Page 24

“I trust you are none the worse for your dip into the stream yesterday?”

Took him long enough to get around to that, hadn’t it?

Stark fear seized him when she’d toppled into Black Beck, and the strong current dragged her farther and farther from him. Even now, the memory caused his heartbeat to quicken and his mouth to go dry.

“Except for a few bruises, I’m quite recovered.” Face a shade paler, she gave a delicate shudder. “But until that bridge is repaired and has a rail added, I’m never crossing it again.”

“I intend to speak to Father and our bailiff this very afternoon about the matter, and I’ve already sent men to block off the bridge so no other traveler meets the same fate.”

Chester dropped his feet to the floorboard and smothered another yawn. Sleep had evaded him most of the night for numerous reasons, not the least of which was the remarkable woman perched beside him. Each time he closed his eyelids, her lively eyes and petal pink mouth invaded his musings.

She drove Peony to the ramshackle outbuilding, and Old Ronald shuffled from the barn.

“Here we are, your lordship. Briar Knoll Cottage.”

As was her habit, probably because there weren’t often men about to offer their assistance, she jumped to the ground without waiting for Chester to help her.

He followed, then bent to scratch Mr. Wiggles’s back.

The dog gazed at him adoringly for half a second before seeking his mistress with his trusting eyes.

“Miss Eden, I have a surprise for you.” Old Ronald hobbled to the wagon, his lopsided smile matching his irregular gait. Not a hint of censure about her irregular homecoming, but rather fatherly affection warmed his kind, weathered face.

“You do?” Joy bloomed across her features, once again transforming her.

So, Miss Eglantina Haverden liked surprises, did she?

“What is it?” She drew back, suddenly wary, giving him a gimlet eye. “Please tell me, not another two-headed chick.” She turned that acute regard on Chester. “They only lived six days. It was awful, poor things.”

“No, nothing like that, miss. Look.” He pointed an arthritic finger to a trio of sturdy rose bushes situated behind a hospitable wrought iron bench. “The roses have buds.”

Eden tossed him an incredulous look as she hurried closer.

“Truly? It’s the first time that I can recall, though Mama swears they bloomed years ago.”

“My mother also grew roses.” Chester ventured nearer as well. “What kind are they? I wonder if we’ve any at Perygrim?”

“I myself planted a start there many years ago, sir. Before . . .”

Old Ronald cleared his throat and dropped his gaze whilst hitching up his trousers.

“They are Blue Damask, a very rare rose, indeed,” Eden offered in answer as she gingerly lifted a stem laden with five small buds. “I was prepared to give up on them this year and have the plants removed to make room for gooseberry bushes.”

Probably so she could sell the fruit.

Old Ronald laughed and slapped his hip with one hand while tugging his raggedy brimmed straw hat lower on his head with the other. “Legend says the blooming of the Blue Damask rose is a good omen.”

“I’ve never heard any such thing.” The smile she bestowed upon the hunched servant held genuine affection. “What’s this omen? We certainly could use a bit of luck.”

She released the heavy stem and stretched her spine, then pressed a hand to her forehead and rubbed gently.

Had her headache worsened?

A tinge of pain lingered in her eyes. Weariness too.

Old Ronald’s rheumy gaze grew serious, and his attention flitted to Chester then back to Eden. He pulled on his earlobe, his sudden unease palpable.

“Ronald? Aren’t you going to tell us the omen?”