The bucket was heavy; however, she was determined. Leonie dragged it to the anvil. She tried to pick it up high enough to dump the horseshoes out of it.
That wasn’t going to work. Instead, she grabbed handfuls of horseshoes, held them over the anvil at her height, and let them fall.
The clang of metal against metal was not as loud as she’d hoped. It still served the trick.
Roman practically fell out of the cot, coming to his feet, his fist clenched and ready for any attack—save for the fact his eyes were barely open and he wobbled a bit.
He frowned when he recognized Leonie. His fists came down. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes, it is fine,” she said briskly. “But I need your help. How do you hook up the horse to the plow?”
Roman shook his head as if he didn’t trust his ears. “You want to use the plow? For what reason?”
“Flower beds, Roman. I want to plant flower beds and I’m starting with roses, just like the Empress Josephine.”
Chapter 18
Roman had been dreaming about Leonie sleeping by his side.
Last night, over dinner, he’d noticed she had been more relaxed than he had seen her for days. She’d readily joined in the family conversations. She’d even been less self-conscious around him.
He didn’t know how he’d felt about that. If he was honest, he could admit he had rather enjoyed Leonie acting chastised. It meant his opinion mattered to her, that he could disturb her peace of mind as effortlessly as she did his.
Walking home, she hadn’t trailed behind him or sheepishly tried to stay by his side or even attempted to stomp ahead of him as she had the night before. No, she’d moved with easy grace.
She’d also been full of questions, asking him about his plans for the field he and the hired men had plowed that day. What would be planted there? Why had he chosen of all things clover?
When it came time to part ways—he, nobly taking himself to the stables and leaving her the house—she’d cheerfully wished him a good night as if something else occupied her mind. Something that wasn’t him.
She was planning to leave him. She must be thinking of returning to London. Roman could imagine no other reason for her behavior.
It had always been a possibility from the very beginning. Hadn’t she wanted that to be their bargain? And wouldn’t he be better off alone rather than spending his days and nights worrying about her tendency toward drink?
Except itdidn’tmake him happy.
He understood that he shouldn’t try to stop her from leaving. She had too much power over him. She could play him for a fool, just as she had in India.
But then, not everything had been her fault. Her parents had a role. They were the ones that had left him to face the tribunal. Nor could he blame Leonie for his decision to lie about Paccard’s death.
David’s suggestion that perhaps he should have let justice have its course nagged at him. What if his decision to take the blame for Paccard’s death was part of why Leonie drank? Perhaps they wouldn’t have this wall between them?
In the end, Roman had taken himself to the village and the local public house because he wasn’t fit company alone—and because he feared he had a strong desire to crawl on his knees to his wife and beg her forgiveness for his churlishness. He couldn’t do that. Hewouldn’t.
A half bottle of whisky convinced him he was completely right in his rigid stance.
But that hadn’t stopped her from invading even his drunken sleep, and now here she was, right before him... and talking about hitching the plow?
Perhaps he was still dreaming?
From the way his head pounded, he didn’t think so.
He watched his wife pick up horseshoes and toss them into a bucket. She appeared rested and happy while he would like nothing more than to pull his head off his shoulders.
He found his voice. “Hitch the horse?”
“Yes, to the plow.” She dropped the last of the horseshoes in the bucket. She wore her hair down and loose around her shoulders, the way he liked it. Her dress was a plain, dark blue gown without embellishment, but Leonie didn’t need pleats, lace, and buttons to look lovely. “I’ve decided where the rose garden should be. Of course, it might be best if we plow up the whole back lawn and then I can replant it the way I believe it should be.”
The pounding in his head was subsiding. “Youwant to use the plow?” He spoke slowly.
