The large house hadn’t been ready for so many guests, to Singleton’s dismay, though Eamon and his friends offered to pitch in with the labor when necessary. The sale of the manuscript pages to one of the Prince of Osagard’s extraordinarily wealthy and well-vetted friends, vouched for by Colonel Harper, had brought in a welcome influx of funds, but clearing all the debts and then purchasing necessities would take some time.
Eamon didn’t mind the house a bit untamed, the garden an unrestrained riot of spring and early summer flowers. Naturalistic landscapes were all the rage now, he’d assured Singleton, who wanted the entire estate to be perfect.
Watching Caro wander the house with purpose and vigor, planning what was to be repaired or renewed in each room, stimulated more than Eamon’s muse.
They’d agreed to marry in July, which would give them time to put the house and garden into some kind of order as well as have the banns read. The ceremony would be held in the village church, and if the weather was kind, they’d have the wedding breakfast in the garden afterward.
Eamon, like Singleton, barely contained his impatience, though for different reasons.
Eamon wanted Caro in his bed every night, from now until the wedding day and then forever after. But they could only steal moments here and there, because the house had filled with people the day after he’d made the journey down.
The Countess of Heyford—Louise—who traditionally invited Caro, the dowager, and Leo to her older son’s seat in Berkshire for the month of June, had decided they’d have the summer visit at Mayfield Hall instead.
July usually saw Caro spending time with Princess Jo and her family, but that had also been changed to Jo and her niece Merry traveling with Louise to stay until the wedding. Prince Rupert and Princess Maude would attend the wedding and then linger at Mayfield through July before the royals in exile progressed elsewhere, taking Merry with them.
The impending visit of Jo’s parents was giving Singleton palpitations. He was certain the prince and princess would have apoplexy at the state of the Aylesmore house, no matter how many times Jo assured him that they wouldn’t care one whit, so long as they could have their coffee every morning.
Eamon’s friends had also turned up not long after his arrival at Leo’s ostensible invitation. McCormick and Wolfe had been ill at ease with the other guests at first, though McCormick’s natural cordialness had broken the ice for him quickly. The dowager found him charming, and McCormick obliged her by escorting her through the garden or attending her in the drawing room whenever she wished.
Wolfe, when he wasn’t helping McCormick and Eamon assist Singleton, spent much time riding. Good exercise for his leg, he said. Good excuse for being misanthropic, Eamon amended silently. The three boys were fascinated by Wolfe, and he unbent enough to give them a few riding lessons.
All these people in the house meant that Eamon had to satisfy his yearnings with art alone. The wedding night was long in coming.
He shaded the lines he’d made of the frock Caro wore as she walked and chatted with Louise, Jo, and Merry. A breeze had sprung up as he’d sketched, and he’d drawn Caro’s hair and skirts fluttering, along with the loose ribbons of her bonnet. The gown caught on her curving legs, outlining them in a most enticing way.
Though Caro stood with her friends, Eamon’s drawing held only her.
A little way down the path, the dowager strolled in a stately fashion on McCormick’s arm, her old-fashioned, broad-brimmed hat with large feathers defying the wind. No gust would dare disarray her.
Leo, Harry, and Jack yelled as they dashed through the meadow beyond the garden, while Wolfe, on horseback nearby, kept an eye on them. From the house, Singleton’s voice rose as he directed the newly hired men-of-all-work like a general harrying his troops to meet Bonaparte.
Caro broke off from her friends and came around the fountain to where Eamon sat on his folding stool. Singleton had cranked to life the rusting mechanism that worked the garden’s fountains, and water pattered quietly, though Eamon had moved his seat far away enough so that the spray wouldn’t ruin his work.
Caro leaned to Eamon and pressed an uninhibited kiss to his cheek. “Is that what I look like? So untidy.”
“So beautiful.” Eamon used his finger to blend the charcoal shadow behind her. “Perfect.”
“You are very flattering.” Caro bestowed another kiss, this one to the top of his head. “You’ve been drawing quite a lot, haven’t you? I’m glad.”
Eamon shrugged, but in truth, the outpouring of creativity had brought him jubilation. “I always thought I could only copy others’ genius. It turns out, I only needed the right subject.” He tilted his head back to send Caro a hot smile.
She flushed, her pulse beating in her throat. Eamon sensed, from her whispers when they met, the kisses they stole on the stair landings, and the way she watched him across the long table at meals, that she longed for him as much as he did her. The weeks before them stretched far too long.
“I came to ask you about the wedding breakfast,” Caro said.
Eamon smothered a groan. “When aren’t you asking me about the wedding breakfast? It started as a few tables for immediate friends, and now I think half of England is coming.”
“The dowager believes it’s a good way to show Leo’s acceptance of our marriage, not to mention that of the Prince and Princess of Osagard, Jo, Louise, Lady Carmichael, Colonel and Mrs. Harper …”
“And the rest of London, yes.” Eamon flicked another few lines to the folds of Caro’s drawn skirt. “Wolfe and McCormick are rounding up their respectable friends as well. I don’t have any of those, so I have to bring in my unrespectable ones.” He’d sent an invitation to Sam Noble, but it remained to be seen if the man would appear.
“Anyway.” Caro cut through his meanderings. “What do you think of the summerhouse as a place to set up extra tables?”
She gestured to a building originally erected to resemble a small Greek temple—a folly built by one of the previous dukes, probably more for fashion’s sake than any romantic notions about the past.
Eamon glanced at it. “Will they object to being shut away in there?”
“No, indeed. The folly’s terrace is wide, and the doors can be folded back. Some might enjoy being out of any wind or damp.” Caro held out her hand. “Come and see.”
