Page 31 of Snowdrops and Winterberry
“Not at all what I had in mind.” Howard chuckled and did his best to clean the dirt from his hands with his far-from-elegant handkerchief. “Have you time enough for a bite to eat?”
She smiled at last. “I’d planned to eat with you, assuming you wanted me to.”
His hands as clean as they were likely to get, he tucked the bit of well-worn cloth into his waistcoat pocket. “I’d fancy having a meal with you, Robbie MacGregor.”
“Then I’d suggest you find me a place to sit that’s not muddy.”
“I know just the spot.” He held his hand out to her.
She set her hand in his without hesitation or uncertainty. That hadn’t happened in ages, not since he was a very young man with so little to offer that even holding hands with him was seen as a comedown for any young woman.
He led them from the garden he was building to a nearby corner of the lawn where a wooden bench waited to be sat upon.
Robbie placed the basket on her lap and pulled back the cloth tucked into the top of it. “Cook had a couple of meat pies she let me sneak off with.”
“Is our little duke taking his meal with Lord and LadyJonquil?” Howard knew little ones generally ate in their nursery with their nursemaids. He couldn’t imagine the unconventional lord and lady of this house allowing such a thing.
“He is,” Robbie said. “And quite pleased with himself over it.”
“AndI’mquite pleased to be taking my meal withyou.”
Robbie looked up from her basket. “When I first met you, Howard Simpkin, I’d not have believed you had a knack for velvety words.”
“I can’t say I’d been prone to them before meeting you.”
“And I hadn’t near so much love for gardens,” she said, handing him one of the meat pies.
“It’s the gardens you’re fond of?”
An obvious war being fought between her instinct to smile and her apparent determination not to, Robbie asked, “What else could I possibly be fond enough of to drag a basket of meat pies from the house?”
“Give me a chance this evening,” he said, “and I’ll see if I can’t sort out the answer to that question.”
“I think I’d like that.” She took out her meat pie, then set the basket on the ground beside them.
“What else do you like, Robbie?” Howard truly wanted to know. He liked everything he’d learned of her and felt certain he would like everything he’d yet discover.
“The smell of rain,” she said. “Thick-sliced bread. Clotted cream.”
He nodded slowly, remembering all those things with pleasure of his own. “I haven’t had clotted cream in ages. But the smell of rain...” He sighed. “I know that well.”
“I’d wager at times you’re not terribly pleased that rain’s falling.”
He laughed lightly. “Ill-timed rain isn’t a favorite of mine, I’ll admit. But rain that comes after a garden’s completed is, in my estimation, the best sort of sign. The rain will make the gardenbloom.”
“Does it ever make you sad that you aren’t there to see those gardens bloom? You do so much work, but you don’t get to see it.”
“Planting isn’t about what’s happening in the moment; it’s believing in the future.”
They’d both been eating their pies as they talked. Her expression turned thoughtful, but she’d only just taken a bite and didn’t say what was on her mind.
“Does your little duke enjoy gardens?” he asked. “It might do him good to find something hopeful in the future with so much sorrow in his past.”
She swallowed. “I can’t say he’s spent much time in gardens. My wee boy gets overwhelmed quickly by unfamiliar things.”
“So long as I’m one of those ‘unfamiliar things,’ I suspect he’ll not overly take to me.” He could not possibly have mistaken the wariness His Grace felt, but the boy had seemed to like his little carved horse. That might help a bit. “We made some progress during our Christmas celebration.”
“It seems to me Christmas is magical no matter when we celebrate it,” Robbie said.
