Chance had known even then that she needed more. He’d also recognized love in her eyes, a love that had matched his own, a love he’d ultimately been unable to deny himself.
She was a woman who would not give herself easily but when she did, she’d done so wholeheartedly.
That had been the problem for him all along. He’d not want to accept her love knowing he would not be free to care for her, to cherish her,to love her, as she deserved.
But that was no longer the case.
And if she had once loved him, she would eventually talk with him. She had to.
“And Carrington?” Chance rose, feeling resigned to patience he did not feel.
“Yes?”
“If you believe she is… happy… with this poetry fellow, this dandy. You will let me know?”
The dignified retainer nodded solemnly. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Chance exhaled a deep breath. He supposed he was going to have to make his presence in London official now. Now that she knew he was here, now that she knew who he was, he no longer had any reason to hide.
“Are you the new gardener, sir?” A woman’s voice called to him from across the street as he exited to the sidewalk. Chance squinted his eyes as he could mostly only see her silhouette. Even wearing a loose fitting, high waisted gown, her silhouette revealed a voluptuous hourglass shape
“Just a friend.” He answered, dismissing her and wondering if Aubrey might even consider him a friend at this point.
His life would be so much easier if another woman could capture his interest, sexually, intellectually—anything.
Unfortunately, Aubrey, hisPrincesse, was his everything.
He doubted that would be changing anytime soon.
* * *
Chance’s householdhad apparently gotten wind of his arrival, for when he stepped inside, everything was freshly shined and servants who had not once met Hannah, the recently deceased duchess, had covered the windows with black crepe. The male servants wore black armbands while the maids had black ribbons attached to their caps.
Chance would have to send for Mr. Edwards, his valet, who had been fuming silently at Hyde Park Place. Since arriving in London, Chance had disallowed his man’s attentions in lieu of wearing working class garb.
The Season, however, was about to commence and Chance could expect the salver in the hallway to pile up with invitations soon enough. Mr. Edwards could have his way then.
The thought gave him pause. It was possible that he could discover which invitations Aubrey accepted and be certain to attend those as well. Under such circumstances, he would appear as a respectable gentleman of theton. He would insert himself into her life again.
“Welcome home, Your Grace,” It took Chance a moment to recognize the young man who’d taken over for Carrington. “Drake?” He asked.
“Indeed sir. We’ve been expecting you.”
Chance shook his head. He’d obviously not been as surreptitious as he’d thought he’d been. It seemed all the world had been aware of his whereabouts while he’d been slinking about Mayfair in disguise. He shrugged and climbed the staircase to his chamber. Hollis had kept him awake most nights and suddenly Chance felt as though he hadn’t slept in ages.
He’d been desperate to convince her.
But for now, he must be patient.
* * *
The next morningChance made a few stops before going to Aubrey’s, and rather than wait outside, he went right around back. When the deliveries he’d ordered began arriving, he was already hard at work turning soil and chopping down the shrubs that had died. She wanted a flower garden, he’d give her the best damned flower garden money could buy.
The man who regularly tended his own grounds at Chauncey House had been most helpful, noting that Chance could prune the garden’s there and at the same time use many of the cuttings to populate Mrs. Bloomington’s. He’d sent over Lilacs, Gooseberry bushes and Quickset Hedges first. Tomorrow chance would plant flowers around the larger plants. Chance couldn’t remember all the names but had insisted on lots of cornflowers and daisies.
They reminded him of her.
He’d also ordered a fair bit of building supplies, remembering that she’d mentioned a hothouse. He’d have it outfitted with a workbench and every tool she could possibly need to propagate cuttings and cultivate bulbs. Orchids, he’d heard, required a great deal of attention and a controlled environment.
