The Seduction of Sarah Marks by Kathleen Bittner Roth Page B

let’s talk of gardens.”
    Sarah sat, not trusting the woman, but for the life of her, not knowing why.
    Will lazily took a sip of champagne and went back to dangling the flute between her fingers. “Tell me what you know of the mignonette.”
    “Well,” Sarah promptly replied. “If one is to grow a handsome tree, then one should never allow a single seed to ripen. One must assiduously remove the seedpods as soon as sighted.” Now, that came out rather efficiently.
    Will crossed a leg in a manly way and set her foot pumping. “And the Indian pink?”
    “Only the most popular flower in today’s garden,” Sarah responded without hesitation. “If one were to sow them in a frame and set them out in May, then one would enjoy blooms the entire summer.”
    “Excellent, Miss Marks.” Will stood. “Eastleigh, a word in the library in ten.” She left the room.
    At Eastleigh’s approach, Sarah stood as well. “Would you mind terribly if I saw myself to my chambers? I feel as though I’ve had enough excitement for a bit.” She rubbed her temples.
    Eastleigh’s brows knit together. “A headache?”
    “I feel one coming on. If you don’t mind…”
    “I’ll see you to your room.”
    “No, please. I’m fine, and the others are watching. It wouldn’t do to have us exit together. Where’s your mother?”
    “My father is unable to leave home, so she remains with him.”
    “And Mum? Where is she?”
    “Oh, she won’t show herself until high tea. See you then?”
    …
    Eastleigh made certain Hemphill was in the library when Will entered. By the aggressive manner in which his sister had addressed Sarah, this must be about her.
    Will walked over and tossed a book atop the desk where Eastleigh was seated. He glanced at the title and felt the color drain from his face. “Where’d you get this?”
    She leaned over the desk. “It’s mine, Eastleigh. A favorite I take everywhere with me. Read the title.”
    “I just did.” He shot a speaking glance at Hemphill.
    “Try page one hundred twenty-six,” she said.
    Eastleigh shook his head and tried to swallow the cotton in his throat. That pulsating, familiar pain rolled through his head. Not another bloody headache.
    She grabbed up the book. “Then I will. First the title, if you please. It’s called A Treatise on the English Garden, by none other than Miss Sarah Marks.”
    Her lip curled at Hemphill’s fast approach. She flipped open the book. “Oh, and here’s the page of which I spoke. It’s regarding the mignonette— If one is to grow a handsome tree, then one should never allow a single seed to ripen. One must assiduously remove the seedpods as soon as sighted.”
    She slapped the tome back onto the desk. “Sound familiar? It should since it is verbatim the very words your Miss Marks spoke. I was in London not a fortnight ago attending a lecture by the real Miss Marks. I can assure you, the woman you harbor is a fake.”
    Doctor Hemphill stepped to the desk and flipped through the well-worn pages. “Lady Willamette, I beg your confidence in this matter. The lady of whom we speak suffers amnesia. With her love of gardening, it is likely she owns a copy of this very book, and has it as worn through as yours. When asked her name after the accident, she mayhap responded with whatever her damaged mind could pull up. And if you knew exactly which page she quoted, what makes you think her brain doesn’t know the same? Have you forgotten your brother’s first response when asked his name was to give us that of his horse?”
    Will snorted. “I don’t happen to agree with your method of keeping information from an amnesiac so as to allow one’s memory to return on its own. Why don’t we try it my way and wave this book under her nose? I’m not convinced she isn’t a liar.”
    A muscle in Hemphill’s jaw twitched. “Lady Willamette. Should we accuse our guest of anything right now, we may well lose her permanently.”

Chapter Eight
    Sarah inspected the