Page 119 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Come on here, then,’ she called out softly.

They came at once. A scatter of small bodies, quick feet pattering over the ground, soft peeps echoing through the air. They weaved around her shoes, then past her towards Nate, standing looking her way from the far end, a box of plants in his hands.

‘You’ve spoiled them,’ he said.

‘Me?’ She said watching them gather at his feet eagerly. ‘They’re worse with you.’

‘That’s because I feed them.’

‘So do I.’

A brief smile from him; there and gone. Outside, the garden hummed; bees were finishing their work, a bird was calling from somewhere near the hedge.

The ducklings pressed closer, nudging against his boots, then turning back when Sammy moved, unwilling to lose either of them. They recognised them both now – voices, footsteps.

Imprinted, Nate had called it, as if she would know the word. The orphan ducklings assumed the creatures they first saw were their parents. Unwittingly Sammy had become a foster mother.

Sammy knelt on the floor, letting one climb clumsily over her sandal, the tiny feet warm on her instep. ‘Food, then bedtime for you lot.’

Sammy tipped the starter crumb onto an old plate she’d brought from her cottage. Nate followed with a handful of finely chopped spinach and Swiss chard, dark green against the creamy brown grain. The ducklings went at it all at once, their small bodies crowding in, feet unsteady but determined, heads darting, beaks tapping. One lost its footing, righted itself, and elbowed its way back in again. Another was standing in the food itself, pecking wildly. The sound of their soft clucks and scrabbling feet filled the space.

Sammy watched, the corner of her mouth lifting. ‘Someone needs to teach them some manners,’ she said. ‘Perhaps we should ask Magnus to give them a lesson. Bit of decorum wouldn’t go amiss.’

With the last crumb eaten, Sammy led the way to a small hut – an old dog kennel Nate had refashioned, adding a door – the ducklings following in a loose, determined line. ‘They won’t stay like this,’ Nate said.

Sammy kept her eyes on the hut. ‘I know.’

‘They’re not pets.’

‘I know.’

The bottom of the hut door dragged against the wooden floor, grating as she opened it. The inside was dark, but safe from predators. One by one, the ducklings slipped past her, settling in with restless sounds.

‘We’ll have to release them,’ Nate said.

She swallowed. ‘I know,’ she said, but this time with less conviction.

He reached for her, fingers light under her chin, tipping her face back forcing her to look at him. ‘We’ll have to release them,’ he repeated, quieter now. His eyes held hers, and she knew he wanted more than simple words.

Sammy nodded. She understood.

His hand stayed where it was, his thumb brushing the side of her jaw.

Sammy wanted this kiss. This was not a passing thought – it rose in her, certain and full, as if it had been waiting for this exact moment to show itself.

A rustle from behind them, and Chloe’s voice. ‘There you are! What’s for supper? I’m starving!’ Chloe was just outside the polytunnel, the door held back with one arm – she must have heard them talking.

Nate stepped back, something in his face closing off. ‘We were putting the ducks away,’ he said.

‘Shall we leave gardener boy to finish up then . . .’ Chloe said. ‘I’m meeting Jimmy for a drink later. Come on, you must be gasping for a wine too.’

Sammy didn’t move. From the hutch, the ducklings kept up their soft, constant noise, shifting against each other.

‘You two should come,’ Chloe added. ‘Make a night of it.’

Sammy turned to Nate who was staring at his shoes, scuffing the grass with one. He gave a small shrug.

Chloe ate standing-up, fork moving fast, barely tasting her food. ‘This is good,’ she said, already reaching for her bag. ‘Really good.’