Page 28 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
Her mother smiled warmly. “Don’t let me spoil your fun. The fresh air will bring a flush to your cheeks which I’m sure the duke will appreciate. Only”— between her brows, a small crease appeared—“you will be careful, as we spoke of yesterday? I know you think it’s silly of me, but you are all I have now, Rosamund, and I love you very much.”
Mrs. Burnell touched her daughter’s cheek. “I’m not one for believing in ghosts or curses, or any of those supernatural shenanigans, but these ancient places make you feel rather differently—especially in the night.”
Rosamund laid her hand over her mother’s. “I shan’t run on the stairs or go leaning over any old balustrades that might be woodworm eaten.”
“I should think not!” Her mother looked flustered, before realizing her daughter was teasing.
“And do say hello to that young man, darling, if he’s about today. So sensible, and a nice honesty about him. Naturally, he’s smitten. One can tell from the way he looks at you.” She folded her hands in her lap. “If it weren’t for the duke being yours for the taking, I’d think you a lovely match.”
“Ma, you’re dreadful! Delightful as it would be for every man to be falling at his feet before me, I’m afraid it simply isn’t the case.” Rising, she placed a kiss on her mother's forehead.
Was it ridiculous of her to be ever so slightly pleased at the thought of young Mr. Studborne being sweet on her?
Rosamund tucked that thought away and went to put on her hat.
Rosamund walked firstalong the terrace, then along the gravel path between box hedging and late-flowering roses. Pom Pom trotted happily beside, sticking his nose into every corner and claiming as much of it for his own as his tiny bladder would allow.
With the mid-morning sun glinting off the small-paned windows, the abbey looked far less foreboding than from within the old cloister.
Rosamund headed across the lawns. Still drenched from the downpour, they left her skirt hems flapping wet about her ankles but she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Everything smelt so green and alive!
Pom Pom rolled in the glistening grass, running back and forth, his stubby tail wagging furiously. It was impossible for one’s heart not to lift, surrounded by such beauty and with a puppy in the throe of discovering how wonderful the world could be.
Continuing onwards, she reached the walled garden and swung open the iron gate. There was no one working there but the rows of vegetables were well-kept, hoed neatly with no sign of weeds.
She meandered up and down, bending to read the labels on wooden sticks, planted at the end of each section.
Pom Pom sniffed at some rhubarb stems and gave one a tentative lick.
“Come on, Little Mischief! Those aren’t for you.” Clicking her fingers, Rosamund called the puppy to her and made her way back.
The last thing she needed was for a gardener to appear and catch Pom Pom watering what might need to be picked for the kitchen.
Beyond the tall stone walls were the orchards: apples and pears, their fragrance mingling with wild chamomile and buttercups.
“Plenty of apples, but no snakes, huh Pom Pom!” Picking up a piece of fallen fruit, she threw it, and the puppy hared off in chase.
Reaching the far end of the outer walls of the enclosed garden, it occurred to Rosamund that she’d been walking longer than she intended.
What was the time?
She hadn’t a pocket watch of her own.
Judging by the position of the sun, she’d say it was well past midday. A cloud passed over. There was a whole bank of them behind—iron grey and scudding fast. A breeze had whipped up through the orchard, shivering through the leaves and knocking over-ripe fruit to the ground.
Pom Pom ran around his mistress in a circle, barking at the invisible force that moved with such power through the trees.
There was no mistaking the weather. The storm was returning. Picking up her skirts, Rosamund ran, following the wall of the vegetable garden.
Wasn’t there an orangery at this end of the abbey?
She was sure she’d glimpsed something of the sort.
If she could reach it, she might avoid getting wet. There would be a door, surely, which the gardeners used. She only hoped it would be open.
Panting hard,Rosamund pulled at the handle of the little side door and sent up a prayer. Spits of rain were already falling.
