Rose looked down at their hands, then peered up at him from beneath her damp lashes. “Or what I might not wear later?”
Mirth filled his eyes. “Why, you little minx.” His gaze turned tender as he reached to stroke her cheek, brushing away a lingering tear. “How are you doing? Truly.”
She focused on the clock. Ten minutes after two.
“Better, I think.”
“I hear you are able to join in the preparations for Cecily’s wedding.”
She nodded, looking back at him. “My father thought it would help. I think he’s right. It distracts me from thinking about—what happened.”
“I pray that’s true. Her wedding is the second of July?”
“Yes. Is it true you asked the archbishop about a special license for us?”
It was Thomas’s turned to appear surprised. “How did you—” He stopped. “Your little network is still at work.”
“Of course. Why did you?”
His hand tightened on hers. “I did not want to wait. I wanted to gather you in my arms, under my protection, and never let you out of my sight again.”
“Not a very practical wish.”
“No one has ever accused me of being a practical man.”
“Not true. Your mother told me you are her most practical and duty-bound son.”
“As opposed to Robert and Michael? I’m not convinced that’s a compliment.”
Rose grinned. “And now?”
“My father has convinced me the wisdom of waiting. Of giving you more time, of putting Cecily’s wedding behind us, of having more openness and less rush between us.” Thomas paused. “He’s also insisting on taking his sons out of town for a while.”
Rose knew the news was coming—she had spoken with her father earlier that morning about his conversation with the duke and the plans for the Ashton men to travel to their out-of-town estates. Yet it sounded more dramatic coming from Thomas, with the implied apology in his words.
“To tour your country holdings?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Possibly a month?”
Rose looked at the clock. Two-fifteen.I need to get away from that clock.She stood, prompting him to do so as well, and tugged on his hand. “Walk with me?”
“Where?”
“The gardens. I have something I want to show you.”
“And I have something to ask you. We can talk as we walk.” He reached for his cane, but Rose stopped.
“You will not need that. We will be safe here.”
He looked slightly puzzled, then gestured for her to lead the way, leaving his cane behind. Rose told Davis where they were going, in case her father became concerned. Two doors down from the drawing room, the Huntingdale library led to a small conservatory at the rear of the house. Rose weaved her way among the plants and richly fragrant flowers to a small glass door that opened onto a narrow and curving stone path. She slowed her steps to a stroll, and Thomas followed just behind her on the path as they moved among the summer flowers in full bloom—irises and cornflowers in brilliant blues, pink sweet peas climbing a series of trellises, and a wide array of dahlias and lilies. Tall spires of hollyhocks lined the edges and fences, their bright scent filling the air.
Rose spoke as she let her fingers drift along some of the blooms, her voice dropping into an even cadence as she explained where they were headed.
“This is my father’s joy, this garden. You can also reach it from the veranda steps of the ballroom, and there’s a gate leading from the mews. When my father was growing up, everything was kept low to the ground and tidy, with only a few hedges. When he inherited, he instructed the gardeners to bring everything up, to make it wild and beautiful.” Rose turned and walked backwards a few steps, her arms held wide. “He wanted it bigger, taller. Especially the labyrinth in the center.”
