Page 43 of Not Exactly Mr. Darcy
“You know what else will please people?”
Here we go …“What?”
“If you placed a bench near here, so people could take photos of themselves with the fountain and house in the background.”
“That’s …” Actually, not a silly idea. He could see what she meant, tipping low like that to take a photo. If people could sit, instead of crouching, it would be a lot better. “I’ll see what I can rustle up.”
“From your magic cave of benches?”
Why did her smile seem to hold a measure of impudence? Or was that simply tease? Whatever it was, it was annoying. And annoyingly appealing. He blinked at himself. Took a step back.
“Hey, where’s Chupa Chup?” she asked.
“Who?”
“Crazy Carnivore.”
“Oh, you mean CeeCee.” He ignored her smirk. “With her real owner.”
“I thought George said I was to meet her here.”
“She asked me to pass on that she got delayed.”
“Oh. Okay.” She put her hands on her hips, then peeked at him. “I didn’t plan on staying too long. I just wanted a feel for the gardens before everyone came tomorrow. I figured it’s good to know what we’re working with here.”
He nodded. “It’s a big place, and there’s a lot to see.”
“Which is exactly why it’s worth visiting. It’s not like one of these grand estates that’s only about the house or only about the gardens. It’s got both going for it. Which makes for an excellent day out. And once it’s looking good, you can probably afford to charge more for the garden entry too.” She winked.
Hmm, maybe she had a point. He’d figured charging one pound was enough to see the gardens, considering he hadn’t trimmed certain areas for months. But a boost in entry costs would help their coffers …
“Now at the risk of outstaying my welcome, could you please tell me what that building is over there?” She pointed in the direction of the Orangery.
“Ah, that.” His heart fell.
She turned, tucking her phone into her jeans’ back pocket, leaving him to follow her half-heartedly towards the heritage-listed building. Why did she have to be so gung ho about everything? Wasn’t Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?
“It’s beautiful,” she said as they drew near.
“It’s eighteenth century, Grade II listed, comprising Flemish brickwork and a hipped roof.”
She paused, looking up, her features lighting in appreciation, if that smile was anything to go by.
He waited, wondering what she’d say next. This woman was certainly surprising him. Mostly in a good way. He held his breath, wanting her to approve this section of the estate he secretly loved most of all.
She glanced at him. “Can I see inside? Please?”
“Certainly.” He heaved open the door.
The bucket for dripping rainwater remained in place, empty now, but it wouldn’t take much rain to refill it again. Yet it was her indrawn breath that caught his attention.
“Oh …”
Was that a good “oh” or a bad one?
Light flooded through the nine south-facing windows, pooling patches of gold on the tiles. She stepped forward into one of those patches so that the muted golden light caught her hair. Then, in a quixotic moment he’d never experienced before, he could suddenly see her in a ball gown, her skirts fanning out as she spun around. His own breath caught as she did exactly that, spinning around, arms outstretched but dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers as her laughter echoed off the empty walls.
Laughter. It had felt so long since he’d heard laughter here. Anger, yes. Frustration, often. But unfettered joy? Even in his parents’ time, laughter seemed to be considered optional. They were Serious People, and he’d tended to follow in their footsteps, as he supposed most heirs would do. They had all wondered aloud at various times about the joy that Georgina had shown, even when George had faced her own challenges. Olivia Bennett seemed to be of a similar ilk.
