James bowed. “Lady Hawthorne, a pleasure to see you as well. You have not aged a day. I am sorry for my extended absence, but I hope my presence now with your niece makes up for my neglect.”
Aunt Edith chuckled. “Oh, this one is a charmer, isn’t he?” she said to Kate.
Kate’s stomach fluttered as she recalled tending James’s wrists that morning. Aunt Edith had no idea just how devastating the man could be.
“Well, I am sure you both wish to rest after your travels. My housekeeper will show you to your rooms and order baths prepared. We can catch up after you are refreshed.” Aunt Edith smiled graciously as the elderly housekeeper approached. “Oh, and James. You will no doubt be pleased that your valet arrived yesterday.” She surveyed his travel-worn clothes. “I daresay you will need his services.”
Kate’s efforts to prevent a laugh resulted in something closely resembling a snort.
James met her grin with one of his own, unbothered by the teasing. Years of absence had done nothing to diminish his rapport with Aunt Edith, who had always treated him like one of the family. The housekeeper led the way up the stairs, and Kate followed, eager for the promised respite.
After a bath, a restful nap, and Tess’s inevitable fussing, Kate searched for her aunt. Finding the drawing room empty, she headed straight for the hothouse. The scent of orange blossoms filled the air before she reached the ornate French doors, the glazed panes offering her a glimpse of her aunt inside.
Aunt Edith glanced up from the white orchid she was inspecting as Kate entered, offering a welcoming smile. Warm, moist air surrounded Kate, rich with the familiar scents of citrus and tropical flowers. She paused, taking a deep breath to fill her lungs.
“You are just in time to help me,” Edith said, gesturing toward the worn workbench on the far wall. Kate followed her down the narrow path, passing rows of orange trees and bright orchids.
Aunt Edith settled on one of the stools at the workbench and patted the other. Kate sat, curious what her aunt would ask her to help with this time. Her aunt pulled over a small clay pot containing a plant with wilted leaves and no blooms.
Kate tilted her head skeptically. “I know you have always believed in me, Aunt Edith, but even I don’t have the power to bring that flower back to life.”
Aunt Edith chuckled. “This poor camellia hasn’t been growing properly for a while.” She pulled a larger pot from a shelf. “But today we are going to fix that.”
“What happened to it?” Kate asked, eyeing the withered leaves.
Aunt Edith placed the new pot in front of Kate and handed her a pair of cotton gloves. Kate picked up a small trowel and filled the bottom of the empty pot with loose soil from a nearby bag. Her aunt gently pulled the camellia out of its small pot, loosening the soil with practiced hands.
“Do you see those roots?” Edith asked. Kate nodded, noticing the tight, circling formation. “They need room to grow, or else the flower will only survive, never bloom.” She placed the plant into the newly prepared pot, and Kate helped smooth the soil down.
“This camellia has always been a beautiful flower, but even beautiful things struggle when they are too confined.”
Kate studied the small plant again, newly at home in its wider space, struck by the idea that survival and blooming were not the same thing.
“Now, come tell me about all of your adventures.” Aunt Edith rose from the stool and walked toward the orange trees, linking her arm with Kate’s and retrieving a pair of pruning shears. “I would love to hear how you and James came to travel together.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” James said, gesturing with his fork, “that Hugh placed all the blame on me for sinking that boat?”
“He blamed both the idea and the execution on you,” Kate corrected, laughing at James’s startled expression. “It did not seem my father believed his tale, though.”
“I have had my fair share of ill-advised schemes,” James said, reaching for the platter and serving Kate a slice of meat pie, steam curling up between them, “but rowing a dilapidated boat upon the lake to impress a few young ladies was not one of them.”
“And what did the girls think when instead of appearing to be two strong, capable young men, you had to swim back to the shore after your boat sank?” Aunt Edith asked.
“I haven’t the slightest idea. We were spared the embarrassment of facing them. They left before we reached the shore.” He gave Kate a rueful shrug. Aunt Edith had seated them across from each other at the small table, and Kate was discovering that James made a delightful dinner companion.
“If you had been there, would you have run off with the other girls?” he asked Kate.
She tilted her head, pretending to consider. “I believe I would have stayed, but only to laugh at your plight and be at hand in case you needed rescuing.” She could not keep the smile from her face as her fork slid into the flaky crust of the pie.
James placed a hand to his chest in mock offense. “You would doubt my abilities?”
“I believe we both know that everyone needs to be rescued at times.” The laughter faded as something unspoken passed between them, full of all the things they couldn’t say in front of Aunt Edith.
The clattering of silverware on a plate broke their connection. Kate leaned back in her seat, embarrassed to discover how far she had drifted toward James. Aunt Edith watched the two of them with a knowing smile on her lips.
James cleared his throat. “Since I am the only gentleman present, perhaps we might dispense with formalities and retire to the drawing room together?”
Edith rose from the table. “I would not dream of standing on ceremony tonight, though I often retire to the library in the evenings. I find it makes me feel close to Lord Hawthorne and Andrew.” She fell silent, caught by some distant memory. “Would you indulge an elderly woman in her peculiarities?”
