Page 38 of Earl for the Summer
“Yes, to Berkshire. To tell Windham about your engagement.”
“You could write to him.”
“Why would I?” Daphne had felt the finality of their parting. He wouldn’t wish to hear from her. She couldn’t even imagine how a letter might begin. “I have nothing to say.”
Selina clasped her hand, then released it. “Whatever you decide, I shall support you. And Matthew will too.”
Daphne laughed at how easily Selina volunteered her future husband for any endeavor she might undertake. That was how marriage should be. A true partnership. But the foundation of such a union would need to be built on trust.
Selina settled back against the cushions and took up her teacup again. Daphne felt her assessing gaze. “Tell me one thing, my dear.”
“Yes?”
“How many times in the last three days have you thought of him?”
Daphne crossed her arms as if she could keep her secret rumination to herself. “A few,” she said lightly.
Selina’s smile turned mischievous. “Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because I’m terrible liar, unlike all the men who show the slightest interest in me.”
They both laughed.
“I do hope he comes back to London. I should like to meet Captain Cassian Rourke when he’s not pretending to be someone else.”
He wouldn’t. Daphne had felt it in that final goodbye. He never intended to see her again. Now it was only a matter of accepting that truth.
The soil gaveway easily beneath Cassian’s fingertips. The irony was that in leaving the garden beds their mother had planted untouched and overgrown, the plants had turned to compost, making the soil rich.
Julian took after their father in that he didn’t give a damn about maintaining the gardens or the conservatory their mother had adored.
It had been built by his grandmother when she was dowager countess, constructed in a spot about a hundred yards away from the main manor house. Cassian suspected his mother had relished that distance from their father as much as the flowers she tended so lovingly. Often more lovingly, in fact, than she’d tended to her sons. Their father hadn’t allowed her to dote. Allof her attempts were met with the earl’s rage and, when that did not intimidate sufficiently, his violence.
Julian, in particular, was kept from their mother. Their father claimed too much time with Mama would make him soft and girlish. The miracle was that Julian had grown into a jovial, kind man despite the damage their father had inflicted.
He’d taken the news of Selina’s engagement hard for all of two days. Then it was as if his optimistic nature could no longer linger in grief and regret. He’d begun to laugh and recommitted himself to learning to amble around efficiently on his crutches.
He’d also asked Cassian to stay in Berkshire a while before returning to Scotland.
And, of course, Cassian had agreed—not only did he not wish Julian to convalesce alone, but he carried a new weight of guilt, a sense of debt to his brother. If remaining in the English countryside would alleviate that, he’d remain.
But he couldn’t bear to be idle, so every day, he’d made his way out to his mother’s overgrown, abandoned conservatory. He’d begun by clearing away debris, repairing what he could, and now he’d started to prepare the flower beds for seedlings.
“I’d thought to have the damned thing torn down.” Julian’s voice came from a distance as he used his crutches to maneuver toward the conservatory. “So why on earth are you determined to revive it?”
“I need something to do while I’m here.” Cassian looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Why do you want to destroy it?”
The conservatory had been a lovely thing. The ceiling soared, all high arches and vaulted iron. Once, it had been painted cream and light had poured through every pane in the mornings. As a child, it seemed the light caught every leaf's shimmer, every petal’s color.
Julian was breathing hard by the time he made it to the conservatory’s threshold. “She isn’t here to appreciate itanymore,” he said simply. “Seemed presumptuous to try to keep it up the way she did.”
Cassian stilled, then grabbed a rag and wiped his hands. “Then you think I should leave it?”
Julian tipped his head up and studied the high ceiling. “No, I think you’re the only person who could bring it back in a way that would please her.” He offered Cassian a smile, a little chagrined, a little sad. “You two spent time here together. I was more than a little envious.”
While their father had insisted Julian spend his time with tutors, or learning to ride, or fence, or shoot, Cassian had stolen away to the conservatory. Their mother hadn’t always welcomed his presence, fearing their father might punish him for it. But she’d soon seen it as something she could teach him—how to plant, weed, water, and trim. How to train a vine, to deadhead flowers so that more would bloom. She’d never seen the conservatory as a place for idleness. She applied herself to it as passionately as their father had to his much more unsavory pastimes.
“Mother came here to distract herself,” Julian declared.
