Ambrose was quiet for a moment, staring out at the gardens. "It's just a few more days," he said finally.
"And what if a few more days is too long? What if I do something stupid? What if your sister does something stupid? What if we—"
"Then try not to get caught," Ambrose said with exasperation. "Jesus, Sash, it's not rocket science. Keep your hands to yourself, don't snog her in front of Grandmother, and try to remember that officially you're madly in love with me."
"And what about you? Are you going to keep your hands to yourself?"
"I'm being very careful," Ambrose said stiffly.
"Are you? Because tool maintenance in a locked shed doesn't exactly scream careful to me."
"We weren't—that wasn't—" Ambrose's face was bright red. "We were talking."
"Right. Talking. Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
Before Ambrose could formulate a response, the bell for breakfast rang across the gardens, saving them both from having to continue what was rapidly becoming a very uncomfortable conversation.
"Saved by the bell," Sasha muttered, standing up and brushing dust off her dress.
"We're not finished discussing this," Ambrose warned.
"Yes, we are. Because we're both going to be very good and very careful and definitely not do anything that might scandalize your grandmother."
"Exactly."
"Even if it kills us."
"Even if it kills us."
They shook hands with mock solemnity, both knowing they were probably lying.
AFTER A HOT MORNING, lunch was served on the terrace, and Sasha found herself seated between Sophie and Lady Charlotte, trying to look like someone who hadn't just spent the morning receiving romance advice from a man who spoke exclusively in plant metaphors whilst elbow-deep in soil.
Victoria was across the room, discussing something with her grandmother that involved a lot of hand gesturing and what appeared to be architectural drawings. Even from a distance, Sasha could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself like she was braced for criticism.
"The gardens are looking particularly lovely this year," Lady Charlotte was saying to the room at large. "Lukas has done exceptional work with the roses."
Sir Archibald emerged from behind his newspaper long enough to fix his wife with a look that suggested he knew exactly what she was implying.
"The boy's dedicated," he said mildly. "Knows his business."
"I'm sure he does," Lady Charlotte said delicately.
Sasha caught Ambrose's eye across the room and saw her own panic reflected there.
"More tea, anyone?" Lady Charlotte asked brightly, clearly trying to steer the conversation toward safer waters.
Twenty minutes later, when lunch was finished and everyone began going their separate ways, Sasha excused herself to use the bathroom. She was making her way back through the house when she caught sight of movement in the kitchen corridor.
Sophie was there, standing in front of a dish cart, moving with the sort of careful stealth that suggested she didn't want to be seen. She had a plate in her hands and was loading it with what appeared to be leftover cold meats from lunch, her movements quick and efficient.
When she noticed Sasha watching, Sophie froze like a deer in headlights.
"Oh," she said, clutching the plate to her chest. "I was just… getting a snack."
"Right," Sasha said casually. "Lunch not filling enough?"
"Something like that." Sophie's eyes darted toward the back stairs. "I should… that is, I have studying to do."
