Sally’s expression grew thoughtful. “Indeed it does.” She opened her mouth, closed it, and then said, all in a rush, “Master Rafe—I mean, Lord Luxborough. He is a good man. He…” She stopped. “But of course you know that. How did you two come to be married? The truth now.”
The truth was Luxborough had married her for money and to please Lord Ventnor, and the other truth was, they were not married at all. With so many secrets, Thea could not tell the truth.
“Let’s talk about you,” Thea said.
Sally lined up her cue again. “No, let’s talk about you.”
“No, really, we should talk about you. You are so unconventional and you must tell me everything.”
Sally struck the ball so hard it jumped off the table and landed on the carpet with a thud. When she straightened, her expression was hard, and her tone when she was spoke was hostile.
“You cannot dismiss me, my lady, whatever you think of me, or learn of me.”
Thea stepped back. “I have no intention of dismissing you. I thought we could be friends.”
“Indeed. Until I say or do something you don’t like and then we won’t be friends, will we? Then you’ll be the countess and I’ll be out on my ear. I wish for his lordship to be happy, but this is my home, and I’ll not be made to leave again.” Sally tossed the cue onto the table, where it bounced and clattered against the balls. “I’m sure you can find your own way back to your rooms, my lady.”
With that, she strode out.
Thea unwrapped her fingers from the cue and swallowed away the sour taste in her mouth. Yet again, she had got it wrong. Sally was right: They could never be friends. How careless she was, to keep forgetting. As appealing as she found Brinkley End and its inhabitants, this was yet another place where she did not belong.
She did not care, she decided, as she launched her cue at the balls once more. A plague on them all. And if she must dine alone, then she would jolly well eat her dessert first!
Rafe made it to the footbridge before he surrendered to his urge to glance back, only to see that Thea and Sally had gone inside.
Everything was going according to plan, he reminded himself as he faced forward and strode along the dirt path through the woods. His plan had always been to ignore Thea until this fictional marriage was over. Because that was all it was or would ever be: fictional. The minute news came that the trustees had released the funds, he’d toss Thea into his carriage and send her away.
This silent lecture brought him to the clearing, as big as a cricket field. As always, his tension ebbed at the sight of his greenhouse, rising up before him like a church, and, behind it, the stone cottage that served as Martha’s laboratory. This—this—was why he was here; he must not let himself be distracted by expressive blue eyes, or by enticing chestnut hair tumbling around a lively face, or by… No. Enough. She was the means to an end and nothing more.
In the greenhouse, the warm, fragrant air settled over him, dense and familiar, and the rows of lush plants greeted him with blessed, calming silence. He took a moment to breathe, letting the plants work their magic, then he carried the orchids to the work area, stripped down to his shirtsleeves, and pulled out his notes. Ventnor’s eagerness to impress meant he had retained details of the orchids’ origins, all to serve his boasting: “This flower comes from a secret gully so deep in the jungle that two men died blah blah blah.” Self-important braggart. But at least the detail enabled Rafe to make an educated guess as to each plant’s preferred conditions, and hope it would be enough to save those that had survived this long. Rafe could do little for other people, but at least he had a talent for caring for plants.
A glance at the sky through the glass-and-iron roof told him he had enough light to finish today. No one would be inconvenienced. The staff would know not to bother with a hot meal; they’d leave a cold plate in his sitting room for him to dine later.
Dine alone.
I don’t like to dine alone.
The flash of hurt in those blue eyes.
Surely it would do no harm if they dined together? Either way, she—
No.
He would not change his plans.
Rafe grabbed the first orchid his hand landed on and slammed it onto the table so hard its pot cracked. It was, naturally, the drooping yellow flower that Thea had wanted to touch that first evening. The little face-like blooms eyed him reproachfully.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped at them. “It won’t change my mind.” The flowers said nothing and the space filled with the embarrassing echo of his own voice. “But at least you didn’t talk back, so she hasn’t driven me completely—”