She found herself surrounded by neat flowerbeds, delineated by pathways made of stone slabs. Since it was already April—something that had surprised Gwyneth when she had asked about the date—many of the beds were fully green with growing things expanding their leaves into the warm spring sunlight.
She recognised parsley, thought those slim spears might be either onions or scallions, and guessed that some others held carrots and potatoes. Although she’d grown up far from here, she recalled a similar garden near her parents’ house. And she also remembered spending some time in it with her mama.
How long ago that was and how much had happened in between.
And yet, in its oddly circuitous way, life had brought her back into a spring garden. As she sat on the promised stone bench, beneath the branches of a cherry tree, she had to wonder at the strangeness of it all. Not to mention what on earth her parents would have thought if they could see her now.
A fine lady with her very own estate. They’d be happy, she knew. And with luck, they’d never have learned what she had gone through to get here. In fact, nobody would ever know. There were matters in her past that were best left there. Buried, forgotten by almost everyone but her. There was nobody left to betray her confidence—the only one was gone now, along with the husband she’d done her best to love.
She was good at pretending. The Earl had been kind, but there was no passion there, no kisses that aroused her body, or touches that made her yearn for more. Certainly nothing like the emotions she was experiencing here at Wolfbridge from her gentlemen.
Gabriel was kind and gentle—and oh so sweetly tender, like the new plants emerging around her. He might be her age, but in her eyes his heart seemed so fresh.
Royce was the opposite. An older soul, with eyes that had seen much and forgotten none of it. He was harsh, she guessed. Edgy perhaps. And a born leader.
Jeremy was laughter and light, unable to resist a joke when the time was right, and sometimes even when it wasn’t. But he portrayed the happy and handsome young man with an eye for a lovely lady. And he did it very well indeed.
And Evan…Evan of the delicious kisses. Quiet, but she believed he was more than observant. His gaze catalogued people as if disassembling them down to their ingredients. There was great kindness there, but also a wall within, perhaps, guarding his private thoughts.
They were all different, all extremely pleasant to look at, and all—apparently—devoted to her well-being.
But although she wanted to, very much, she could not find the strength within herself yet to trust a single one.
*~~*~~*
Having ventured outdoors at last, and loved it, Gwyneth began to encourage the gentlemen to continue to take her out now and again so that she could become familiar with the rest of the Wolfbridge Manor estate. Aiding her in this goal was Royce, who said that her needs corresponded quite neatly with his own.
He too was learning about the estate and such visits or drives were of inestimable assistance.
Giles added his endorsement, knowing that Royce was an excellent whip and would handle the gig, and its valuable passenger, with great care.
They tooled the lanes two or three times a week, and Gwyneth enjoyed every moment.
Spring was now in full bloom, with the branches of fruit trees sagging beneath the weight of their blossoms, and the hedgerows alive with flowers, rabbits and bees. The sun had decided to bless the countryside, showing off the fields of Wolfbridge to their best advantage.
Gwyneth attempted to discuss the current plantings with Royce, but was somewhat irritated to have her words politely listened to, then casually dismissed.
“I should mention, Royce, that during my marriage to the late Earl, I did have occasion to become familiar with some of the Kilham estate business. Crops, rotations…the Norfolk four-field system…these are not things that are foreign to me.”
“An excellent education, Ma’am,” he responded politely.
“It was.” She gritted her teeth. “Therefore, when I make a suggestion, as—for example, rotating turnips with clover—it’s not from a desire to see the fields look pretty.”
“And yet they do, do they not?” He drew the horse to a halt and waved at the scene before them. “Such vibrant spring colours. A good harbinger for this year’s harvest, I’m thinking.” He glanced at her. “It’s good to see a vibrant colour returning to those lovely cheeks of yours, my Lady.”
She sighed. “Stop it.”
“Stop what?” He frowned at her.
“Stop treating me like a pea-brained ninnyhammer. I don’t want compliments on my cheeks, Royce. I want to be the mistress of Wolfbridge Manor, and to play a role in its ongoing success. I want you to listen when I speak of crops and fields, not look at me as if the only thing I should know about is fashion and flirting.”
“Do I not treat you with respect, Ma’am?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Yes you do,” she acknowledged.
“And you’d rather I didn’t?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” she shot back. “Again, you’re not listening to me.”
