Page 185

Perriton Grange

Surrey

“Seamus! Seamus!”

Alice looked up from her book and smiled as she watched her five-year-old son, Oliver, run up the steps to the terrace that stretched across the back of Perriton Grange.

Seamus, now head gardener at The Grange, as it was known in the county, stopped his attention to the climbing roses on either side of the conservatory doors that led out to the terrace.

He and Alice exchanged a grin as the excited little boy ran up to him, nearly out of breath.

“My flowers are blooming, Seamus. The ones we planted by the fishes. My daffils are blooming!” Oliver had yet to master the word daffodils, but daffils was close enough for Alice.

“Well of course they are, Master Oliver. Those daffils come from good stock, and you are a good gardener. Let’s have a look.

” Seamus took Oliver by the hand, touched a finger to his cap, and turned back towards the steps that led into the spacious formal gardens that spanned the lawn between the main house and the river.

“Grandmama!” As he and Seamus descended the steps, Oliver spotted Sinjin’s mother walking in the garden with three-year-old Eleanor. “Come with us to see my flowers.”

“I come too,” Eleanor cried. “I want to see the flowers.”

“I planted them, Ellie, and they grew,” Oliver explained as he took his sister’s hand. “I’m a good gardener. Like Papa.” Mama waved at Alice as she took Eleanor’s other hand and they all made their way down the wide gravel path into the gardens.

Once the party of daffodil lovers walked out of view, Alice picked up her book and began to read once more.

However, reading Cordelia’s latest novel in her An Insatiable Lady series proved a singular experience in Alice’s current condition.

Not to put too fine a point on things, Alice had to admit that the scandalous novels written by Lady Cordelia Whitcombe, her aunt by virtue of her marriage to Alice’s Uncle Daedalus and now her sister-in-law by virtue of Alice’s marriage to Cordelia’s brother, were the very reason she was in her current condition.

She shifted on the chaise longue in an attempt to ease the pain in her back caused by the weight of her third child, who would not make his or her appearance for another six weeks, according to Mister Carrington-Bowles and the local midwife.

“The lady of the manor left quite alone by her loyal subjects? This will not do.” Sinjin strode out of his conservatory followed by Andrew, the footman who had returned to Perriton Grange from London after Alice and Sinjin’s marriage.

Like Sinjin, the footman preferred the country life to the noise and hurry of Town and now served as The Grange’s butler.

Frederick had complained most vociferously to no avail.

“A shame and disgrace, is what it is, sir,” Andrew said in a fair imitation of the butler, Danders, who had stayed with Missus Beatty to take care of Master Frederick .

He placed the tray he’d carried out from the house on the table next to Alice.

“Tea, milady. And some of Betsy’s scones and the last of Mister Charpentier’s macarons.

” He bowed and left the terrace, giving Sinjin a wink.

Sinjin settled onto the end of the chaise. “Where is everyone?” he asked as she poured herself a cup of tea and then began to butter a scone. Betsy was now the cook at Perriton Grange, and she’d brought many of the Scots recipes of her ancestors with her.

“Oliver’s daffils have commanded an audience with Seamus, Mama, and Ellie so that they might admire Oliver’s gardening skills. Skills he inherited from his father, no doubt.”

Sinjin grinned and began to remove Alice’s slippers. “No doubt. Lest you forget, however, his father has other skills.” Alice sighed as he began to massage her feet and ankles.

“He does indeed.” She sipped her tea and closed her eyes as he used his powerful hands to work their magic on her aching feet. “Although one of those skills landed me in this condition, if you recall.”

He laughed. “I do recall, actually.” He kissed the top of the foot he’d been massaging and moved on to her other foot. “I recall quite vividly.”

“I should have known in marrying a botanist I would be marrying a man who is skilled at planting seeds. Sinjin, careful!” She managed to return her teacup to the table without spilling any as he slid up the side of the chaise and took her into his arms. He brushed his lips across hers twice before settling in to give her a deep, sensuous kiss.

She sifted her fingers through his hair, grown long to his shoulders since they’d decamped permanently to the country.

He took his time savoring her mouth, nipping at her lips until she opened for him.

Their tongues danced and glided in a slow exploration of each other, taking turns in leading the dance.

“Goodness,” Alice gasped when he finally raised his head and looked into her eyes. “What was that for?”

“For everything, my love.” He wrapped one arm around her to support her back.

His other hand he rested on her swollen belly.

“For all of this.” He glanced around them and then returned his piercing gaze to her.

“For our children. For our life here. For taking charge of The Grange after we lost Father and Mama nearly followed him.” A fleeting expression of pain crossed his features.

“She would have, you know, had it not been for the children and for you making her such an important part of their lives.”

Sinjin’s father had finally succumbed to his illness a year ago.

He’d lived to see the birth of his grandson and granddaughter, thanks to the care of Mister Carrington-Bowles and the medicines he and Sinjin had developed together.

Grandpapa, as the children had called him, had taken great joy in Oliver and Eleanor.

He’d taken great pride in the man Sinjin had become, and went to his reward knowing Alice and Sinjin would take perfect care of the estate and of his beloved wife.

Frederick, who preferred life in London to that in the country, managed the family’s other two estates and their business concerns in Town.

And Reggie? He took care of most of London’s widows and actresses, much to Sinjin and Frederick’s consternation.

Reggie was, however, the perfect uncle who spent hours playing with the children when he visited.

Uncle Frederick was much loved as well because he invariably brought the contents of most of the toy shops and a trunk of new children’s picture books with him each time he returned to The Grange.

“Oh, Sinjin, your father was far more dear to me than my own. I miss him so.” She sighed and brushed away a tear.

“And Mama is far better than any hired nanny, though she does tend to spoil the children when we aren’t watching.

You have given me everything I have ever wanted, you dear man.

What more could I ask for?” She cupped his cheek and brushed her thumb across his face.

“Fortitude,” he said, one eyebrow raised. He pulled a stack of letters from beneath the plate of macarons. “They’re coming here for Easter.” She picked up the opened missives and quickly began to scan the contents.

“They who? How many…oh good Lord! I must speak to Betsy, and Andrew, and Missus Batholomew.” She struggled to move off the chaise, but Sinjin trapped her with his body.

“Missus Bartholomew has everything in hand. She is our housekeeper, you know. They’re our family, my love, not an invading army.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “They eat like an invading army, and you know everything must be just so for Uncle Percy. Not to mention Lady Camilla is coming.”

“Which means more macarons for me.” Sinjin broke a macaron in half, held half to her lips and popped the other into his own mouth.

“All those people, and all of their children, and only two weeks to prepare? Are you mad? Let me up at once.” She sat up and heard a thunk as her book fell to the terrace. Sinjin bent and retrieved the tome. His face creased into a lascivious grin when he saw the title page.

“Yes, two weeks to prepare, but Olivia and Will are to arrive tomorrow and Cordelia and Daedalus arrive the day after that. You will have plenty of help and plenty of time.”

Alice took a deep breath and studied his sculpted face, tanned and relaxed from hours of work in his various gardens. He was at peace here, and she realized his peace was her peace. “You wrote to them and asked them to come early.”

“I sent a note by Dickie when he stopped here last month on his way back to Town.” He glanced around the terrace. “Which gives us a little time for you to read to me from this scandalous book, Missus Perriton. Make room, my love.”

Alice shifted over on the chaise, and he stretched out on his side next to her, his head on her shoulder and his hand resting on the child they were waiting to meet.

In the distance she heard the exuberant voices of her children, a music she would hear often in the gardens of Perriton Grange where generations of trampled daffodils would grow and thrive, like the adoration she had for her husband, who taught her that real beauty might be trampled but could never be destroyed.

Real beauty rested within, safe and sound, and greatly loved.