Page 13 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

‘Miss Jenkins.’ He said, up righting another trampled stalk.

She laughed. ‘Yes. Apparently.’

‘Magnus told me you were starting today.’

‘Thank you. For the . . . chicken rescue. We seem to be good at capturing wildlife; we mustn’t make a habit of it, people might talk.’

He rose, still scanning the flower beds. He had yet to raise his eyes to her. ‘We won’t.’

It didn’t sound like an invitation to continue. Sammy tried anyway. ‘What’s your name?’

He rubbed his hands together, brushing off the soil. ‘Nate.’

‘Nate,’ she repeated. ‘Right. Aren’t you Mr Nate?’

Finally, fleetingly, he glanced at her. ‘No.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh I . . . I thought . . .’ she pushed on. ‘Well, it’s Miss Jenkins and Mr Magnus, so I thought . . .’

‘I work outside.’

As if that explained everything. ‘Right. So, you do work here?’

‘Yes.’

‘In the garden?’

‘Yes.’

Concise.

She looked around the flower beds. The line of colour caught her first, then the shape beneath it. Purple gave way to white, and stripes of red, each held in place, the borders repeating curve for curve. Nothing sagged out of line. Everything looked effortless in the way things only did when someone had put an enormous amount of effort into it.

‘You’re paid just to look after the garden?’ she said.

‘That’s what I do.’

She let out a small, impressed breath. ‘It’s incredible.’

He gave a small shrug. ‘Yup. Lucky me, eh?’

‘I wouldn’t know where to start,’ she admitted.

‘I often don’t know when to stop,’ he said.

That caught her slightly off guard.

His eyes danced as he let them wander, something softer crossing his face. ‘I think of this as my garden,’ he added. ‘Not theirs.’

It must be odd, she thought, to feel like that about a job. To be that certain. That . . . settled. ‘How much land is there?’

‘About four thousand acres?’

She gasped. ‘How can you manage all that on your own?’

He smiled. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to make her want to see it again. ‘I don’t. It’s a farm. Even in these gardens contractors do the big jobs.’

‘Well,’ she said lightly, ‘thank you again. For saving me from complete chicken-based disaster.’