Madeline soughed heavily at this admission. Considering the darkness of her thoughts, perhaps it was time to stop visiting the garden. Perhaps it just held echoes of her youth and had become the source of unhappiness.
Entering through the archway, she was startled to see that Simon had arrived before her. She could make out the shape of his head, his broad shoulders, and the white cravat that practically shone in the light of the waning moon.
He rose to his feet as she approached, and she noticed he had grown a neat beard since she had last seen him. Close cropped, it framed his angular jaw.
“Simon!”
“Madeline,” he greeted. “You look lovely this evening.”
Tears prickled her eyes at the polite words. She had been his Psyche, but she was no longer the girl he had worshiped. His manner was distant, as it had been these last few years. Visiting with an old friend who was no longer the person she had known only caused the disappointment of fond memories. Their conversations had grown stiff—stilted—and Madeline would return to the house feeling hollow. As if she had brushed past a delightful aspect of her childhood only to find it lacking from her adult perspective.
She nodded, and they took their seats on the bench. As always, Simon sat on the far edge as if he were afraid to touch her. Madeline revisited her thoughts about whether she should be spending her time in the walled garden. Perhaps it tethered her to the past—a place which could not be revisited. Perhaps she had clung to old dreams for far too long. Perhaps she should venture forth to meet some young men while there was still an opportunity to wed and bear children instead of reminiscing over lost love.
“How have you been?”
The polite question was a stake through her heart, and Madeline had to repress a gasp. Ever so proper. Ever so correct. She remembered the bold, irreverent young man he had been before Nicholas’s fall. She missed the old Simon so. It made her quite resent the Scott family for their sobering influence over him.
If only?—
She cut the thought off. There was no patience left for ‘if only’.
Mama would be pleased if I brought up the subject of courtship.
Mama had hopes for her daughters, which she made known, but she had always given them space to make their own determination. As much as she wanted heirs to their empire of industry, as a leader, she believed if a person was forced into something, it would lead to incompetence and misery.
Eleanor Bigsby had often pointed out that Madeline was the future of Bigsby’s Stone Manufactory and she must learn to exercise free will if she was to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Browbeating one’s heiress would not result in developing a strong, confident woman who could overcome the male-dominated trade they did business in.
These notions served to highlight the lack of free will she had been demonstrating in this aspect of her life. Madeline realized she was on the brink of a decision, and that this might well be the last night she visited here.
“I have been well.”
Simon nodded, seemingly satisfied by the appropriate response. Once they had talked freely as equals, but now they behaved like acquaintances with little in common. She could no longer hide from the truth—waiting for him in their walled garden every night … had become depressing.
It was time for her to gather the remnants of her pride and end this ritual. And the obvious course was to make a declaration. Which meant she just needed to find the words to tell him she would no longer be here waiting for him in their garden of flowers.
“I shall not be visiting our garden beyond this evening.”
EARLIER THAT DAY
Simon was not having a good day.
This morning his attempt to talk to his younger brother had failed. The layabout had gone to sleep, risen when John and their mother had returned from the coronation, and used the distraction of their lively discussion to disappear into the early evening before Simon could speak with him as he had intended.
John had returned home in a fine funk, grumbling to Simon’s mother about an encounter at the ceremony. Simon was forced to listen when he joined them in the family drawing room to get his brother’s signature on important documents.
“That little coxcomb, Lord Filminster, sat next to me. I haven’t seen him since attending Oxford, but the first thing he did was to offer his condolences over Peter’s death! My brother died more than two decades ago! Why would he not mention our father, who expired a mere eighteen months ago, or the death of my own wife just three years ago?”
Isla Scott made soothing noises to calm the baron down. “He sounds like a rotter, but do not let it upset you, dear. It will make you unwell, and the night is just beginning.”
Simon’s mother was an attractive peeress a mere nineteen years older than himself, and several years younger than John.If one were not aware of their relationships, she could have been mistaken for Simon’s older sister. Her dark brown hair was still glossy without signs of gray, her oval face barely lined, and her intense blue eyes could pierce armor at fifty feet. A beautiful woman who had aged like a fine wine.
“Isla, it was not just that. He asked me about my heir without a by your leave. He was always an obnoxious fop with vulgar manners. The years have not improved his character.”
Isla’s eyes had flared in disapproval. “That is rather rude.”
“Heaven forfend.” Nicholas had entered the room, leaning against the doorframe with a nonchalant air. “How did you respond? Did you preen about Simon’s brilliance?”
The facetious questions grated on Simon’s nerves. He narrowed his eyes, noting that his brother had donned an overcoat, evidently heading out for another night of carousing.
