Chapter Ten #3
Since it was high summer the flowers were in full bloom, the night bloomers open, their scents mingling with the herbs in the knot at the centre.
She reached out and pinched a bit of sage, holding a dusty green leaf to her nose.
The smell of that was a fantasy in itself.
She’d heard that witches could work spells with it, banishing evil and changing their world.
‘Enjoying the evening?’
She dropped the herb and turned to see the duke standing on the path a few feet away from her.
‘I didn’t mean to startle you,’ he said, holding his empty hands up in front of him. ‘I just saw the open door and thought it might be nice to get some fresh air.’
‘Where is Percy?’ she asked, looking past him.
‘Setting up a card table in the salon,’ he said. ‘Will you be joining us?’
‘It has been a long day,’ she said evasively.
‘Not so long that you won’t take a turn around the garden with me, I hope,’ he said stepping closer and offering her his arm.
She only hesitated for a moment. If the place was lovely before, it would be even better if she had a memory of sharing it with him. She tucked her arm into the crook of his elbow as if it was the most natural thing in the world and they walked side by side down the path.
As they strolled along, she allowed herself to stray a little too close to him, letting his coat sleeve brush against her shoulder, just as she imagined real lovers might.
Next to her, he sighed in contentment, as if he agreed. ‘The flowers are lovely.’
‘I chose them,’ she said, reaching out to touch a blossom as they passed. ‘And I helped with the design of the paths and beds. It is the only thing I would miss if I left here.’
‘Does your grandfather enjoy it as well?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘He cannot see this place from his window.’
‘Which is why you like to visit it, I suppose,’ he said perceptively. ‘Were you designing gardens like this when you first came here? You were only a child.’
She smiled, embarrassed. ‘The back of the house was spare when we first arrived. There was only a small kitchen garden. But Grandfather wanted the house to look like a grand estate. So, I made a few sketches and learned as I went along.’ She shrugged.
‘It is as good as anything I have seen at the homes of my friends,’ he insisted. ‘You are very talented. Perhaps, someday, you might come to my home and advise my gardener.’
‘Your farm, you mean?’ she teased, remembering the parts they were supposed to be playing.
He laughed. ‘That’s right. I am sure you will want to make many changes when we get there. It is in a sorry state and needs a woman’s touch.’
‘I will be happy to help,’ she said, allowing herself to live in the dream he’d created for just a moment.
‘Your grandfather is a fool,’ he said suddenly. ‘He would have to be, to have something so beautiful, so close, and ignore it.’
Perhaps it was a trick of the moonlight, but there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her wonder if they were still speaking of the garden.
‘It is his loss,’ he added and she felt a gentle squeeze on her arm. ‘Is that a bench I see at the end of the path?’
‘It has a very nice view of the surrounding land,’ she said.
‘You must show me,’ he urged, smiling down at her.
She led him to the seat. He removed his handkerchief from his pocket to brush it off before inviting her to sit. Then, he took the place at her side.
They sat there in silence for a while looking down the gentle slope. ‘I am thinking of putting in a ha ha this summer, to keep the deer out of the park,’ she said. ‘It is a sort of sunken fence that will not obstruct the view. I will be consulting with the gardener about it tomorrow.’
‘And what is that, at the foot of the hill?’ he asked, pointing. ‘The white things, there.’
‘Standing stones,’ she said. ‘Ours are not so spectacular as those at Avebury,’ she said. ‘There are just the two. But when I was small, I thought them magic. I used to make up stories…’ She stopped, embarrassed.
‘Did you walk through them?’ he asked gently.
‘They are not really a doorway,’ she said firmly. ‘Nothing more than a pair of strangely placed stones.’
‘I don’t blame you for pretending,’ he said. ‘What were you looking for?’
‘The first time was after my parents died,’ she said softly. ‘We had just come to live here. Things were difficult. Percy was going to school and I was to remain here…’
‘You wanted your old life back,’ he acknowledged.
‘I used to stand between them,’ she said. ‘I did not want to make the move to get to the other side. If I stayed where I was, there was the chance that things might change with one more step. I knew there was no real magic. But as long as I did not follow through, there was still hope.’
He nodded and reached out to pat her hand. ‘You were young.’
She had been, the first time. She did not dare tell him that she’d done it again, just last year, and imagined a life with him on the other side of those stones. ‘I know better now,’ she said simply.
‘I know what I would wish for if it was me,’ he said.
‘And what is that?’ she said, surprised.
He closed his eyes, as if he had not heard. ‘I wish I did not have to go back.’
‘Go back where?’ she said, turning around and looking towards the house.
‘To my other life. My real life.’
She could not help the laugh that escaped her lips. ‘You are a duke.’
‘Not by choice,’ he said with a sad smile.
‘All the same, it is a life that many would wish for if they stood on that spot,’ she said.
‘Then, I must be very ungrateful indeed,’ he said with a sigh. ‘For, if I could step forward into a new life, it would be the one I’ve invented for myself. Tom Smith, gentleman farmer.’
She turned to stare at him, stunned.
He looked embarrassed and muttered, ‘It would be so simple. Nothing to worry about but one small plot of land. A home with a lovely wife…’
He was staring into the distance as if he could see the world he’d so painstakingly invented waiting for him on the other side of the stones. Did he see her there, tending the garden in his imaginary house? Or had he created another, more perfect, woman to suit the fantasy?
‘You could have a home and family in your real life, if that is what you want,’ she reminded him. ‘Any woman in London would be happy to accept your offer.’
‘To be the Duchess of Bonham,’ he reminded her. ‘A grand title and all that comes with it. For many of them, I am just another item on the ledger of things they will be getting should they wed me.’ His smile turned bitter. ‘I have not met one yet who would want me if I was just Tom Smith.’
‘You fear the woman you choose will want your title more than she does you?’
He gave a mirthless laugh. ‘I do not fear it. It does not pay to be frightened of things that I know are facts.’
‘You are very cynical,’ she said, looking at him more closely than she had in years. He had always seemed so pleasant and content. But there was a darkness hidden behind the easy smile that she’d never suspected existed.
‘I prefer to think of myself as a realist,’ he replied. ‘The privilege of my birth has cut me off from things many men experience. Even the freedom not to marry and reproduce. I owe it to the title to make the best possible choice and live with it.’
‘By the best choice, I assume you mean a girl of excellent birth who will give you a family alliance with another member of the peerage,’ she said feeling a tad bitter herself.
‘A fine assessment from someone whose own grandfather belongs in the House of Lords,’ he responded.
‘He is only a baron,’ she replied. ‘Of the ladies you’ve courted, not one has been less than the daughter of an earl.’ She regretted the words immediately. They all but announced she’d been spying on him. Even worse, they might sound like a needy demand that he notice her.
In the dim light she could see the surprise flash in his green eyes. But his reply was innocuous enough. ‘You think I should cast a wider net?’
‘I think you should care less about the succession and more about choosing a woman who is right for you.’
‘As you have done, in waiting for the perfect man?’ he said.
The words were as sharp as broken glass. They hurt. She turned away, looking back down the hill and shifting along the bench so she was not so close to him. ‘We are not speaking of me.’
‘I am sorry,’ he said quickly, sliding after her so he was close again. ‘You are right. We are not. It is no business of mine what you choose to do with your life.’
‘Then, why are you meddling with it?’ she said, still looking away.
‘Because I care about what happens to you,’ he admitted.
‘Even more so now that I have met your grandfather and seen how he treats you.’ He rested one hand on her shoulder and reached to take her hand with the other.
‘I won’t leave you here, Lou. I will get you away from him.
I swear.’ He wove his fingers between hers until they were pressed palm to palm, as if sealing a pledge.
Was he pulling her towards him, or had she turned her body to his? The hand on her shoulder slid to her back. They were so close she had to tip her head up to look into his eyes, which lowered to meet her gaze.
And then, he kissed her.
His lips were warm. He tasted like their port. She could smell the flowers of the garden under the scent of his cologne. Her free hand was trapped between them. She slid it along his side, holding him and surrendering to the moment.
Perhaps she had given in to fantasy, after all.
Kissing Thomas Carew in the garden was a dream she’d enjoyed many times.
But she’d never imagined the way his even breaths quickened as his tongue touched hers, or the faint scratch of stubble against her cheek.
Or the urgent pressure of his hand against her waist as the kiss changed from the innocent touch of lips to the masterful possession of her mouth.
She pressed her body to his, feeling small and soft against his broad, firm chest, wishing she could mould herself like clay and touch him with every inch of herself. He felt it as well, she was sure. His hand was moving, exploring her, back to hip, mapping curves and claiming each inch he touched.
There was so much more to discover. It would be heaven to feel him on top of her. To lie back, staring up at the moon, and let him do what he wanted. What she wanted. His hand was cupping her bottom. His other hand could touch her breast if he could reach it. She could help him.
She leaned back.
He leaned forward.
She slid off the bench and landed on her bottom in the damp gravel beside it.
None of the fantasies had ended like this. Perhaps they should have. This was just the sort of thing that happened when she was close to the duke. The fact that she’d made it most of their day together without stumbling or humiliating herself had been close to miraculous.
He was staring down at her, horrified. ‘Louisa! Oh, my God, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.
’ He stood and reached for her in one graceful move that made her feel even more clumsy.
His hands were on her again, but instead of caressing, they slipped into her armpits and lifted her like a doll until she was back on her feet.
‘I am all right,’ she said, smoothing her skirt and making sure her bodice was covering everything it should. ‘Just fine.’
She could feel her face freezing into the usual polite smile she wore when she was around him. The one that hid what she was thinking and feeling until she could get away.
‘I only came out to see if you wanted to join us for cards,’ he said stiffly. It was as if he wanted to wipe away the last few minutes, like a scribble on a chalkboard, and return them to their usual semi-formal friendship.
‘I think I shall retire early,’ she said, a little too brightly. ‘Tell Percy that I am fine, but a touch tired.’
‘Let me escort you back to the house,’ he said, offering his arm.
‘Of course,’ she replied and took it, taking care not to scuff her slippers on the loose stones of the path, or trip over the threshold as they came back into the hall.
As he closed the doors behind them, she turned without a further goodbye and went to the end of the corridor so she could take the servants’ stairs up to bed.