“All will be well,” she said, squeezing his forearm, and Arthur relaxed the muscles he hadn’t known were tensed.
“I seem to recall a lady who detests when others say that to her,” he said with a narrowed look and a hint of a smile that softened the hard edges of the expression.
“Yes, but this isn’t an empty platitude. We did our research, considered our options, and I am certain this will be wonderful,” she said whilst leaning into his side.
Arthur drew in a deep breath and hoped for the best. Their time in London had allowed them to replenish their coffers and not rush such an important decision, but having never seen their new town or home, it was impossible not to feel the strain of uncertainty. To which he reminded himself that Oakham may not have been the paradise he’d searched for, but his time there had ended well for him. And his wife.
“Even if it isn’t, we will simply return to London,” she said, repeating the decision they’d made long before making this step. Of course, relocating yet again wouldn’t be so simple, but Violet’s calm helped him to calm himself as well.
“Usually, it is me who is assuring you.”
Violet drew in a deep breath and let it out, beaming at the world around her. “I just feel it in my bones, Arthur. This is the place. I know it.”
Having read Mr. Rothschild’s letter a dozen times, he knew the directions well enough, though the carriage had been passing the houses too quickly to tell which was theirs. Violet’s attention drifted all about, but Arthur’s gaze was fixed forward as he led her to the far end of town. Counting the buildings, he stopped in front of one that was set back from the road a little, and the sign affixed to the gate read “Hawthorne House.”
The cottage retained the old timber look, though it had been well-maintained over the years. The plaster between the beams was bright and unmarred, and the stonework that decorated along the bottom few feet looked as though it had been scrubbed clean. Ivy wound along the corners, and the first flowers of spring were just making themselves known, bringing forth bright bursts of yellows, pinks, and oranges. Climbing roses outlined the doorway, and in summer, the blossoms would likely fill the entire house with their fragrance.
Peace swept over him with such force that Arthur could barely breathe. Violet had been correct. This was the placethey’d been looking for, and the last of his nerves swept away in the rightness of their being here. This was their home. Their dream.
Pushing the front gate open, he motioned for Violet to enter, and her face split into a grin. Lifting her skirts, she hurried round the side and examined the gardens behind.
“It is enormous!” she said, nearly dancing on her tiptoes as she beamed at him. “Magnificent!”
But Arthur’s attention never wavered from Violet. Light shone from within her eyes, brightening the whole of her. Tendrils of her hair had escaped their pins, framing her face as they bobbed on the breeze. And though she beckoned him to come, Arthur couldn’t move at the sight of her.
His wife. His Violet.
Arthur didn’t understand the blindness of men, but he sent a prayer of thanks heavenward that he was reaping the reward of their short-sightedness. Never was a man more blessed than he.
*
Running had been a mistake. Violet realized it the moment she’d begun, but the damage was done, and she couldn’t wait to see the gardens Mr. Rothschild had promised were everything she longed for. And they didn’t disappoint. Neat beds were sectioned off with a few bare patches for her to place the seeds she’d brought from the physic garden in Chelsea, but most beds were already planted and awaiting her tender ministrations.
Now, she simply had to avoid casting up her accounts atop them.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, Violet gazed back at her husband. Good gracious, Arthur Vaughn cut a fine figure, made all the finer when he looked at her with such admiration. And despite so many months of receiving such expressions, her cheeks heated as though this were the first time.
They were finally here. And she could finally tell him her secret. In all the effort leading to this moment, she’d nearlymissed the signs, but she was certain now, and there wasn’t a better time to share it.
“Look here,” said Arthur, pressing his nose to the front windows. “Mr. Rothschild’s workroom is perfect.”
Violet drew in a sharp breath and hurried to his side, where they peered through the windows like sneak thieves. It was just as magnificent as the gardens. The old physician was clearly a meticulous man who took pride in his work, and the offices were everything she’d hoped for; Violet couldn’t wait and tried the door handle—only to sigh at finding it locked.
Her husband drew closer, folding his arms around her. “Patience, my love. The solicitor should be here before long with the keys, and then we can explore properly.”
“I suppose we will just have to bide our time,” she said, settling her arms around his neck.
“I suppose we will,” he said with a grin whilst leaning closer, though Arthur paused just short of kissing her.
“I have a secret to tell you,” she whispered with a coy smile.
“Do you?” he said with a raise of his brows.
Violet nodded, her eyes brightening as she gazed into his. “It is a little surprise right now, and we will have to wait for some months until it arrives.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Is it a seedling?”
“Of a sort,” she replied with a tone heavy with insinuation.
