“I’ll have samples brought, Mrs. Estwood.”
Lucy walked over to the window and looked out over the rolling stretch of gardens with a sigh. The beds closest to the house looked to have had some attention, but farther out, thetrees and shrubs became much wilder in nature. “Is there a gardener, Mrs. Bartle?”
“Not at present. Though I believe Mr. Estwood has made inquiries.”
“Put gardener on your list,” Lucy shook her head. “Goodness. I might get lost if I venture into that bramble.”
A cat, pure black with only a spot of white on his head, slunk through the grass, stalking some poor, unsuspecting bird. “I see we have a visitor.”
“A visitor?” Mrs. Bartle peered around her and laughed. “Mr. Hammond’s cat. Lives in the stables. Excellent mouser. But if he bothers you, ma’am, I can have him?—”
“Oh, no.” Lucy assured her. “I adore cats. I’ve always wanted one, but my father?—”
If you can speak without embarrassing me, then I will consider allowing you a pet.Of course, that hadn’t happened. Lucy would never cease being flawed in Father’s opinion.
“He did not care for animals,” she ended. Other than his bloody horses.
“Roger”—Mrs. Bartle inclined her head to the cat walking about the gardens—“is entirely friendly should you care to make his acquaintance. Likes a good scratch beneath the chin.”
“Unsurprising.” Lucy smiled back, thinking she would like to be friends with Roger. “I believe I’ll go stretch my legs a bit, Mrs. Bartle. If I am to find a gardener, I would like to know the scope of the work he’ll be taking on. Would you mind showing me the rest of the house tomorrow?”
“Of course. It’s a bit overwhelming, isn’t it? The house, I mean. There are at least a half dozen rooms without so much as a stick of furniture or even a rug. Needs a woman’s touch, I think.”
“That is an understatement, Mrs. Bartle. But I am sure, if you and I put our minds to it, we can transform this cavern ofa house into a cozy home. Do you and Mr. Bartle have rooms here?”
“Cottage just behind those trees.” She pointed to a spot where Lucy could make out the edge of a roof. “If you were to yell loud enough, we would hear you. The rest of the staff is on the fourth floor, of course, except for Mr. Hammond. Sleeps with Roger in the stables.”
The Waterstone residence was where Lucy had lived her entire life, but it had never felt like home, especially after her mother‘s departure and subsequent death. It had always been Father’s house. His domain. Now more Sally’s, she supposed.
Butthishouse—this could be Lucy’s home.
“I’ll have tea waiting for you in the drawing room when you return from your walk.” The housekeeper patted her shoulder. “Say hello to Roger for me.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bartle.”
Lucy made her way down the stairs and out the back doors. Stone had been used to create a small courtyard, bare now of anywhere to sit. Another item to put on her list—seating and tables for the terrace. She continued deeper into the maze of garden beds. Walking carefully through the grass, she looked for Roger, the cat, but her search proved fruitless. He must have been successful in his hunt and fled with his prize, which she hoped was a rodent of some sort and not one of the robins fluttering about.
Sunlight bathed the lawn with hints of gold. In the distance, Lucy could make out great swaths of purple. Heather, she thought. Inhaling, she could smell nothing but grass and fresh earth. A blissful scent with nothing of the London dirt to taint the air. A butterfly floated past her, a soft blue.
I could live in this garden forever.
“I thought you might still be with Mrs. Bartle.” Harry’s voice came from behind her. “Deciding what to do to the house.”
Lucy turned, her heart beating a bit harder at the sight of him.
His coat was gone, shirtsleeves rolled up, revealing muscular forearms. He had a smudge of dirt on his cheek, and his cravat was missing. There were cuts across his knuckles, and his hair was mussed.
“Where have you been?”
He brushed a bit of dirt off his trousers. “I had an errand.”
“An errand.” More like a disagreement of some sort. Or a brawl. There was also a tear in his trousers.
His eyes sparkled back at her, far too pleased with himself.
“I had to see to some changes at the ironworks. The exchange with Mr. Colm was a bit heated. He objected to his dismissal, though I had good reason to sack him.” Harry took a step until he stood before her. The light touch of his finger trailed along the edge of her neck and slope of her shoulder, sending a tingle over her skin.
“I thought Colm took over from Mr. Bartle,” she tried to keep her voice steady. “Shouldn’t he be quite elderly by now?”
