Page 12 of Lady Mary's May Day Mischief
“For you? I shall not take it up with him. But if he shows no honor to you here, I will haul him down to the river, box his ears and throw him in.”
“Oh, thank you!” She rolled her eyes, happy to spar with him just as they were before he left to return to Paris in ‘fourteen. “That should set him right.”
He settled more comfortably against the squabs. Still he held her hand. “Tell me do you still have your telescope?”
“I do.”
“And in Bath do you grow beans or…radishes, was it?”
“They’ve not come up this year. I have kale and cabbage sprouts, a few others.”
“Flowers, too, as I recall.”
“I’ve had problems with my garden. I’m worried. My roses are not budding as profusely this year.”
“Have you pruned them back already?”
She smiled at him. How many men would talk about roses? “I have.”
“Do you see green flies on them?”
“No. It’s early for those to attack…but by the first of May I usually see more buds than I have at the moment.”
He was thoughtful. “We should talk about remedies for that.”
“I’d like that. Might you return to Bath after the Frolic? You could come see my garden and advise me.”
“I’d like to.” He paused in glum consideration of some issue.
“Oh? What are your plans?” She brought herself up short. “I apologize. I intrude.”
“You don’t. I have business in London. Then south to the estate to meet with the manager and tenants. It’s a large enterprise and I must get on with familiarizing myself with the workings. Letters don’t paint the best picture. Plus, it seems like another lifetime since I was there—and then I was not concerned with its operations. Only making an occasional friend of a cow or two. Now I do wonder if I can live there.” He pursed his lips as he considered that fact. “It’s going to be so different with all of them gone.”
She leaned closer to him, his loss so much like hers. The fragrance of lemon rose to her nostrils and the solace of his cologne was a sweet memory and a sudden new enticement. “I understand.”
His navy blue eyes locked on hers in communion. “I would say you do.”
Her delight in his regard sparked a thirst for more from him. “One reason I like the house in Bath is because there I see fewer ghosts.”
“Birdie,” he said in that velvet voice that lured as smoothly as strong brandy. “We are the survivors. We should be free of ghosts.”
“Someday perhaps…”
He let go of her hand, lifted his arm to curl around her and hugged her near. The familiarity gave a jolt to her pulse. “We will go to this party and rid ourselves of them. Agreed?”
“I do.”
“We shall laugh, you and I. You will play the piano and sing. I shall turn pages for you.”
“Youwill sing, dear sir.”
He let out a laugh. “You still don’t?”
“Only when I hear requests from those who are deaf.”
He laughed. “And I will dance with you.”
She bit her lip and glanced down at her lap.
