Page 20 of Romancing the Heiress
“I’m afraid I’ve lost count. Do you remember everything about everyone?”
“Most people, especially the ones I left behind in Marrywell.” Her lips lifted, and her eyes shone with…sentimentality? Wistfulness? Something else? “Do you want help looking for Mr. Armstrong?”
He chuckled. “I don’t need to search for him as if we’re playing hide-and-seek.”
“True.” She shrugged. “Never mind, then.”
“No! Come with me. I always like company, especially yours. We should spend as much time together as possible while you’re here. We’ve a great deal to catch up on. I imagine you’ve read a million books and visited every park and garden in London.” He offered her his arm.
Leah curled her hand around his sleeve. The scent of violets and lavender surrounded him, and since he knew every scent in every square foot of the gardens, he could say with certainty it was not originating there. It was Leah. He’d never noticed her fragrance before. Indeed, he would have wagered she didn’t have a fragrance. But that had been a long time ago. She was a fully realized woman now, with a mysterious air about her. Mysterious? That was just because he hadn’t seen her in so long.
“Not a million books,” she said in response to his comment. “I have read in the hundreds, probably, and Ihavevisited most parks and gardens—you know me too well. Though I haven’t done that as much in the past year since Lady Norcott died. The Selkirks do not care to dally outside, except for the fashionable hour in Hyde Park. Indeed, it’s fascinating to see them spending time in the botanical gardens.” She smiled. “You have likely discovered or invented a new plant or ten.”
He snorted. “Hardly. That was my grandfather. Did you know the London Horticultural Society inducted him as a member posthumously?”
“I didn’t. That’s wonderful. Why aren’t you a member?”
“I’m not terribly scholarly. I couldn’t even write letters to you.” He gave her a sheepish look, then guided her across Garden Street to where it intersected with the High Street.
“I doubt you need to be scholarly, especially considering your talent with plants. Do you still spend your evenings in the greenhouse?”
He grinned at her. “I would never admit it to anyone but you.”
Her eyes glowed again with that emotion. Happiness at spending time with him? That made sense. He was pleased to be in her company. He truly hadn’t realized how much he missed her.
“Then admit what you’re doing there. You were always tinkering with hybrid flowers. Do you remember when I asked you to make me a buttercup daisy?”
Laughing, he wiped his hand over his face. “Yes. And do you remember that I failed miserably?”
“Irememberthat you pasted buttercups onto daisies and gave me an entire bouquet. That was not a failure to me.”
“I was a right silly lad. Why did you spend so much time with me?” He wished he hadn’t asked the question, for they both knew why. Anything was better for her than being at home.
“I was probably a silly girl. We were two peas in a pod.”
“That’s what Grandpapa called us.” His voice sounded wistful, and that was because he missed his grandfather.
“I have so many fond memories of him,” Leah said. “Most of them involved the greenhouse. He was working on hybrid roses when he died, wasn’t he?”
“Mmm, yes. He successfully created five new roses. I say successful because he deemed them to be. He had very high standards for crossbreeding, with an eye toward specific characteristics, whether it be the size and shape of the petal or the hue.”
“Have you tried?”
“Not with any great diligence or, consequently, success.” He’d actually started one a few weeks ago and was now waiting for the hips to appear so he could harvest and plant the seeds. “I am currently working with a China rose and a damask.”
She tilted her head up at him. “Are you? I’d love to see them.”
“Sometimes I thought you might want to become a horticulturalist. But I wasn’t sure if you were—” He’d been about to say “truly interested or just biding time away from home.” He looked toward her, hoping she hadn’t concluded that he was going to say something so thoughtless.
But she was staring straight ahead along the High Street, her face paler than it had been a moment ago. Phin followed her gaze and saw what—or ratherwhom—she was looking at: her father.
With a low curse, Phin pulled her into whatever was to their left—a narrow alley between the bakery and the milliner. He took her away from the street into the shadows. “All right?” he asked softly.
She took her hand from his arm and turned toward him, her breath shallow. “I don’t think he saw me.”
“I don’t think so either. I’ll go keep watch until he’s gone.”
“Thank you.” She closed her eyes, still breathing rapidly.
