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Exploring the family burial ground near the remains of a medieval chapel, he wondered if they were all turning in their graves at the idea of the bastard son roaming the lands. They probably had had their own bastards to feel guilty over...or not feel guilty over. He stopped in front of one gravestone and sighed.
In memory of Her Grace,
Duchess Elizabeth Alden Worthington
Born 1769 Died 1810
Now she must be spinning in her grave. He often wondered how Harry’s mother must have felt knowing her husband had kept a mistress. Most likely as horrible as Albert Kingsley had when he realized Simon’s mother had lied to him about the affair. What a mess these people made of their lives and so many others.
Simon glanced around for his father’s headstone. Assuming it would be near his wife’s plot, he walked around the area near the duchess’s stone. Looking over at the old chapel remains, he realized why there was no headstone for the duke. A man who committed suicide would not be buried in consecrated ground.
Deciding the graveyard had dampened his mood, he moved along until he came to the conservatory at the back of the house. Many of the windows were open to let the light breeze inside the glass building. As he walked near one open window, the sound of soft humming floated past. He stopped and smiled, remembering that Emma had decided to sketch in the room. Walking around the building, he finally found a door and stepped inside. Awed by the sight of the numerous plants and small trees in the room, he wandered the rows of plants.
“Can you not leave me alone?” a feminine voice asked, sounding irritated by his arrival.
Simon turned and stared at Emma. She sat at a table with her sketch pad in front of her, staring at him with a scowl. “Believe it or not, I was drawn in by the beauty of the place, not you.”
“I find it exceedingly difficult to believe you have never been in the conservatory before now,” she said, placing her charcoal in a wood box.
“Actually, I have not. My brother doesn’t spend much time at this estate. He much prefers the Northwood Park to Worth.” Simon strolled closer. “May I take a look at your sketch?”
“I suppose,” she said with a sigh. “With the sun popping in and out of the passing clouds, the lighting is troubling me.”
He glanced down at her drawing and then hid his astonishment. “It is quite lovely.”
The flower was perfect, even if the lighting had given her issues. Simon wondered why he’d never heard of her talent before now. She was extremely accomplished.
“Thank you.”
“What is it?” he asked, taking a seat across from her.
She laughed softly. “The rhododendron over there.”
“The what?” He squinted in the direction she pointed. “That shrub over there with the purple flowers on it?”
Her light laughter caused gooseflesh to rise on his arms until he wondered if she was laughing at him. He sat across from her, and his fingers tightened around the slender arm of the iron chair.
“You are not much of a gardener, are you, Mr. Kingsley?”
“No,” he replied scornfully. “There isn’t much call for gardening in Soho.”
“I suppose not,” she commented as she went back to her sketch. “Were you raised strictly in town?”
He continued to look at the plant and then her sketch, still amazed by her talents. Her slender fingers held the charcoal as she drew the leaves of the plant. “Of course.”
“And Harry never told you about his conservatory and greenhouse plans?”
“Harry? Why would he?” He glanced over at her. Her blue eyes widened, and her rosy lips gaped open slightly. She tilted her head as if thinking he must have gone mad.
“He has great plans for the gardens here, including the new maze started last fall. The gardener moved some surplus plants in here until the greenhouse expansion is complete. I rather like the multitude of plants in here. Makes it cozy, don’t you think?”
Simon looked around in wonder. “My brother likes to garden?”
“Not exactly,” she replied. “Harry likes to design the gardens but thought a larger greenhouse would help the gardeners start the plants he wanted in the designs.”
“My brother?” he asked in astonishment. “Harry? The Duke of Worthington?”
She giggled. “Yes.”
