Page 25

At last he muttered while toeing a pebble, “When the Blue Damask blooms, enemies become . . . lovers.”

Chester’s gaze locked with Eden’s, and though the fat bees kept buzzing about, the birds continued to sing, and the chickens clucked and cackled, the world narrowed to a tiny prism where they gazed into the other’s souls—at once discomfiting and exhilarating.

About that midnight picnic . . .

“Eden . . .?”

“Auntie Eg. Auntie Eg.”

Two ruddy-cheeked boys, their hair a shade lighter than their aunt’s, skipped from the barn.

Enveloping them in her embrace, she kissed the tops of their dark blond heads.

“Oh, my goodness. What are you doing here, my darlings? Did you sneak away from your tutor again? Your mama and papa will not be pleased. Though I am so happy to see you.”

She kissed them each again.

Eglantina Eden Haverden liked children.

Chester did too.

He’d always hoped to find a wife who actually enjoyed bed sport and who wouldn’t object to several offspring rather than the required heir and spare.

Ridiculously pleased at another similarity between them, he propped an elbow on the cart and enjoyed Eden doting on her nephews.

“We were looking at the chicks. I saw one hatch all by itself! Old Ronald said we might.” This from the smaller chap with eyes the same lavender blue shade as his aunt’s. He ran the sleeve covering his forearm across his drippy nose. A dirt smudge remained above his left brow.

The older fellow, a trifle more reticent than his exuberant brother, cocked his head. “He said we might have one of the chicks as our own? Is it true? Might we truly?”

Eden laughed, and Chester stood stalk still, spellbound by her sheer loveliness. None of this made any sense. His immediate and powerful attraction to someone who everyone from his father to le beau monde would deem unsuitable.

A misalliance if there ever were one.

Precisely what made Eden Haverden perfect. For him.

She was so wholly unexpected. Completely unique. A wisp of fresh air in a stale and fusty room.

“Yes, you may each pick one chick as your very own pet. You must name it too.” She kissed each of their heads a final time.

“Eglantina! Explain yourself. What are you doing in the company of this man?”

A shutter closed over the contours of Eden’s delicate features as surely if she’d slammed stout wooden panels across a window as she faced Simon Andrews, protectively encircling her nephews with her slender arms.

Chester came ’round the dog cart, the urge to shield her from the furious man stalking toward them so overwhelming that he angled his body, intending to step in front of Eden and block Andrews’s progress.

“Don’t,” she whispered, sliding Chester a sideways glance, her eyes all but pleading with him. “Don’t say anything, I beg you. Let me handle this.”

Chester indicated his acquiescence with the merest narrowing of his eyes and an infinitesimal nod.

She canted her head toward the cart. “Ronald, please tend to Peony.”

“Yes, miss.” Ronald grasped the horse’s halter, but before leading her away, speared Andrews a reproachful look.

Hands on his hips, Andrews glowered at his sons. “How many times must I tell you not to address her as Auntie Egg? She’s Miss Eglantina to you.” He made a shooing motion. “Go home. Now. And await me in the nursery. While you are there, consider what punishment is appropriate for defying me.”

“Yes, Father,” the eldest said, his repentant gaze cast to the ground.

Andrews speared Eden a reproachful glance. “I wonder how often this occurs behind my back?”