“You will move to London with a gardener?”
“Mr. Fisk is not a gardener,” she said. “He is my personal servant, a steward, if you will. Previously, he served as my late father’s valet. When my father passed on, the terms of his will provided a salary and pension for Mr. Fisk under my employ. In many ways, Mr. Fisk has been looking after me since I was a girl. My father and I were not close, but he showed his regard for us both when he arranged for Mr. Fisk’s future with me.”
Finally, she reached the corner of the concealing hedge. She cast a searching look in the direction of the stables and saw no movement, thank God. Her mother would be cooling down the animals for another half hour. She motioned to the earl and slipped around the wall of green.
This is reasonable,she told herself, looking around the secluded bench and stately oak tree. She dropped onto the bench. With hands that shook, she arranged the ink pot and pen and straightened the parchment.
“Now,” she began, looking up.
The earl stared down at her. “You are so convinced that you will go to London?”
“Oh, quite convinced,” she lied. “But I’m afraid we’ve no longer the luxury of discussing how I’ll get there, or why, or with whose permission.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve said enough—surely we can agree on that—while you have committed to virtually nothing. In the interest of time, may I implore you to, er, contribute?”
“Contribute?”
She narrowed her eyes. “If nothing else, I should like to learn the nature of your venture. Only then will we know if our ambitions align.”
The earl walked a slow circle around the bench, staring up at the dappled golden light filtering through the canopy of the oak. He ran a hand through his hair.
Willow gritted her teeth and calculated the number of minutes at their disposal. She brushed the feathered end of her pen against her chin. She waited. Finally, she said, “But perhaps you have no venture to speak of? Is that it? Or your business is illegal?” She turned to face him. “Please tell me the venture is not supported by the slave trade? But perhaps this is why you dodge the question. If this is the case, then you have been correct to conceal it. I’m afraid we have nothing more to discuss.”
“On the contrary,” he said levelly. “We have been very careful to pursue only opportunities that are not supported by slave labor.”
She gave a satisfied nod. “On this, we are in agreement.”
“It did not occur to me that you would consider this.”
“It was our first concern, actually. But if you cannot find words to articulate the industry into which I will contribute £60,000, then lack of consideration may be better applied to you than me. I urge you totry.”
“A final question for you . . . ”
“No. Absolutely no more questions.”
“Mining and farming,” he said, dropping onto the bench. “There, I’ve said it. In general, simple terms.”
“Less general than that, if you please. Do you not know? Am I meant toguess?”
***
Years later, Cassin would look back on this moment and marvel that his life had descended from earldom and castle tohere. In a garden, hiding from someone’smother,being forced by a young woman to justify the great potential and bright future of . . .
“Guano,” he said.
Silence.
A loon sang in the distance. A breeze fluttered the leaves of the tree. Lady Willow stared, unblinking.
Cassin indulged the vain, fleeting hope that one word would do it, that she would drop this nonsense of a dowry and proposal and . . . and force him to go.
After a long moment, she said, “I beg your pardon?”
Cassin cleared his throat. “Guano.” And then, because,why bloody not, he asked her, “Do you know it?”
She shook her head.
“Guano is a . . . natural resource,” he said. “Found on tropical islands.”
She bent immediately over her paper and began to scribble. “Go on,” she said.
