Amelia led the ladies out to the gardens, beaming with pride when they all exclaimed at the delightful riot of colors spread before them. Like the manor house, the gardens were not grand, but so charming, especially the rhododendrons, which bloomed in a wild profusion of every hue of purple imaginable, from the richest plum to the palest lilac.
“They’re set against the green shrubs to show off their color, Lady Eleanor,” Amelia told her. “All different shades of purple. My Aunt Mary says my mother had a flair for color, and that’s why the gardens are so pretty.”
“Did your mother design the gardens, Amelia?” Eleanor asked, surprised.
“Yes. I didn’t ever know her, you know,” Amelia said, drifting into a new topic the way children tend to do. “She died when I was born. Her name was Sarah.”
Eleanor’s throat closed. She took Amelia’s hand. “I’m sorry you didn’t ever know her.”
Amelia gazed up at her, and a shadow of a frown passed across her innocent face. “You look sad, Lady Eleanor, but I wish you wouldn’t be, for there’s no need. I have Denny, you know, and Uncle Julian and Aunt Mary.”
She didn’t mention her uncle Reginald. Both Cam and his sister had a habit of pretending the man didn’t exist.
“You have a beautiful garden, as well,” Lily said. “If you ever feel lonely for your mother, you can come here to remember her.”
“I can’t think of a lovelier memorial to her,” Charlotte added. “Now, didn’t I see a bridge when we came up the drive? It looked as if there were some wildf lowers growing there. Will you show us?”
Amelia, overjoyed to find that such fine ladies appreciated her home, agreed at once. “Yes, if you’re not too tired for a walk. It’s not far.”
Eleanor slipped her hand out of Amelia’s. “You all go on. I think I will retire to my room for a short rest. I might have ridden too far today after all, Charlotte.” She gave her sister a meaningful look.
Charlotte caught on at once. “Oh . . . ah, yes, you do look fatigued, Eleanor. You go rest, and we’ll find you a bit later.”
“All right.” Amelia looked disappointed to lose her favorite, but she brightened when Charlotte took her hand. “What sorts of wildflowers grow in Hertfordshire, then?”
“Oh, all kinds. Poppies, and butterfly bush . . .” Amelia’s voice grew faint as she and the other ladies drifted in the direction of the bridge.
Eleanor watched them go, then hurried back to the house. She found Mary West at the bottom of the main staircase, talking to one of the maids.
Mrs. West turned to Eleanor with a wan smile. “Your room is ready, Lady Eleanor. Winnie will show you up.”
The maid curtsied.
Eleanor held out her hand to Mrs. West. “You’re very kind. I do hope we’ve not inconvenienced you too much with our visit.”
Mary West looked surprised, but after a brief hesitation she took Eleanor’s hand. “This is Camden’s home. He’s welcome to bring whomever he wishes, whenever he wishes.”
Not everyone welcomes him.
Eleanor blinked, surprised to find the words on the tip of her tongue. Did she think to champion Camden West now?
What foolishness.
She bit the words back, wondering at her vehemence. Mary West didn’t deserve her ire, and she didn’t want to alienate Cam’s aunt when the woman could prove to be an invaluable source of information.
Still . . . she’d try her luck with Winnie first. The maid was less likely than Mrs. West to tell Cam Eleanor was asking questions.
She turned a dazzling smile on Winnie. “I’m ready.”
Winnie led her upstairs and showed her to a comfortable bedchamber on the third floor that overlooked the gardens. “Here you are, my lady. Shall I open the window? There’s often a nice breeze in the afternoon.”
Eleanor untied the ribbons under her chin and laid her bonnet on the bed. “By all means. Have you been at Lindenhurst long, Winnie?”
Winnie tugged on the window, which opened with a protesting creak. “Oh yes, my lady. Since I was a wee young thing.”
Ah.Perfect. “Indeed. So you must have been here when Amelia was born.”
Winnie smiled. “Aye. I was at that, and such a sweet little babe she was. Hardly ever cried, that one.”
