She glanced out of the window, where the gardener was still battling the weeds.
“Something more natural and welcoming. Easier on the eye and easier on that poor gardener. My brother knows of an excellent man—Mr. Baxter. Have you heard of him?”
Carlton nodded. “Mr. Lawrence Baxter? He has something of a reputation for originality when it comes to garden design. It was he who remodeled the gardens at Dartworth Park last year, but he’s expensive. Four hundred, I heard his fee was, and the Dartworth gardens are not so extensive as the gardens here. The Devereaux estate simply does not have that kind of ready capital.”
“ButIdo. The value of my annuity is ten thousand. And Mrs. Brougham tells me that my husband was fond of the gardens when he was a boy, though he disliked the house itself.”
“I don’t know…”
“Mr. Carlton, if my husband can spend his fortune for the benefit of the tenants, may I not spend mine for the benefit of my husband?”
“Yes, but why not inform him?”
“Because I don’t want him concerning himself with the arrangements,” Olivia said. “I would like to manage it myself, to show him that I can be useful, and therefore I want it to be ready when he returns from London.”
“That’s impossible, your ladyship. Lord Devereaux might return any day.”
“My husband wrote to say he was expecting to be in Town for a month. Surely that would be sufficient time to at least make a start on the gardens?”
“He wrote to you?”
“He sent me a gift,” Olivia said, and she blushed as she recalled the stockings. After breakfast, she’d hidden them in her bedchamber at thebottom of a drawer, to be taken out when Charles returned. Perhaps he might want to watch as she put them on, or…
…he might like to take them off.
“I daresay Mr. Baxter might be persuaded,” Carlton said, “particularly if he’s acquainted with your brother.”
“Then I’ll write to my brother and ask him to persuade the man. In the meantime, if you could arrange for the release of funds on my behalf, I’d be most grateful.”
“Very good, your ladyship,” the steward said. “I can make arrangements to release a sum of, say, five hundred? That should be more than sufficient.”
“One thousand, if you please. Or, to be precise, one thousand and twenty five.”
“I hardly think—”
“I wish to make a second purchase.”
“Which is?”
“A horse.”
“Ahorse?” Carlton shook his head. “A mare for your ladyship shouldn’t cost more than fifty—a hundred at most. And I’m sure Lord Devereaux would be more than happy to arrange the purchase himself on his return.”
“The horse is not for me,” Olivia said. “I’m not much of a horsewoman, I’m afraid. It’s for my husband. A very specific horse.”
“For five hundred and twenty-five pounds?”
Olivia nodded. “That is five hundred guineas, is it not? If my brother’s willing to sell, of course. I shall write to him directly.”
“But…” Carlton hesitated, then understanding gleamed in his eyes and, for the first time that morning, he smiled. “I take it you don’t wish me to inform Lord Devereaux until the purchase is completed?”
Olivia nodded.
“May I ask why?”
An onset of shyness threatened to overcome her, and she glancedtoward the window, aware of the steward’s eyes on her. Outside, the gardener had moved, though he continued to make slow progress, winning, perhaps, the battle against the weeds, but not the war.
“I want to be there when he first sees his gift,” she said, her heart swelling. “I want to see him smile.”
