His smile grew at the very distinct huffing noise coming from Preston as she walked past him.
“While the second does sound appealing, I’m afraid we just don’t have the time right now.”
Georgie nodded as if it were as easy as a quip, while her heart thundered and her less public parts started that infuriating humming again. “Then come with me. Preston, you come too.”
Greyville’s expression was rather comical, but Preston fell right into step as Georgie led them past her father’s office and her mother’s morning room to the side of the house and the room many people overlooked. Halfway down the corridor they ran into Reems, who bowed.
“We are going to the conservatory, Reems,” she announced. “Which you know nothing about. Especially if my aunt asks.”
“Indeed, Miss Georgie. I believe I have pressing business in the wine cellar.”
She gave him a grin. Reaching the door, she motioned for Preston to sit outside and then led Greyville into the conservatory where they could, indeed, be seen but not heard.
The warm moist air that rolled out of the open door immediately threatened the hold of every pin in Georgie’s hair. But this was more her room than anyone else’s, both from interest and from attention. Drago and fishtail palm trees lined the walls, giving the mostly glass room a sense of privacy, and crimson mandevilla climbed several trellises. But the center was devoted to not only English plantings, but several exotics as well.
“Good heavens,” Greyville breathed, heading straight for the small tree tucked into the back corner, where the entire wall was glass to let as much light in as possible. It was Georgie’s favorite,with its glossy leaves a backdrop for star-shaped flowers that shaded from cream to faint pink to yellow and perfumed the room with a scent too exotic for England. And yet, here it was.
“Frangipani,” he marveled, looking back at her. “Where in heaven’s name did you get this?”
“You know frangipani?” she asked, joining him until the delicious scent enveloped them both.
Taking in a slow breath, he nodded, reaching out to stroke one of the flowers with unspeakable gentleness. Somehow that one motion shook Georgie’s determination.
“When we were in India,” he said, sounding reverent. “Oh, the scents in that country. Incense, spices, coffee, tea, flowers of a thousand kinds. There were quite a few scents that were not as pleasant, but those aren’t the ones you remember. But this was always my favorite. Where did you get it?”
She smiled. “A good friend from school is Anastasia Dunn. Her father is Wilbur Dunn, the Soap King. Stasia has been helping him expand his empire. She hopes to become his perfumer. I talked her into a cutting.”
He shook his head. “It’s a delightful surprise in this usually cold and rainy climate.”
“Did you like India?”
“Yes and no. It is overwhelming. So many people, so much strife, but so much beauty.”
“I have always wanted to go. Michael hated it. The heat, the noise. Would you go back?”
He shrugged. “Not much chance with my new responsibilities.” Before she could follow up, he pointed to the black wrought iron bench tucked in among the fishtail palms. “Speaking of which.…”
Excellent. Now she was a responsibility. She couldn’t think of a better way to woo a woman. And that quickly, the bubble ofanticipation burst. Georgie sat and laid her hands in her lap to hear her sentence.
Greyville didn’t sit right away. He paced, which made her feel worse. She was not feeling any more enthusiasm from him than she was from herself. She was plagued by the suspicion that they were walking straight into disaster. And she hadn’t even heard his proposal yet.
Georgie knew what her opinion was, but she pulled in a deep breath and clasped her hands and waited. Greyville kept pacing.
“Unless you intend to ask your questions of the palm trees,” Georgie finally said, “could we get on with it? I have a busy day ahead of me. And now I must go out to my grandmother’s and tell the bees.”
Well, that got his attention. It even got him to stop and turn. “I beg your pardon.”
She spared him a wry smile. “Sit down and I’ll tell you.”
He sat. Far too close, but there it was.
She sighed and held her position. This always made perfect sense to her, possibly because Grandmama had been telling her since she could remember how the bees that Grandmama raised were part of the family and deserved the same respect. When Georgie had been seven, she had quite archly told her grandmama that considering some of the people in her family, the bees probably deserved more respect.
“It is an ancient custom,” she said, purposely leaving out her childhood. “Grandmama grew up with it from her Irish grandmother. If you have bees, you must alert them to every major life change. Especially death. They must have the option to leave if they want. Although they never have.”
“You’ve done this before.” He did not sound as if this made sense to him. Georgie could hardly blame him. On a bad day, it was just a bit too much like a fairy tale, even for her. And she hadbeen sitting on that little bench before the bees ever since she could remember.
“I have. It is very precious to my grandmama, and I will never do anything to hurt her.”
