“Paid for out of her annuity,” Carlton continued, “the remaining portion of it, at least. The garden’s too much for one man, particularly old Mr. Jenks, but he has two sons who’ve been assisting Mr. Baxter. Lady Devereaux gave them permanent positions as under-gardeners to their father. They’re good workers.”
“I’llsay they are,” Baxter said. “Put my own employees to shame. They’ll see you right, and I’ll come over in the spring to make sure they’re tending to things properly. Gardening’s an art, you know. It’s not just digging up weeds and clipping hedges. Shall we?”
He led the way through an iron-framed archway toward another section of the garden.
“I’ve planted some climbers that will soon cover this archway,” he said. “They’re fast growing, so in a year or two they’ll form a tunnel. They flower twice a year—beautiful blooms. I’ve chosen a mixture of varieties to ensure you’ll have flowers all through spring and summer. They’re among my Bella’s favorite, and we have them in our own garden.”
As they continued, Charles caught the faint sound of music—deep, woody notes, as if nymphs chatted to each other, set against a backdrop of delicate chimes. At first he wondered if they were a figment of his imagination, but the music grew louder as they entered the next section.
“This is Lady Devereaux’s particular favorite,” Baxter said. “She calls it the music garden, which needs no explanation.”
Hanging in a corner was a set of tubular structures fashioned from a light, irregular-shaped wood. As a breeze swept across the garden, they danced and swayed, emitting deep tones that formed a harmonious chord.
Then the gardener led Charles through the remaining sections, each one designed to enhance the senses, until they came to the final area, the walled garden accessed via an iron gate. As Charles stepped through the gate, he caught his breath at the memory…his beloved mama, tending to the herbs while he helped as best as he could, her plucking a sprig of thyme then crushing it in her slim fingers, her beautiful smile bathing his soul in light as he inhaled the rich aroma…
The garden before him had been restored to the little haven of love he recalled from boyhood. The paving slabs had been scrubbed clean such that they shone in the sunlight. Around the perimeter, the borders were filled with a large variety of herbs. To a casual observer, they appeared to have been placed at random, but each plant contrasted in color with its neighbor to give a rippling effect, as if light were dancing across the ground.
How was it that there could be so many shades of green?
A seat had been placed near one corner, fashioned from a single block of wood that looked as if it had sprouted from the ground. And beside the seat, set in the corner, was a statue, fashioned from white marble into the shape of an angel. Her head tilted downward, she gazed at the ground, a serene smile on her lips.
Charles’s heart gave a jolt as he stared at the angel’s face. Then heblinked and shook his head. It was just the memory that had rendered him a little senseless, but he could have sworn the statue bore a resemblance to his mother.
“The statue was Lady Devereaux’s idea,” Baxter said. “She planted most of the herbs herself.”
Charles raised his eyebrows.
“Aye, she did,” Carlton said. “There was no stopping her, sir. She was most insistent. She may be a quiet little thing, but when she’s set her mind on something, well… Who am I to refuse a determined woman? Planned this all herself, she did.”
And paid for it, most likely, having sold a substantial portion of her annuity.
Bloody hell.
Never had Charles felt so ashamed. Even though he’d feared only for a heartbeat that she was spending her money on frivolities, that heartbeat was enough to confirm that he was the very worst of blackguards, and she the most unfortunate of women to have been saddled with him for a husband.
Where is she?
Baxter frowned, and Charles gestured about the garden.
“Ah.” Carlton nodded. “I’ve no idea where Lady Devereaux is. Perhaps she’s returned to the house?”
“She was with me earlier,” Baxter said. “She looked a little unwell, but insisted on staying outside. I believe she may be somewhere near the stables—to see to your other gift.”
What other gift?
“Oh lorks, I’ve done it again, haven’t I? I take it you’ve no knowledge of—”
“Perhaps Lord Devereaux should go and see for himself, Mr. Baxter” Carlton interrupted. “We can discuss the settlement of your account now the garden’s almost finished.”
The gardener nodded, and the two men slipped through a gap in the hedge, leaving Charles in the herb garden, a garden that wasalmost an exact replica of the one he’d recalled from his childhood—the one thing that had brought light to his mother’s life in the months leading to her demise.
Bloody hell, what the devil am I going to say to her? I’ve been a complete and utter arse.
Thrusting his hands in his jacket pockets, Charles made his way to the stables in search of his wife.
As he approached, he caught sight of the brown faces of the three of the coach horses in the nearest building. The fourth stood patiently in the stable yard while a young boy groomed the animal’s flank with a long, sweeping motion. The boy let out a squeak as he spotted Charles and dropped the brush.
“L-Lord Devereaux, beg pardon.”
