Page 63 of A Duchess for his Family

“That’s generally what knowledge is,” Mr. Wilkes said gruffly.

Sophia smiled.

Marjorie leaned toward him. “What will you put there?”

Mr. Wilkes glanced at her. “Delphiniums at the rear. Maybe white stocks. Something low at the edge.”

“Not nasturtiums?” Marjorie asked.

“Never again. They insulted me.”

“They died.”

“Exactly.”

Amelia slipped her hand into Sophia’s. Marjorie immediately took the other. Mr. Wilkes watched the three of them for a moment before turning away with suspicious haste.

Marjorie leaned closer to Sophia. “He likes you.”

Mr. Wilkes stopped without looking back. “I hear perfectly well, Miss Marjorie.”

“I know.”

“He likes you very much,” she added more loudly.

The gardener’s shoulders stiffened. “No objection to the lady. Keeps her eyes open. Listens when the soil tells her something. Keeps her shoes out of the borders.” He resumed walking. “That’ll do.”

Amelia smiled. “That is what liking means to Mr. Wilkes.”

He resumed walking, though Sophia could see the tips of his ears had turned pink beneath his hat. The girls looked up at her with expressions of such satisfaction that Sophia felt as though she had passed an examination she had not known she was taking.

She glanced once more at the dry bed. Nothing had changed yet. The soil remained cracked, the leaves curled, and the flowers lifeless. Still, it no longer appeared abandoned. There was a plan now, and hope entered the place before any new roots could.

Sophia squeezed the girls’ hands and followed Mr. Wilkes deeper into the sunlit garden.

Chapter Sixteen

Several days later, Benedict found himself back in the study, when a cheerful voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Have you reconsidered your position on climbing trees?”

Benedict looked up from the letter before him. Nathaniel stood in the study doorway, one shoulder resting against the frame. He carried the same leather portfolio beneath one arm, now thick with revised plans and a mason’s estimate. The work at Redgrave would begin on Monday. He had evidently come to return Benedict’s drawings before meeting the engineer at the lower gate. On crossing the east lawn, however, he had discovered something he considered far more interesting.

Benedict set down his pen. “What do you mean?”

“Only that your household appears to have adopted a more generous policy.”

“What are you talking about, Nathaniel?”

Without waiting to be invited, Nathaniel crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a measure of cognac. The afternoon sun caught the amber liquid as he lifted the glass, then lowered himself into one of the leather chairs before Benedict’s writing table.

“I have just seen Marjorie halfway up a tree.”

Benedict stared at him. “What?”

“A tree,” Nathaniel repeated. “Large. Green. Generally rooted to the ground?”

“I know what a tree is,” Benedict frowned. “Where is Sophia?”