"You didn't have to do that, you know," she remarked quietly.
"What?"
"Help, for one thing. But also try to prove that you could do it."
Alexander shrugged. "I did it all the time at the monastery. I get a feel for the space. It's almost like I can see it."
"So you see, there are a lot of useful things you can do in the outdoors, then. Well, we have a garden at home we can let you have full charge of," she offered.
"Just so long as you distinguish between the seed packets for me, I'll do all I can," he volunteered eagerly.
"And what are you like with flowers?" she asked.
"Very good, apparently. I know many different breeds of roses just by their smell. Don't ask me how, I don't know."
Sarah considered this new piece of information in silence. He could have been a gardener, of course, but his hands told another tale. A gentleman of leisure with a keen interest in horticulture. She knew rose enthusiasts often clubbed together.
"And what are your impressions of fox hunts?" she asked after a time.
He paused in his digging, frowning at the odd question. "Red coats, called hunting pink, and hounds baying. Lots of noise and fresh air, lots of parties and people being blooded after their first kill." He made a face.
"Barbaric practice. Nice pieces of horse flesh, though. Hunting, shooting, fishing, fine. Nothing better than a trout roasted right next to the stream in which it has been caught. Good friends, fine conversation, and someone brought a couple of bottles of excellent wine and tobacco, cigars."
She began to probe what was obviously a distant memory. "Hmm. How many of you are there?"
He thought for a moment. "About five or six."
"Where are you?"
"At home, on my lands."
"Where? What part of England?"
He shook his head and gave up after a few minutes. "No, nothing. That's it."
"Still, it was a great deal. It confirms a lot of what I had already guessed about you. Between the roses and the lack of interest in hunting, I think we might eventually be able to find some people who know you."
He finished digging the potato drill and stepped up to her, drawing her close. He whispered into her hair, "Thank you. I've had more clues in the past day than I have in the past two years."
She stroked his cheek tenderly. "I'm glad to help, Alexander. But tell me if you think I'm pushing you too hard."
"No, not too hard. But one part of me is still fearful that I may find out something about myself that neither of us will like."
"Like what?" Sarah dared to ask. That fear was a very real one for her too, though she wouldn't have admitted it to him for the world.
He hugged her briefly, then released her and stepped back. "For example, that I'm already married. And not only married and thus committed to a stranger, but even worse, that that stranger might be someone I despise and couldn't love."
"Wealthy people don't often marry for love. You ought to know that," she said gently, despite the choking feeling which had gripped her.
"On the other hand, you could be lucky and have an adoring wife and family somewhere who will be only to glad to have you back."
The prospect made her stomach churn, but she swallowed hard and tried to tell herself she would be only too pleased for him if that were true.
"It could be other things as well. That I'm a terrible landlord, for example, or a cruel father."
She shook her head. "Cruel is not a word I'd associate with you."
"You can't know that, Sarah. I did fight in the war, after all," he pointed out with a sigh.
"But so did my brother and his friends, and none of them are cruel," Sarah said in her most reassuring tone. "They act on their principles, even if they're not always convenient."
"I see."
She took his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "I shall tell you later about Jonathan and Pamela's troubles, which almost prevented them from marrying. We will cross each bridge as we come to it, all right? For now, come out of the hot sun before you get heat stroke."
"All right. One bridge at a time. And I would love something to drink. Pray lead the way."
She took his arm, lifted his jacket from the tree branch, and brought him inside.
Mrs. Miller gave him a glass of water, and filled a basin for him to wash his hands. If she thought anything was odd about the couple holding hands or linking arms all the time, she kept her thoughts to herself.
He was very polite to her, adjusting his conversation to her level of understanding and demonstrating that he was listening carefully by asking all about her family. Sarah could see her giving him approving looks, and winked at her once or twice as if to express her delight with the chap she evidently deemed to be Sarah's beau, for all she had insisted he was her cousin.