Page 80 of Hearts of Briarwall

Lydia turned and brushed at her eye. When she turned back, Andrew had paced a few steps away, and Spencer watched her with a look that said both come closer and stay away. Her heart thudded with hope. She suppressed it with effort. Curse Violet with her love and agitation. Lydia didn’t like it. Didn’t want it. And she did, help her.

Ruby gently cleared her throat and spoke softly. “Perhaps now would be a good time for you togive Andrew a piece of your mind, as I think you put it.” Before Lydia could respond, she stood, and Spencer stepped forward to assist her.

“Mr. Hayes,” Ruby said, dusting off her skirt, “would you perhaps accompany me on a walk along the pond? I’m thinking of painting a landscape and could use some help finding the perfect perspective.”

“Do you paint?” he asked, glancing toward Lydia.

Lydia watched her friend be as bold with a new acquaintance as she’d ever witnessed.

Ruby tipped her head in apology and hushed her words. “Not at all, but a walk would give our friends some time to finish their conversation in private, don’t you agree?”

He pursed his lips. “It so happens I’m very good at finding perfect perspectives for imaginary paintings.”

Lydia watched them go, Hero remaining at her side. Her dratted heart leaped when Spencer glanced back at her over his shoulder. She made herself smile. He nodded, then gave Ruby his full attention.

She found Andrew strolling along a row of lavender, head bent, hands shoved in his pockets. Very un-Andrew.

“The field is maturing beautifully,” she said as she reached him. The lavender was only three years old, but each mound now measured at least two feet across and produced perfectly compact flower heads for drying, making oil, and selling in bunches. Mrs. Parks was especially proud of the lavender and chamomile tea the small estate made and sold at local markets alongside their rose and rosehip teas, as the recipe was her own.

“Yes,” he said. “It was a good idea.” He looked at her. “I’ve never given you credit for it.”

She tilted her head. “I do not need a plaque with my name.”

“No. But I’m sure a thank you would be appreciated.”

“I’ll not argue that.”

He nodded, meeting her gaze. “Thank you, Lydia. The lavender fields not only diversify the estate’s income but add a lovely aesthetic that will only increase as time goes on.”

“You’re quite welcome.” They walked a few steps together. “A plaque, unneeded as it is,wouldbe a nice gesture, though.” She eyed him sideways and caught his suppressed grin.

“We shall see,” he said.

They walked along the row for some moments in silence except for the nearby birdsong.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “Back there?”

“Every word,” he said without hesitation. “True, I am continually baffled by the way you flout social expectations. But you do it with such a genuine and deliberate air—sometimes I’m quite jealous.”

She balked. “Of me? I don’t believe you. You are all that is honorable and upright. Most times I feel like I am a burden to you rather than—”

He took her hand, a rare gesture. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. You are my family, Lydia. Do you understand? You are who I have left to care for, to be an anchor for. You, above all else, give my life purpose. And though I might’ve made a bungle of it, I’ve given my best effort for you. You are no burden.” He looked about him as if trying to find words. “You breathe life into this place when I often feel I cannot find air.”

She frowned up at him as she processed what he was saying. “Are you so unhappy, Andrew?”

He sighed and dropped her hand. “It does not matter what I am.”

“That is certainly not true.”

“What matters is that you are happy and well cared for.”

“I am happy,” she said, and his furrowed brow relaxed. “Except for a few small matters.”

His brow creased again. “Small?”

“Huge, actually.” She steadied her breath. “You’ve acknowledged the lavender field was a good idea—a good investment.”

“Yes?”

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