The earl glanced at their clasped hands, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “And what will you do, now there are no ghosts left to chase?”
She felt the subtle twitch of his fingers and knew exactly what he planned to do once they returned home, aside from hunting for swallow wallpaper.
“Give my wife a thorough tour of the house,” he said smoothly. “Make a list of what we intend to do in every room.”
Heat crept up her neck. Two hundred rooms to explore.Two hundred days and nights where he would worship her, ruin her, love her completely.
“Make Studland Park a home again?” Joanna said hopefully.
“Indeed. It will be quite the undertaking.”
Olivia bit back a smile. “We’ll begin with Gabriel’s dressing room. There are things in there that need taking down.”
They stayed for tea and a late breakfast.
“At least allow us to lend you a coach,” Joanna said as they made to leave. “Olivia can’t ride all the way to Studland Park on horseback, especially not in her nightgown.”
Gabriel didn’t argue. She was already stifling a yawn, exhaustion setting in now that the danger had passed.
They sat together on the same seat. He drew her close as the carriage pulled away, tucking the blanket around her shoulders, his mouth brushing her temple.
“We’ll be home soon. Where you belong.”
She looked up at him. “That’s not the first time you’ve called Studland Park home. I remember how cold it was, walking into that grand hall. But now, the house feels warmer somehow.”
“You’ve changed everything.” The chill that had once haunted Studland Park was gone. With her, he saw more than shadows and stone. His heart was open now. And for the first time, the future looked glorious.
“I don’t suppose you remember our conversation about hope.”
He gave a dry snort. “Which one? We’ve had several.”
“When I said I’d rather our days be filled with hope than regret.” Her hand settled on his thigh. “You said?—”
“I know what hope looks like to me,” he finished.
“What did it look like?”
He didn’t need to ponder the question. It was there at the forefront of his mind. “Hair like the burnished leaves of autumn. A mouth made for poetry, though I wasn’t thinking of verse. A heart so generous, mine longed to beat in time with it. That’s what hope looked like to me. You, Olivia.”
She sighed. “That’s very romantic.”
“I know. I surprise myself.”
“Mine falls terribly short now, no pun intended.”
He arched a brow. “Why do I suspect your version of hope will have me behaving like a lustful buck in our friends’ carriage?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it’s not very poetic.” She paused, letting the silence tease. “I rather hoped to catch you at the washstand—after you removed the towel.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
“I gave them clean clothes, a basket for the journey, and some linens and brandy to help keep the wound clean.” His housekeeper was busy recalling the items she’d packed into Justin Lovelace’s carriage. “Some blankets and a bottle of laudanum. And I gave them?—”
Gabriel raised a staying hand. “Is there anything you didn’t give them, Mrs Boswell? Will we be eating with our fingers tonight? Drinking from crude tankards? Must I ride a lame mare into town?”
Mrs Boswell pursed her lips, then laughed. “Oh, it’s so good to have you back, my lord. And while you’re in such a fine mood, Parker, the undercook, can’t prepare dinner. The traitor’s still locked in the pantry.”
Damn. He’d forgotten about Molière.
