Derek strode over to offer a steadying hand as the old wheelbarrow, tightly covered with a patched oilcloth, clanked loudly down the steps. The thick wooden handle of a grub hoe and the bent handle of a scythe protruded from beneath the cloth.
When the two men had guided the barrow to a safe landing at the bottom of the stairs, Bantry pushed it a few feet to one side, then stood back to survey the group.
“Much obliged, Mr. Derek, sir,” he said. His gaze traveled quickly past Susannah and came to rest on Emma. Grinning broadly, he crossed over to her and, before she could stop him, seized her muddy hand and pumped it vigorously.
“Bantry, head gardener, at your service,” he said. “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Emma. His Grace told me you’d arrived.” He indicated the tool-filled barrow with a jerk of his head. “Thought I’d make a start. Won’t turn a clod without your say-so, o’ course. Ah, you’ve been at it already, I see.” He looked down at the damp soil that had been transferred from Emma’s palm to his own. “Wonderful stuff Her Grace laid in here. Don’t know what she did to make it so rich. She never told Father or Grandfather and she never told me.” He touched the muddy tip of his little finger to his tongue, looked thoughtfully skyward, then turned his head and spat, missing Susannah’s toes by inches. “Gull shit, I think.”
“Oh, my Lord,” Susannah said faintly. “How very rustic.” She glanced up at the garden door and said, more loudly, “Grayson, darling, did you know that Bantry’s acquired a taste for guano?”
“I should think it would be an acquired taste,” Grayson replied. He ran nimbly down the stairs to join the little group. “Everyone’s met everyone, I trust? Good. Now, if you’ll all be lambs and give me five minutes alone with Emma, I’ll be forever in your debt.”
Bantry climbed the stairs and left the garden without demur, and when Susannah began to protest, Derek quickly cut her off.
“Come with me, Susannah. You’ll be much more comfortable in the drawing room with a tall drink.”
“As long as it’s accompanied by a tall man, I won’t complain.” Susannah took Derek’s arm and Emma watched, unaccountably hurt, as another skinny blonde walked off with the man of her dreams.
It took the duke several tries to regain her attention. “I realized how off-putting my cousin can be,” he said, with an understanding smile. “But you mustn’t let Susannah drive you away.”
“Drive me away? Oh, no.” Emma stared at the green door, her face hardening as she thought, Not this time.
“Wonderful!” exclaimed the duke. “Now, about the chapel garden,” he went on. “You needn’t tell me your plans—”
“Plans?” Emma turned to the duke, feeling as though she’d missed a vital part of the conversation.
“Your plans for the chapel garden, my dear. I simply want you to know that it’s yours to do with as you like. Every resource shall be made available to you. If you need a backhoe or a teaspoon, you need only say the word. And you’re to consider Penford Hall your home for as long as you wish.”
“But, really, Grayson, I-I don’t—” Emma stammered.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the duke broke in. “You’re thinking there must be a catch somewhere, and you’re absolutely right. You see, my dear, the chapel garden must be in some sort of shape by the first of August.” Emma’s jaw dropped, but the duke waved her to silence. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. All I ask is that you make a start in restoring this place to the way it was while my grandmother was alive.”
“But, Grayson, I—”
“Don’t worry,” he insisted. “You were selected by two infallible judges—Aunt Dimity couldn’t have chosen better—and Bantry will be here to lend a hand.” The duke seemed to take no notice when Crowley, the elderly head butler, appeared at the top of the stairs.
“Supper’s at nine,” he went on. “Drinks in the library, eight-thirty-ish.” His eyes never leaving Emma’s face, he added, “Please escort this gracious lady to her room, Crowley, and see to it that she has everything she requires. I don’t wish to lose her, now that I’ve finally found her.”
6