Eliza tipped her head back toward the sky. “In moist soil with good drainage and full sun.”
“Incredible. Can you do this with all plants?”
“Certainly not.”
His bright laugh joined hers.
A pointed cough from her mother interrupted them. Eliza turned to find their chaperones seeming to lose patience. Sinclair offered her his arm. As she took it, her heart skipped before righting itself, still racing, as they set off down the path beneath the trees once more.
“Earlier, you said you liked flowers…”
“I did.”
“You meant growing them? Or receiving them?”
“Both. I meant both. Mama and Papa leave much of the garden to my charge.”
He nodded, a thoughtful crease developing between his brows. “I am beginning to fear that my bouquet was woefully inadequate given the?—”
“No!” she half shouted.
“Lizzie?” her mother called.
“I’m fine, Mama.” Eliza turned back to her companion. In a more sedate tone, she added, “No. It was beautiful.”
Sinclair’s laugh was hearty and full-bodied. There was nothing mocking in it—though she would have deserved it—it was all genuine delight.
“It’s time to turn back now, Lizzie,” her mother insisted.
“Yes, Mama,” she said, trying to keep the disappointed note from her voice.
“Your mother is interested in horticulture?” she asked.
“Gardening, in truth. I doubt she would have claimed so formal a term.”
Eliza’s stomach sank. “Would have?”
Sinclair’s throat bobbed. “She passed when Bella was born.”
“I am so sorry! I should not have?—”
“Do not apologize. I do not even know why I mentioned her; her interests are irrelevant.”
“What was she like?” Eliza asked. A moment later, her mind caught up with her mouth. “Forgive me, I should not have asked.”
“I was young when she passed. I barely remember. She was pretty—her hair was darker, closer to mine than Bella’s. I loved the freckles that dotted her nose. And her eyes crinkled at the corners when she smiled, which wasn’t as often as I wished. And she enjoyed flowers. I used to bring her flowers when I found them outside. Little more than pretty weeds. But she alwayssmiled so brightly when I gave them to her—treated them like the very finest of hothouse flowers. She would put them in this crystal vase she received as a wedding gift…” he trailed off, longing etched in the lines of his face.
“How could she do anything but smile? I’m certain you were a gallant gentleman with your offering.”
Sinclair released a sharp breath. But the soft smile curving over his lips belied the denial. “I had forgotten that entirely.”
“It seems a lovely memory of a lovely woman.”
With a shake of his head, Sinclair declared, “I must insist, Miss Wayland, that we stray toward less melancholy topics. I am not at my most charming when the subject trends toward the macabre.”
Eliza rather disagreed with that assessment—Sinclair was at hismostappealing when he spoke with genuine feeling. But she could not deny him such a reasonable request.
“Very well, I am at your leisure.”
