Her hand shook as she realized that Jack had designed the garden.
For her!
"I said you must be a special woman," Mr. Potsley went on. "He said there was none finer. And he was right. Yer a sweet 'un, milady, and no mistake. I can see why his lordship is so smitten with ye. Fact is, ne'er seen a fellow so in love as that man o' yers. But then you must know that, way he dotes on you and that babe yer carrying."
And suddenly she knew the truth, knew the answer she'd been seeking. "Yes," she whispered. "I do know."
After a long minute, as if sensing her need to be alone, the old man turned away, ambling deeper into the garden.
As he did, a knot formed in her throat, tears shimmering in her eyes.
Then she smiled.
It's not working, Jack thought as he rode his horse up the lane to Grace's house.
I've been here in Kent for weeks and I'm no closer to winning back her trust and love than I was at the start.
But those were two emotions that couldn't be forced; they had to be freely given and honestly earned. And considering his past actions, he'd given her good cause to do neither.
Even so, as he'd told her, he would do whatever it took, for however long it took, to win her back.
What if that day never comes? whispered a terrible voice in his head, bleakness stealing over him like a shadowy specter.
It will, he assured himself. It must.
What other choice was there, when he loved her so much he literally ached with it sometimes?
At least she'd given him some reason to hope, since she hadn't asked him to leave. He took comfort in the fact that they were living together again-even if it was in the most innocent and platonic of ways.
Lord only knew how many nights he'd lain awake, wanting her, knowing she was just in the next room. But until she invited him into her bed again, he would continue to sleep alone. Of course too, there was the baby to consider, so he might be in for many, many long months of doing without.
Yet, despite his desire, simply being with her was enough. Loving her, privilege enough.
The thought reminded him of his passionate declaration that morning in his bedroom. The way he'd poured out his heart to her as he'd never done before. Because he'd never been in love before.
Not truly. Not for always.
Which is why he would continue to wait-and pray-that someday she would do more than let him into her home: she would let him into her heart again, as well.
Arriving at the house, he dismounted, exchanging a brief good-evening with the groom before allowing the man to lead his bay gelding to the stable.
He entered through the front door, working to shake off the last of his blue devils as he handed his coat to the footman. He was about to go upstairs to change his clothes when one of the housemaids approached.
She gave him a timid smile as she curtseyed. "Her ladyship would 1-like you t-to join her in the garden, my lord."
"The garden?" He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I'll join her now."
"Oh no, not now!" the girl stated. "At six. I-I was to tell you most expressly not to be there until six."
He frowned, a puzzled smile hovering over his lips. "Six, is it? What's this about, then?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know, milord. She just told me to give you the message and naught more. Beg pardon, but I've duties to attend, and Mrs. Mackie gets right peevish if I'm late."
"Heaven forfend you turn Mrs. Mackie peevish."
The servant stared, clearly not understanding his teasing.
"Go on," he said, taking pity.
Visibly relieved, she dropped another curtsey, then scurried off.
Crossing his arms, he stood still for a moment, wondering at this latest development. It was slightly past five o'clock now and the sun would be setting in the next hour, so what possible reason could Grace have for wanting to meet him in the garden at six?
His arms fell to his sides, though, as a sudden thought occurred, a memory forming of another meeting they'd had in another garden. The morning at Braebourne when she'd told him she would marry him, but only if he gave her this house and, later, a separation.
///
A lump formed in his throat. Had she finally made up her mind about them? And if so, had she decided to choose her freedom over making a life with him?
Chapter 29
The garden shimmered with candlelight from dozens of sweetly scented beeswax tapers set around to illuminate the space. In the center stood her painting table, now neatly draped in a crisp, white linen tablecloth and laid with her best china, crystal and silver.
More lighted candles were arranged on the table, a small vase of flowers set in the middle, tender petals of red, pink and ivory adding a pleasing burst of color. More color glowed in the sky, sunset turning the horizon a glorious golden apricot.
The clock inside the house chimed six. She hoped Jack wasn't late or he would miss the glorious show nature was performing.
Briefly, she considered sending one of the servants to find him, but the staff already thought she was acting oddly enough today with all her unusual requests. She didn't need to give them more grist for their mill. Tugging her shawl more closely around her shoulders, she waited.
Soon, she heard footsteps and knew he'd arrived. Turning, she gave him a wide smile, excitement bubbling inside her like champagne.
"What's all this?" he demanded, his dark brows knitted together.
She paused at his tone but recovered quickly, too happy to let his less-than-enthusiastic greeting dim her giddy spirits. "Dinner," she announced with a wave of her arm. "I thought it might be fun to eat al fresco tonight with the sunset providing a beautiful tableau."
He studied the sky, painted now with brushstrokes of amber and pink. "The sun will be down soon, and then it'll be dark."
Her smile faltered slightly, but she recovered again. "The stars will take its place. Candlelight and stars are a heavenly combination."
"Not in October." He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's too cold to eat outside this time of year."
"I don't think so," she defended. "Not with the temperature as warm as it's been lately. Why, my guess is, we'll scarcely notice a little nip in the air."
He didn't reply, staring at the sunset as if it were an offense to his eyes.
What is wrong with him? she wondered. Why is he being so cross and disagreeable? Maybe he's simply hungry, she told herself. Perhaps all he needs is a good meal and his humor will improve.
"Why do we not go ahead and start dinner?" she suggested, with an encouraging smile. "I thought soup would be the best way to begin."
He continued to stand with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. For a moment she thought he was going to return inside the house, but then he walked forward. Or rather stalked forward.
Stopping, he pulled out one of the chairs and waited for her to take a seat. Moving to the one opposite, he took his place across from her.
At her signal, a pair of footmen emerged, trays in hand. The first man poured beverages-wine for Jack and lemonade for her-while the other served the soup. Then they withdrew.
Tendrils of steam drifted upward from each bowl, the pale broth gleaming faintly in the waning light. Dipping in her spoon, she took a sip.
"Hmm, delicious. Cream of potato. One of your favorites, is it not?"
He gave a soft grunt and ate a mouthful, and then another. His gaze moved to hers. "You'd better eat fast. This will be cold in the next two minutes."
Tightness spread through her chest. "Jack, you seem upset. Has something happened?"
"No. What could have happened?" He dipped his spoon in the soup again and ate another pair of bites, almost shoveling in the food.
"Your trip to the village. Nothing untoward occurred?"
"Of course not. The village was fine."
"Oh," she replied, utterly confused.
She stared at the soup before forcing herself to take another spoonful. After a single bite, she laid her spoon aside.
"Too cold already?" he asked, laying his own utensil into the empty bowl.
"No. I … am not in the mood for soup, after all. Shall we have the next course?"
His shoulders suddenly drooped. "Yes," he said in a resigned tone. "Let us proceed."
And so they did, the next course worse than the first. Not the food, of course. The food was delicious, even if she could barely eat a bite. But Jack … something was terribly amiss with him, only he wouldn't tell her what.
She endured another fifteen minutes of his near silence before she'd finally had enough. Folding her napkin, she laid it aside. As she did, a quiver ran over her skin.
"You're shivering," he accused. "It's dark and chilly and you shouldn't be out in this weather. Not in your condition."