He smiled back. “Do tell.”
“Well, you know how your father is always going on and on about throwing away your fossils?”
“Oh, yes, I do,” he said dryly.
She admired the boy’s equanimity. When the duke had unkind words for her, Christian never failed to retaliate on her behalf, no matter how many times he had been sent to bed without his supper. But when he himself was the subject of the duke’s ire, by and large he brushed aside the duke’s tirades as if they were so many gnats on a hot summer day.
“It so happens that I have commissioned a number of armoires for the rooms of the east wing.”
“Nobody uses the east wing,” he reminded her.
“Precisely. I have been waiting for the armoires to arrive, and I am pleased to inform you that they are going to be delivered on the morrow. When you open them, you will find that they have been equipped with partitioned drawers of various depths, perfect for the storage of fossils.”
Christian sucked in a breath. “And they come equipped with locks, of course.”
“Of course. And no one will even be curious about them, since they will be permanently hidden under dust covers.”
He kissed her on the cheek, nearly upsetting her teacup. “You are a marvel, Stepmama.”
“Well, yes, I am,” she admitted modestly.
They both laughed and lifted their cups.
“To outfoxing your father,” she said.
“To you,” answered her stepson simply.
Her heart ached. Often she wished she’d had the good sense to not marry the duke, but never had she regretted becoming part of Christian’s life. She kissed him on his forehead and rose. “You go back to digging. I had better reorganize the seating chart for dinner.”
Mr. Kingston would be seated next to Miss Elphinstone even if Clarissa had to redo the entire arrangement from scratch.
For the next three days, whenever Clarissa wasn’t seeing to her guests or helping Christian smuggle his fossils into the new armoires in the east wing, she studied Mr. Kingston.
Very, very discreetly: a glance in passing, a question to someone in the next seat, a slightly more circuitous route that brought her near him as she wended among groups of guests.
She was…disappointed. The man who had been so assertive and resolute in praise of Miss Elphinstone’s virtues had all but disappeared; even Miss Elphinstone herself could barely get two words out of him. And the man who had almost turned around for a private moment with Clarissa did not approach her again during the remainder of the house party—did not even glance at her, as far as she could tell.
Except when he left. They happened to be alone in the entry hall of the house. As he said his good-byes—the first time she’d heard his voice since the day of their meeting—he gazed directly at her.
His eyes were hazel.
Her heart did something worrisome in her chest. A moment later she was looking at his retreating back, wanting something quite badly and yet not sure exactly what.
The other guests also departed; Christian left for a new term at Harrow; the duke and his latest mistress took off for London. All at once Clarissa found herself alone in a house of a hundred fifty rooms, with only her own thoughts and memories of Mr. Kingston’s seemingly contradictory actions for company.
Clarissa was taking her tea the next afternoon when a letter arrived from a woman named Julia Kirkland.
Your Grace,
I write in the hope of obtaining a cutting of lavender hydrangea from Algernon House. Please do not feel obliged to bestir yourself, for I am a terrible gardener and the cutting has a better chance of going around the world in eighty days than surviving my attempts at propagation.
All the same, I pray that you would part with a stem or two.
Some time ago, I had the opportunity of visiting Algernon House—and came upon a stranger standing by a large stone tub of the hydrangea. I fell in love at once. But, as is the way of such things, we parted with scarcely a word exchanged.
I would like to remember that day—and my unobtainable beloved—with a profusion of hydrangea blooms in my garden. I am more than a little ashamed at this maudlin urge—I had always believed myself made of sterner stuff. But then along comes love and makes fools of us all.
Yours sincerely,
J.M.K.
A portion of Algernon House, one of the greatest manors of the land, was open to the public, even when the family was in residence. From time to time, as Clarissa went about her duties, she would see clusters of tourists, necks craning, being guided by an under-housekeeper through suites of formal rooms or around the magnificent grounds.
But how strange to think of a visitor falling in love on those very grounds, to know that someone, at this very moment, was experiencing the same pangs of longing and futility that plagued Clarissa.