“Perhaps he is more frightened for you, Leonie, than angry with you. However, he can’t be more afraid than you are for yourself. The imbalance would destroy the two of you.”
Leonie reached over and gave her mother-in-law a spontaneous hug. She would never have done this to her mother.
Or have received such reasoned and personal advice.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I want you and Roman to be happy. I want grandchildren from you, but I know all of this is not in my hands.”
Leonie nodded. She rose to her feet. She needed some time to digest this. “I should return to Bonhomie. I shall see you this evening.”
“I have a chicken stew cooking right now.”
“That sounds good.” Leonie took off the apron, folded it, and placed the gloves upon it. Even with the apron, her dress had dirt on it. The walking shoes she wore would need a good brush and polish and her fingernails had a rim of dirt beneath them, but she did not mind. These matters could be taken care of. “I enjoyed my afternoon in the garden.”
“Feel free to return. David and I like this cottage. I plan on several more beds.”
“Thank you. I will.”
Leonie walked back to Bonhomie, taking the shortcut through the woods. Her mind weighed what Catherine had said. Leonie had always believed she thought highly of herself... but now she wondered.
The sense of being fine with the way things were continued all evening. She joined others for dinner and felt relaxed. That night, she fell into bed, again, without Roman. Only this night, she was so tired from hours spent outdoors in the fresh air, she slept deeply.
The next morning, an hour before dawn, she woke with a bit of pain in her shoulder and what looked to be some new muscles forming in her arm.
She also realized that when she woke her first thought was not of how much she wished to drink.
No, she woke thinking of roses. Lush, fragrant roses raised by her own hand. Roses like Lady Bedford had in her garden, roses like the Empress of France.
The early hour didn’t deter Leonie. She dressed in the oldest gown she could find in her trunk, put on the walking shoes she’d worn the day before, and headed to the stables.
She found her husband sleeping on a cot in one of the empty stalls. Yarrow, Whiby, Barr, and the two new field workers they had hired also slept in the stables, but in the loft. Leonie could hear them snoring.
Because everyone on the estate knew her husband had rejected their bed, Leonie realized she had been timid and reticent about asserting herself. However, right now, she couldn’t give a care what anyone thought. She was on a mission. She wanted a rose garden.
Her husband’s body filled the small, uncomfortable cot. She started to give him a little shake, but stopped, her hand hovering over him.
She sniffed the air.
He smelled of strong drink. She knew. She’d been craving that smell for the last two days, although, right now, the scent wasfarfrom pleasant.
Roman had been drinking? And enough so that the stench clung to him?
Guilt gave way to indignation. Her husband was not perfect himself. She wouldn’t be offended except for the hair shirt he’d been having her wear.
Well, she was taking it off.
Leonie smartly tapped Roman on the shoulder. He slapped at her as one would a fly.
“Roman.” She kept her voice low so as not to be overheard in the loft.
He groaned a response and rolled over, giving her his back—which was no mean feat on the rickety cot. He could not be comfortable.
Leonie stood for a moment in indecision. Outside the stables, the sun was rising. The birds had begun heralding the day, a day when she was intent on planning her rose garden.
There was an anvil against the wall close to Roman’s cot. She had noticed a bucket full of worn horseshoes in the stable aisle. She thought of the other men sleeping peacefully on their cots. She regretted disturbing their sleep, but she was going to enjoy disrupting Roman’s.
Oh, yes, this was going to be fun after his holier-than-thou attitude.
