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“It sounds like a great deal of trouble,” Laura interrupted, “which is the same thing where he’s concerned.” But she was smiling despite it, small and rueful.

Kitty reached over and squeezed her hand. “Well,” she said, nodding toward the counter where Iris had piled up an alarming quantity of ribbon. “Whatever else is true, that little girl adores you. And she is a treasure!”

“She is, isn’t she?”

“I’ve been watching her watch you the whole conversation. That is not nothing, you know. That’s not a thing that happens by accident.”

Laura looked over at Iris, who was deep in negotiation with the shopkeeper, and felt her heart swell.

“No,” she agreed. “I don’t suppose it is.”

They returned to Duskwell House as the light faded gold across the square, Iris half asleep against Laura’s shoulder, a small paper parcel clutched in one fist.

They had enjoyed a simple lunch at a teahouse with Kitty and visited more shops before the little girl had begun yawning, and Laura decided it was time to return.

Laura was still turning over the afternoon’s conversation in her mind, and what it meant for Nathaniel, when the carriage stopped. After Miss Borden picked Iris up and hopped off, Laura got out, stepped through the front door, and stopped short.

“How many flowers are there?”

The entrance hall had been filled to the brim with flowers. Not the grand, formal arrangements she’d have expected in a townhouse in Mayfair, but something organic and beautiful.

Primroses and tulips stood in low vases on the hall table, the same varieties, she realized with a slow jolt, that she and Iris had planted together in the castle garden. A row of them lined the stair rail and spilled into the drawing room beyond, the whole house lit gold and pink, the same colors that would grow out of the neglected beds in the castle garden.

“How beautiful,” she heard Miss Borden murmur, then Laura turned to see Iris stirring against her shoulder, blinking slowly awake, taking in all the flowers filling the hall.

“Oh,” Iris breathed, turning to take it all in. “I thought they wouldn’t come until spring.”

“These must be hothouse flowers.”

“Oh my goodness!” Iris shrieked, which was so unlike her.

“What is it, darling?”

“It’s Gerald’s family!” she beamed, and Miss Borden set her down on the floor.

“Gerald’s family.” Laura found she couldn’t quite laugh, her throat too tight for it. “Of course.”

“His Grace ordered them specially,” called the housekeeper, a kindly woman named Mrs. Sweppers. She came forward to take their purchases. “He sent word ahead before you’d left the castle, asking that the townhouse be decorated with flowers like the ones you planted in the castle garden. Said Her Grace ought to feel at home here as well as there.”

“Sent word ahead?” Laura repeated faintly. “Before we’d even departed?”

“Days before, Your Grace. Nearly drove the head gardener to distraction tracking down primroses out of season from the local hothouses, and tulips to match besides. He was very particular about it. Wanted the exact varieties; nothing else would do.” Mrs. Sweppers’ mouth curved. “I have never in my years of service seen a man take such an interest in decor.”

“Did he say why?” Laura asked, though she suspected she already knew, and suspected that asking aloud would only make the answer harder to bear. “Is there a reason for all this?”

“He didn’t say why, Your Grace. He rarely explains himself. Only that it mattered to him that you find the place welcoming. I’ll be back in a moment to give you a tour, if you’ll excuse me for a moment.” Mrs. Sweppers inclined her head and moved off to see to the trunks, leaving her standing still in the middle of the hall.

Laura was surrounded—no, swallowed—by primroses and tulips that had no business growing this late and must have cost a fortune to arrange. As she looked at each bloom, she felt the careful walls around her heart start to crack.

No one… no one has ever done something like this for me in my entire life. I do not think anyone has ever listened to me, not like this, except for Kitty. But this is so… different. He noticed.

Nathaniel had noticed. He had remembered, surely with Mr. Whipp’s help, the exact flowers and had gone to the trouble of having them sent ahead and arranged before she’d even arrived.

He had been so quiet in the days after the lake incident, preparing for their trip to London. He had said nothing of it, had simply let her walk in and discover it on her own after a day of shopping.

Rough hands, soft heart, the apple seller’s words echoed in her mind, unbidden and maddeningly accurate.

Iris smiled, not surprised at all. “It smells like home,” she murmured.