Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

20. The Orangerie

By London's standard, the grounds at the back of the Stanhope House were vast, but even with Lady Catherine's shuffle, they could take a turn of its entirety in a quarter of an hour. The gardens in Lancashire could have easily swallowed five of these and had an ample room for the whimsical swan lake. 

Realizing that, the gardener planted the evergreen shrubs to shelter roses in a maze pattern, to offer twists, turns and daydreams. Was it on Radcliffe's orders? It seemed like something he'd order. But even with this added charm, in December the roses were piled up by straw, so there wasn't much to enjoy yet.

Mabel gave the overcast sky a suspicious look. It promised sleet. "Perhaps we can visit the Orangerie." 

Lady Catherine tittered in response. "Dearest Mabel, the only good thing about the place are the lemon tarts."

"Ah!" She still regretted just how delicious they were, how easy to swallow in two bites, and how many of them was served.

"The Orangerie is full of dripping pipes and God knows what other instruments. The air is so staid, that I'm in danger of swooning every time he lures me inside there."

A week had gone by, a whole week, without a single minute in it for visiting Radcliffe's green charges! "I see..."

"But, of course, Radcliffe won't rest until you draw some leaves, wouldn't he? Some leaves or some seeds, I can't remember which. Perhaps it was the shoots? Or maybe it was both... all three? Oh, bother, he talks too much."

Mabel smiled covertly. "He does indeed." And she knew whom he got it from.

"So, if you don't mind the heat and the damp, I don't see why you shouldn't amuse yourself and visit."

Excitement rose within Mabel like dough on the sunny counter. "I don't mind the heat at all, but Lady Catherine—"

"My dear, are you concerned that I'm in danger of getting lost in my garden after twenty years? Am I so in my dottage?"

"No, but..."

"Or such a hopeless bore that keeping my own council for a time is intolerable to me?"

"No."

"Or that my son is a rake who would press unwanted attention on you?"

"No!" Not her eldest at least.

"Then off with you. See those seeds and leaves or whatever else he cherishes so."

She was reddening, she just knew it. "Thank you, Lady Catherine. I'm very intrigued to learn more about the exotic plant collection."

"Of course, you are. Off with you." Lady Catherine waved her hands to shoo her away so energetically that Fifi and Peppe pushed to their hind legs, yapping lustfully. Their mistress crouched and cooed at them, stroking their silky ears.

Mabel suspected that Lady Catherine might have hidden a smile; that, perhaps, she didn't mean the plants. But far it would be from her to question her generous employer. She ran down the gravel path to Radcliffe's orangerie.

The pavilion shared one wall with the house. Octagonal in its layout, it was framed in a ruinous quantity of glass panels. Against the pricey glass, pushed verdant leaves in every shape. With a thrill of embarking upon a journey, Mabel first squeezed through one set of doors, then another, a clever design to keep in the heat and moisture.

Just like Lady Catherine warned, various pipes wound its way along the walls and under the ceiling. They indeed dripped and were coated in a warm vapour, to keep the air tropical. Glass walls and roof laboured to amplify Britain's scarce sunshine to the greatest degree possible. So empowered, the anemic light reflected from the glossy leaves accustomed to the brightness of the Meditrrenian or other fortunate places.