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“I shall write to her today.”

Miss Ainsworth nodded, her face pale. “It might be best.”

His list of failures was growing. Arriving at Langton House without flowers now seemed insignificant compared to neglecting to inform his staff of the rather significant change about to occur in the household. He’d had almost ten years to prepare for this event, and yet, he had never felt so wholly unready for anything.

“Perhaps you should continue to ask me specific questions,” he said.

“Tell me about Finley Park itself.”

He relaxed slightly. Surely this was something that would not expose his shortcomings so blatantly.

“The house has been in the family for four generations,” he said. “My grandfather added an east and west wing to the original structure, but not much has changed since then. The grounds are extensive. My mother created a large rose garden.”

“I remember my mother walking through it with her when we visited,” Miss Ainsworth said. “I think it may have been the inspiration behind a similar rose garden at Langton House.” She offered the ghost of a smile. “My mother’s favorite flowers are roses.”

Sebastian filed that tidbit of information away. Knowing his future mother-in-law’s favorite flower would seem to be almost as important as knowing his wife’s.

“What else do you recall of the grounds?” he asked.

“The vast lawn and a grove of trees.” Her eyes met his. “There was a tree house.”

She remembered the tree house. It had been years since he’d sought sanctuary there, but for a long time, it had been his place of refuge. The former head gardener had helped him build it, and it had been the one place he could escape the weighty demands his father had insisted on placing upon his young shoulders. At some point during his later years at school, discovering new innovations had replaced remodeling his lofty fort, and the tree house had been displaced by his workshop.

“You have a good memory,” he said.

“Yes.” She had yet to look away, and the single word seemed to convey more than it should.

“Do you remember the river beyond the grove of trees?”

She shook her head, her shoulders drooping slightly. “I do not believe that I ventured that far.”

“The river cuts through Finley Park land. Most of the land farmed by tenants is to the west of the river. Luckily, their homes are also on that side.”

“Luckily?”

He nodded. “There’s an old bridge that connects the manor to the tenant cottages, but it’s in danger of collapse, and I have forbidden anyone from crossing it until it is replaced. The threat of it giving way when the river is high is too great.”

“Is there another way to reach the cottages and that stretch of land?”

“Yes, but it takes considerably longer. The road from the village of Aylesbury goes past the manor and continues to the cottages before joining the main thoroughfare to London.”

“Why has the bridge not been replaced before now if having it unusable is such an inconvenience?”

Sebastian chose his words carefully. “The last two bridges built in that spot have not withstood time or the elements. Having heard of the success Pritchard’s iron bridge has had in weathering strong currents and flash floods, I wish to erect something similar. Unfortunately, such a structure requires considerable funding.”

Understanding illuminated her face. “You mentioned that your father had placed money in a trust that could only be accessed after your marriage. How much longer will you have to wait?”

Miss Ainsworth was proving sharper than most of his peers at Oxford. “No time at all. Once the ceremony is performed and the registry signed, my solicitor can release the funds.”

She looked away, but not before Sebastian spotted the sadness in her eyes. “I am glad to know that something good will come from our marriage.”

He should not care that she was unhappy. He had managed to avoid caring about her or their wedding quite successfully all these years. But to his great discomfort, he found that he currently cared rather deeply. “You do not consider becoming a duchess to be beneficial?”

“Not especially.” Her shoulders lifted. “I suppose I am rather odd in that way.”

“Not odd,” he said. “Refreshing. You would not believe how many young ladies of my acquaintance would willingly marry a ninety-year-old gentleman with no teeth, poor vision, and chronic gout simply to claim the title of duchess. Not that I have anything against infirm older gentlemen, you understand, but that fact does little to boost a young duke’s self-confidence.”

His comment elicited a half smile.