“Ruth and Louise Pym, my dear Susannah, are antique, inestimable, and identical twin sisters.”
“I knew a pair of twins once,” said Syd. The duke waited for him to go on, but Syd simply stared into the middle distance, a reminiscent smile playing on his lips.
“Identical twins?” Susannah grimaced. “How ghastly. I would dread having a twin.”
“The thought is an unsettling one,” the duke agreed smoothly. “I would venture to say—”
“In a maze,” Emma said abruptly. The dinner party froze as all heads, including Crowley’s, turned in her direction.
“I beg your pardon?” said the duke. “I didn’t quite catch—”
“I met them in a maze. The Pyms. A hedge maze. At Mansley Bran——” Emma cleared her throat. “At Bransley Manor.”
“Ah, Bransley Manor.” The duke nodded. “Kate and I visited there as children, with my grandmother, when the Saint Johns were still in residence. That was many years ago, of course. It is a National Trust property now, I believe?” With infinite patience, the duke guided Emma through a description of the gardens at Bransley Manor, then gracefully changed the subject, giving her a chance to recover her composure. His solicitude reminded Emma that she had a confession to make, and as Crowley served the noisettes of lamb, she turned to the duke.
“Grayson?” she said softly. “I’m afraid there’s been a slight misunderstanding.”
“I knew it!” the duke exclaimed. “I knew the rose suite wouldn’t do. Crowley, would you please—”
“Oh, no,” Emma broke in. “It’s not the rose suite. It’s me.” She riveted her eyes on the rim of his wineglass as the words came spilling out. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m just a tourist, and I met the Pyms by accident, and I came to Penford Hall to look at the gardens, not work on them.”
There was a moment of heavy silence as the duke stared at her, uncomprehending. “Do you mean to say that you have to get back to your proper job by next week or something? If that’s the problem, I’m sure Kate can arrange—”
“No,” Emma said quickly. “It’s not that.”
“What is it, then? I’m sorry if I seem obtuse, but—”
“I’m not qualified to do the kind of work you have in mind,” Emma explained. “I’m not a professional gardener.”
“I see.” The duke nodded thoughtfully, then rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb. “Good heavens, Emma, how you unnerved me,” he said gently. “For one earth-shattering moment, I thought the Pyms had made a mistake. My dear ...” Susannah began a lecture on the evils of meat-eating, but the duke focused solely on Emma, leaning toward her, speaking softly, his warm brown eyes alight with understanding. “Kate tells me you work with computers, and I must believe her, but that, I think, is merely what you do for pay. Gardening, though—digging and planting, hoeing and weeding, watching the seasons change and feeling vnu’re a part of the cycle—that’s something altogether different, is it not?”
Emma nodded slowly, and the duke nodded with her.
“The thing that we love most is the thing that we do best,” he murmured. “And you, my dear, love nothing quite so well as a garden. The Pyms discovered that, surely, and I saw it in your face this afternoon, just as clearly as I see it now. You could no more turn your back on the chapel garden than I could walk away from Penford Hall. Give me your hands.”
Emma’s hands seemed to float across the snowy linen to rest in the duke’s outstretched palms. He gazed down at them in silence, then raised his eyes to Emma’s once again.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “Callused, strong, and exquisitely capable. All the qualifications I require. I’ve no doubt whatsoever that these two hands”—he enclosed Emma’s in his own—“will bring the chapel garden back to life.”
“Wow,” said Syd, through a mouthful of lamb. “You gotta real way with words, Duke.”
“Treacle,” sneered Susannah, tossing back her glass of wine.
The duke took no notice of them, and Emma was aware of no one but the duke. Warmed by his touch, mesmerized by the light in his brown eyes, she felt her self-doubt melt away. At that moment, she would have followed Grayson to the ends of the earth.
“Well,” she began, a bit breathlessly, “if you’re sure ...”
“I’m sure,” said the duke, raising her hands to his lips, then releasing them with a radiant smile.
With a fluttering heart, Emma folded her hands in her lap. She felt as though she’d been seduced in public, but, oddly enough, she didn’t seem to care. Plans began to take shape in her mind, and they kept her in a pleasantly preoccupied haze until the warm cappuccino soufflé was served, when the words “Lex Rex” pulled her sharply back to earth.