Page 16 of While the Duke Was Sleeping (England’s Sweethearts #1)

“My lord, it is a monstrosity, an eyesore, a blight on the landscape. Only a fool with no taste could think painting an entire barn a violent shade of pink would be a good thing.”

The young woman who stood next to the furious farmer had a stubborn, mulish glare. “I like flowers. It reminds me of fuchsias.”

“Then plant yourself a garden and spare the rest of us.”

“Plant yourself a hedge so you don’t have to see it.”

The farmer’s eyes almost bugged out of his head. “My lord, this cannot be tolerated. It is your land, your barn, your duty to make her see sense.”

It was not Rhett’s land, Rhett’s barn, or Rhett’s duty, but he had made it through the past twenty minutes of arguing with neighbors. He could make it through this.

“My lord, that barn was old and decrepit. His Grace gave me explicit permission to renovate it as I saw fit.”

“His Grace clearly didn’t expect that you would lose your damned mind and paint it such an offensive shade.”

Rhett rubbed his temples. “There is no need for such language in front of the ladies, Mr. Jones. Mrs. Patterson, is the painting complete?”

She shook her head, her loose curls bouncing furiously. “No. I had only gotten as far as the trim before Mr. Jones got his knickers twisted and dragged me here.”

The farmer gasped in outrage, his face turning beet red. “How dare you suggest I wear knickers ?” The last word escaped his mouth in a horrified whisper.

Rhett put a hand up to halt the exchange. “Then this is what we’re going to do. Painting will pause on all sides of the barn that face other properties.” The young woman’s jaw dropped, and Rhett wagged a finger. He wasn’t finished. “Just until I’ve had time to view it for myself. You want something that will spark the same joy your garden does in the middle of winter? There will be a way to do so that does not offend your neighbor. In the meantime, I give you leave to paint the interior of your house whatever shade you like. Then your winter garden can follow you every minute of the day.”

The farmer snorted. “When Mrs. Patterson leaves, you’ll have to repaint the entire home before you’ll find another tenant.”

“And that will be my brother’s problem.” Rhett looked at his pocket watch and then at Della. She had entered with a tea tray and was standing quietly by the door, shooting him smiles of optimism along with enthusiastic head nodding. It centered him. It gave him the motivation to continue. “Mrs. Patterson, I will be over to scope out work on the barn this afternoon. If you’ll excuse me, there is another tenant I must see.” He stood and shook both of their hands.

The farmer nodded smugly, clearly seeing the morning as a win. The woman gave a satisfied swish of her skirts as she left. Job done.

“Bright fuchsia?” Della snorted as she lay the tea tray on the desk in front of him. “I love a garden as much as the next person, but some colors should be used sparingly.”

“Agreed.” Rhett looked at the warm shortbread on a plate next to the teapot. How she had known what he needed in this moment, he could not fathom. He scoffed one down. “Are there many more waiting?”

“Just one. A burly gentleman.”

Rhett sighed, relieved that it was almost over. “Send him in. Then we will wake up my brother so he can deal with the next argument.”

“It’s a plan,” she said, smiling.

His heart jerked as she gave his hand a comforting squeeze. As he watched her leave, he realized all his doubts had vanished. He knew too much of her for it be a lie. Which meant maybe he could do this, if he had to, if worse came to worst and his brother passed. If Lady Cordelia Highwater, daughter of a duke, accomplished member of the ton , was with him, he was almost certain he could. She was so competent and self-assured and steady. She made him assured. She made him steady, and perhaps he was more competent than he’d ever given himself credit for.

“My lord,” a beefy man said, his shoulders stiff as he nodded in deference from the door.

Rhett gestured for him to come in, smiling in the hope that it would make the man comfortable. “Everett, please,” he said, holding out a hand for the man to shake.

“My lord Everett.” The man shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I need you to talk to my son. He is acting foolishly. Benjie wishes to marry Julia Smith . It will not be tolerated.”

Two hours later, the entire Montgomery family was crammed into the duke’s bedroom. “Are we certain this is going to work?” Jacqueline asked, regarding the jar Adelaide held with suspicion, her hand pinching her nostrils shut.

“No, not at all,” Adelaide admitted. There was definitely a chance. One would have to be pretty close to dead not to react to the sensory overload she and Rhett had planned. He had taken her faux smelling salts idea and run with it, turning it into something better and more terrifying than she could ever have managed on her own. The poor duke.

“Is that stench why the footmen were so cranky at breakfast?” Winnie fanned a scented handkerchief in front of her face.

“Very likely, yes,” Rhett said, grinning. He’d been looking forward to this moment since they’d discussed the plan on their brisk walk home from the bakery. Over the top of Winnie’s head, he caught Adelaide’s eye. Something had changed in the way he looked at her. His gaze was hot but steady, less like a crackling fire and more like a steaming cup of tea that soothed the senses and warmed from within. Even when she blushed and looked away, the steadiness stayed.

She was overcome by wanting, a sudden knowing. Here was a person she could imagine a future with, a future beyond a couple of weeks in a town she was just moving through. When she pictured her home with its walls and heavy furniture, there was now a person in it. Someone who ate at the same oak table, who lay on a rug beneath a tree reading while she planted flowers that lasted more than a few days because they had roots in the soil.

Rhett, next to her, with her, forming a future together. He was kind and funny and loved his family fiercely. His enthusiasm for life was so vibrant, despite all he was going through. The stories he told of his travels were full of color and passion and a vitality that made her yearn for the same. He was open to life and to people. It made her wonder if she shouldn’t try to be as he was.

As long as he wasn’t the next duke, and as long as he felt likewise, he might be persuaded to put down roots with her. The two of them could lease a house, perhaps here in Berwick with England’s finest pain au chocolat a mere stroll away. With a steady home base, she might enjoy travel again.

Who wouldn’t want that?

“And so, what is the plan again?” Meg asked from the chair by the window, shaking Adelaide from her reverie.

“Rhett is going to cover Peter’s feet with snow,” Adelaide said. “Edwina is going to play the violin. Jacqueline is going to tap Peter’s elbow with this candle snuffer, right where the funny bone sits, and I am going to uncork this concoction and hold it under his nose.”

Jacqueline frowned as she took the candle snuffer from Adelaide with an annoyed glance. “I don’t see why Winnie gets to play the violin and I only get to tap Peter’s elbow. Surely, as the elder sister, I should be the one to choose.”

The youngest Montgomery sibling gave a satisfied hmph , looking as smug as Adelaide had ever seen anyone look.

Rhett put an arm around Jacqueline’s shoulders, squeezing her until she shrugged and tried to twist out of his grip. “Winnie gets to play the violin because she is an order of magnitude worse at it than you.”

Edwina’s satisfied smirk morphed into a look of outrage, and, for a moment, Adelaide thought she might toss the violin and leave in a huff, but Meg stalled whatever objection was coming with a sharp “Ah, ah, ah.” Even Rhett jerked to attention and snapped his mouth shut.

Nodding her approval at how quickly all three of her siblings ceased their bickering, Meg turned to Adelaide. “Why the funny bone?”

“Because we want him to feel pain, but not too much pain. Plucking his nostril hairs would be better, but the bottle will be in the way.”

Edwina leaned over the bed and peered up her brother’s nose. “If this doesn’t work, I think we should take tweezers to him, anyway. It’s a forest up there. He’ll thank us when he wakes.”

It was like herding cats. Keeping one of the currently conscious members of the Montgomery family on target was a challenge. Trying to orchestrate all four of them was a feat worthy of a saint or the devil himself. “I will leave the personal grooming decisions to his siblings.”

“Why?” Jacqueline looked at her askance. “You’re his fiancée. You’re the one who is going to have to look at it in bed each morning, and you’re as much a part of the family as we are.”

The words were said so casually that it took a second for Adelaide’s brain to process them. Then she was unable to keep tears from springing to her eyes. Her throat tightened, and all she could manage was a nod.

She turned so the girls wouldn’t witness her oversized response to Jacqueline’s simple words.

She had never truly had a family. The thought of joining someone else’s had not occurred to her. Unconditional love, easy camaraderie, a genuine sense of belonging, even frustration tempered by affection—these were all things Della had thought were tied to blood relations, but she felt them now, for the first time that she could recall.

Even though none of the furniture in this room belonged to her, she sensed a wisp of the feeling she’d been chasing—a home.

Joining the Montgomery family would mean no more holidays spent by herself. There would always be someone she could talk to. She could share a life with them. They had several houses and plenty of space for an ancient chaise longue. Joining this family would mean she wouldn’t be alone.

Surely the girls would still consider her a sister if it was Rhett who she ended up marrying. The whole Peter situation could be forgiven once they understood why she’d deceived them.

She swiped at her eyes before anyone could see the tears welling there. When she turned around, Rhett was giving her a funny look, as though he longed for something as much as she did. He stared at her, hot and heavy, and a lump formed in her throat.

Could he read her thoughts? Could he guess how she felt about him? Did he know how much she wished everything was different? Once the duke wakes, Adelaide. Then you can come clean and beg his forgiveness.

Meg cleared her throat, and Rhett’s attention jerked back to the room.

Adelaide smiled colorlessly. “Let’s get to it.”

Thirty minutes later, Andrew walked into the room with a stack of papers, took one look at the scene in front of him and walked back out again, shaking his head. Adelaide couldn’t blame him. They must have been quite a sight.

Meg paused tapping together the two bells they’d found in Peter’s room. The first had come from the wall. Rhett had unhooked it from the rope that called downstairs. The second bell had been found on a table by Peter’s bathtub.

“Don’t mind Andrew,” Jac said to Adelaide, continuing to tap out a beat on an overturned hatbox with the candle snuffer she’d previously wielded as a weapon. “He’s been looking for a moment with Rhett for two days. He rather thinks you are avoiding him, brother.”

“He thinks that because I am,” Rhett said. Once they’d all conceded that the plan wasn’t working, Rhett had taken the violin from his sister while Della had corked the foul-smelling salts and tossed them out the window. Now he played a delicate, jaunty tune as he spoke. “At least I was avoiding him. He wants to run over the estate finances.”

“Does he know you?” Winnie asked. “I love you, brother, but finances are not your strong suit.”

Della was about to object when Rhett drew an uncharacteristically sharp note. “I am well aware. Hence, why I was avoiding him.”

Meg tut-tutted. “This is not another commitment you can shove beneath your bed and hope people forget about. Peter is relying on you to step in while he is unwell.”

Rhett’s jaw tightened, and Della could see a muscle tighten along it. She ached to reach out a hand to let him know he wasn’t alone.

“I will do it,” Rhett said. There was anger and frustration in his tone. “I will see Andrew directly once we are finished. I just needed some time to center myself.” He looked at Adelaide and smiled. “I’ve had my time. I will attend to the estate matters this afternoon. Now where were we?”

“Eighth day of Christmas,” Adelaide said, and the cacophony of homemade instruments and enthusiastic singing began once more, filling her with a sense of Christmas spirit she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.