Page 76 of Duke of Diamonds
Anna shifted to sit beside her, skirts settling in a soft rustle. “He may not have promised affection, Fiona. But even the coldestof men are not beyond change. Time places everything where it ought to be.”
Fiona let her gaze drop to the folded fabrics, a patchwork of possibilities. “I don’t know,” she murmured. “What if time only proves that he has no place for me at all?”
“Oh, don’t be such a pessimist,” Anna chided, though gently.
She reached over and took Fiona’s hand, giving it a firm but comforting squeeze.
“No matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you, Fiona dear. That, at least, is something you can count on.”
Fiona felt a warmth stir in her chest, gratitude mingling with the ache. “Thank you,” she said softly.
A moment passed as they sat together amidst the chaos of fabric and scattered ideas.
“You know...” Fiona began, “I think it will be a marvelous thing to host you all after the renovations. When the Duke returns.”
Anna’s entire expression brightened. “Now that is an invitation I shall count the days for.”
Fiona allowed herself a smile. Small, but sincere.
Let him return to a house that looks nothing like the one he left. Let him return to find a wife not waiting, but living.
“A fine morning for it, Your Grace,” the Mr. Colton said as he approached, his boots sinking slightly into the damp soil. “The ground’s soft from the rain, and the lads are eager to get started.”
Fiona brushed a curl from her brow with the back of her gloved hand. “Then let’s not waste the day, Mr. Colton. I’d like to see the greenhouse cleared first.”
The scent of rain lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy promise of new growth. Her hem was already darkened by dew, her gloves smudged with soil, and she wouldn’t have had it any other way.
She gave the orders with confidence, directing the servants. The renovations would begin today—here, in the gardens and greenhouse. It was time.
She could already imagine the rows of mint and lemon balm, the neatly labeled jars that would one day sit in her cabinet, the rich fragrance of drying herbs steeping the air. Her tea collection, once hidden in a single chest, would soon have its own sanctuary.
“Oh, what a marvelous idea to take advantage of the weather’s bounty, Your Grace,” The groundskeeper offered a respectful bow of his head, his expression quietly pleased “After the rainslast night, the soil’s just as we like it—wet and malleable. The boys are glad for it. Makes the work far easier.”
Fiona smiled, glancing over the rows of flowerbeds yet to be touched. “I’m glad to hear it. I daresay the garden has long deserved better than neglect.”
The groundskeeper led her through the greenhouse, gesturing now and then as he described his ideas for the layout—raised beds for herbs, climbing trellises for the vines, a small bench beneath the east window where the light was strongest.
“And I thought here, perhaps a row of lavender,” he said. “Draws the bees, and it’ll give you a steady harvest through the season.”
“Perfect,” Fiona murmured. “Absolutely perfect.”
It was all beginning to feel like hers.
A sudden cry broke the quiet.
She stopped, brow furrowed, and turned her ear toward the sound. A sharp, plaintive caw echoed above.
“There,” she said, pointing up.
Just above them, nestled awkwardly in the crook of a broken clay pot hanging from the ceiling frame, was a bird—vividly colored in green, yellow, and red. The poor creature was clearly trapped,its wing twisted oddly between shards of pottery and tangled vine.
Mr. Colton fetched a ladder without delay. With quiet concentration, he ascended and carefully worked the bird free from its snare, his movements practiced and deferential.
It fluttered weakly in his hands, damp feathers clinging to its body.
“My, I wonder how it got in there,” Mrs. Burton arrived with a basket of cuttings cradled in one arm, her eyes narrowing as she studied the trapped creature
“Mayhap the storm swept it in,” The groundskeeper furrowed his brow, adjusting his hold with deliberate gentleness as he turned toward her
