“Water a cactus once a...” Elijah gave a very good impression of sudden heart failure. “Who is in charge of the conservatory?”
“No one is inchargeof it,” the footman explained. “Half is where fruits and vegetables are grown for the kitchens, and the other half is where there are pretty things for guests to clip and carry away.”
“Clip and carry away an orchid,” Elijah said. “Or nightshade. Excellent planning.”
The footman edged away to his next station.
Olive turned to Elijah. “You hate our glasshouse.”
“I adore your glasshouse,” he corrected. “It is as wild and unbroken as one of your stallions. It needs me.”
She couldn’t suppress a giggle. “If you like botany so much, why not dedicate yourself to horticulture instead of your father’s horses?”
His smile dimmed. “Because according to the marquess, ‘idle hobbies’ are worthless. I have no legal trust. My inheritance is dependent on my father’s good will. I would do whatever it took for an opportunity to further my research, but the one thing I cannot risk is my father’s ire.”
Olive had seen how the marquess treated a stranger. She could only imagine how much more stringent the marquess’s standards must be for his heir.
Elijah turned in a slow circle and frowned. “Where is the physic garden?”
“Er,” said Olive. “The what?”
“The medicinal garden,” he explained. “The healing plants and herbs. Is it in a different area?”
“I can ask Mr. Thompson,” she said doubtfully, “but as far as I know, thisisthe castle garden, at least in wintertime. Any special plants would be in here.”
“Maybe there are,” he murmured. “Right between the overwatered cacti and the creeping thistle.”
“Clip some if you like,” she said sweetly. “A trinket to take home and remember me by. Mind the thorns.”
He narrowed his eyes, then stalked past her to edge between two rows of green plants. She stifled a choked laugh when she saw what he was doing.
“You carryshearsin your waistcoat pocket?”
He knelt over a plant. “Doesn’t everybody?”
“Horses are not the danger,” she scolded him. “Youare the danger.”
He rose to his feet and presented her with a delicate golden-brown flower whose soft petals boasted beautiful amber and gold streaks. “Alstroemeria.”
“It sounds like a sneeze,” she mumbled, but accepted the flower. Her skin felt flushed. She lifted the petals to her nose and breathed in deeply. It didn’t smell like anything.
“Alstroemeriahave no scent,” Elijah explained.
She frowned. “Then why...”
“For their beauty. They come in many colors, but these are my favorites because they remind me of your eyes. The petals are almost as beautiful.”
“Oh,” she said faintly. It was now her favorite flower, too. “Maybe youshouldtake it home to remember me by.”
“I planted some years ago.” His gaze was hot on hers. “For that very reason.”
“Oh,” she said again. It was the only word she still remembered.
Laughter spilled from an open doorway at the opposite side of the glasshouse.
She expected him to jump away. To avoid being caught close together, in the act of giving and receiving a flower.
He didn’t move except to lift a finger to stroke one of the soft petals.
