All About Passion (Cynster 7)

“Oh, there’s no need for new ones. The troughs are at the far end of the orchard, almost overgrown, but I’m sure they can be dug out.”

“Mmm.” Edwards’s frown returned.

“There’re also two matching troughs, smaller ones, that should sit on the top steps of the porch. They’re presently in the field behind the stable.”

“Used for horse troughs, they be.”

“Indeed, but Jacobs is quite sure his charges do not need anything so fancy.” Francesca met Edwards’s eyes, overhung and half-obscured by his shaggy brows. “I’ll make a bargain with you. I will allow you to put in the six trees, rather than plant the entire beds with flowers, provided you oversee the disinterring of those troughs-all four of them-and their cleaning and replacement in their proper positions. I’ve heard young Johnny likes planting and tending flowers, so, under your instruction, he can fill the troughs and plant the appropriate bulbs-I want tulips and daffodils, followed by other flowers as the seasons progress. I don’t know what grows well at this time of year”-she smiled-“but I’m sure you and Johnny will.”

Turning, she surveyed the presently bare beds. “Now, how soon do you think that can be done?”

“Mmm. I know where we can get the pines… I suppose we’d have it done in a week.” Edwards glanced at her. “Be faster if we didn’t have to do those troughs-”

“The troughs and trees all at once, please.”

“Well, then, a week.”

“Excellent.” Francesca nodded, then smiled confidingly. “My uncle and his family will be arriving in a week’s time, and I would like the house to look well.”

The faintest tinge of color showed under Edwards’s weathered skin. “Aye, well,” he said gruffly. “We’ll have the place all right and special for ye in a week then, p’raps sooner. Now-” Stepping back, he looked around.

“Now you must return to your trees.” Francesca nodded a dismissal.

Gyles had been watching from the shadows of the porch. Seeing Edwards lumber off, he strolled out and down the steps. Francesca saw him. Smiling, she came to meet him.

“Did you succeed?” Taking her hand, he drew it through his arm, covering her hand with his.

“Edwards and I have come to an understanding.”

“I never doubted it could be otherwise.”

They turned toward the bluff, strolling around the Castle to where Edwards’s beloved trees gave way to shrubs and the occasional rose.

“I received a packet from Devil this morning.” Gyles broke the companionable silence as they reached the old ramparts and the wide vista of his lands opened before them. “He and Honoria are back in London. He sent the latest parliamentary deliberations of note.”

“Is Parliament sitting at present?”

“Yes-the autumn session is under way.”

Gyles thought of it-his normal life until now, the ton largely back in residence, the usual round of balls, parties, and the even more important dinners, the jostling of the hostesses for prominence and the more serious discussions that took place behind the glittering facade. For years, that had been the focus of his life.

They paused, looking out over the land, ablaze in autumn’s glory.

“Do we need to go to London-for Parliament?”

“No.”

He’d thought of it, but not as we. He glanced at her, met her eyes briefly, tucked a whipping lock of her hair behind her ear, then looked back at the view.

His aversion to the idea of returning to London alone should have surprised him, yet it hadn’t. He was, it seemed, getting used to the fact that, when it came to all matters pertaining to her, his barbarian self ruled. His true self would not be parted from her, would not even consider it.

They stood side by side and he surveyed his domain, then he lowered his arm, closing his hand about hers. “Come. Let’s go down to the folly.”

* * *

Folly indeed.

Later that night, Gyles lay on his back in the dark warmth, and listened to the soft sigh of his wife’s breathing.