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His compliment took her by surprise. Coming from a man as confident and worldly as he, it was no small statement.
“If that is so, it is only because I have been through much trial and error.”
When she looked up from her cup, she found him staring at her with an expression she could not place. As with that night in the rain beneath the umbrella, the world seemed to have shrunk to the space between them. Resisting the moment and surge of emotion in her bosom, she turned her attention to the wonderful view of the garden, lush with spring blooms and ripe lemon trees.
He followed her gaze. “Would you like to see the garden?”
She nodded. “And, as it seems it shall be another fine day, perhaps we could take the horses again later?”
He paused before saying, “Let us address the garden first.”
She wondered that he did not jump at the chance to ride again. He seemed to enjoy being on horseback.
Rising to his feet, he took the letter and tore it into quarters. He offered his arm, which she accepted. They strolled the garden in comfortable silence. Between the birds chirping overhead and the trellises covered in wisteria, Deana felt as if she were in another world. And the quiet between her and Rockwell was remarkably precious. He kept her arm in his, and she sensed him also to be at ease.
Finding herself enjoying the moment far too much, she broke the silence. “My father took me to Ranelagh Gardens a number of times when I was younger, but I rather prefer the wildness of this garden to the manicured arrangements at Ranelagh.”
They both looked at the violets and primroses mixed with an eruption of bluebells.
“Are there many gardens in India?”
“Depends where in India. The climate is quite diverse there ranging from arid to tropical. The Taj Mahal has one of the more impressive gardens.”
“Yes, I have seen a painting of the Taj Mahal. It must be quite wondrous to behold in person.”
“It is.”
“Did your sister spend many years in India?”
“She was born in India, but my mother returned with her to England when conflict escalated between the Company and the Maratha Empire.”
“How long have you served as her guardian?”
“Six years. After my father died of malaria. My mother died of a broken heart a year later.”
He was looking into the distance, and she could not read his expression.
“They were taken before their time then, but it seems they were blessed with a loving marriage.”
He turned to look at her. “Yes, they were. It is a rarity.”
“Have you no hope for such fortune yourself? Surely a man of your position...”
“Has more opportunities?” he finished.
“Yes.”
“Lucy fancies love a required ingredient for matrimony. I do not.”
“A practical approach,” she agreed.
They walked
across a bridge and fell into silence once more. Beyond the shrubs and a bed of rose bushes stood a little pavilion flanked by marble statues. On one side was a nude with his hand upon his very stiff, very long cock. The other side was a female nude stretched upon a pedestal, her mouth open, one hand gripping a sheet draped over half her body.
“Madame Follet has a most brazen collection of art,” Deana commented.
“And what say you of her selection?”
