filling sketchbooks in an attempt to capture the beauty around me. But I wouldn’t say I’m any good at it.”

“Don’t tell me I can’t spot talent,” he chided gently. “Perhaps you could do something with that. Have you ever tried painting?”

“Not really,” she admitted. “I dabbled a bit when I was younger, but nothing serious.”

They had reached the farthest point of land and walked out to the skinny little finger of sand that shot out into the ocean until they could no longer walk side by side. To his surprise, she reached out and squeezed his hand. “You’re very easy to talk to. You’ve given me a lot to think about once again. I truly appreciate it. “

He squeezed back and then reluctantly let her fingers slide through his. “You can still come to my garden whenever you want,” he found himself offering. “I enjoy talking to you, too.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Maybe I will.”

She smiled and reached down to pet Daisy one last time before giving him a little wave and heading back toward Willoughby Hall.

Daisy whined and looked up at him, obviously sad to see her new playmate leave. “I know,” he murmured, scratching between Daisy’s ears. “I like her too.”