Sarah thumped her head with the heel of her hand. "Drat. I remember. I just didn't notice that the days had passed so quickly after my brother's wedding. Right then," she said with a glance at the clock, "it's high time we were working on the food, wouldn't you say?"
"Yes, Miss," Jenny said with enthusiasm. "Should we get Alexander in from the garden to help?"
She could hear the steady scrape of the shovel outside. "No, leave him for a little while longer, until about eleven. The sun will be getting hot by then, and it will be high time for him to come inside to rest. Though I wish he would now."
"He loves it out there. I can't see it doing him any harm if he says he feels well."
"I suppose," Sarah replied, though her tone was doubtful.
"It's nice to see him so happy."
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" she said with a winsome smile, pushing all of her doubts to one side. He was going to be fine. He just had to be.
Sarah went into the kitchen to knead a mountain of bread dough for the party.
At eleven, she went out to visit Alexander with some cool fresh milk. He had already transformed the garden beyond all recognition in a few short hours. It was rapidly starting to look like one she had seen attached to a Royal residence which she had once visited.
"What do you think?"
"Wonderful."
He turned to her. "And how do I look?"
She stepped closer, soaking in his raw power. "Very well. Very handsome as always."
He stroked her cheek, inadvertently placing a smudge of dirt on her porcelain skin. "I'm sorry if I gave you a scare last night, Sarah. I don't remember what happened. Caleb said you were rather worried."
She laid her hand over his and leaned into the tender caress. "It's not your fault. You couldn't help it. The important thing is you're well now. You mustn't overdo things. One step at a time, remember?"
"So you're telling me to come in and rest?" he asked, a small, sensual smile playing about his finely wrought mouth.
"Sort of." She stepped closer, and dropped her voice to a low, sultry purr. "How do you feel about peeling a mountain of potatoes? Today is May Day, and I promised the villagers a celebration."
He planted the shovel in the ground, and gave a good-natured laugh at the prosaic nature of her invitation. She was really a most beguiling woman. "It sounds like fun. I'll come now."
He found his jacket, and reached out to take her elbow as easily as if he could see her.
She resisted the temptation to throw herself in his arms and weep, and instead simply rubbed the back of his hand in a sensual caress.
"And you?" he asked in a husky whisper of his own which thrilled her down to her toes. "Are you all right, Sarah?"
"Fine. Just a bit tired."
"I'm sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry about. Friends sit up and look after each other. Let's not mention it again," she said crisply.
She settled him in the kitchen at the table with a vegetable scraper, and sat as close to him as she dared, with their thighs touching under the table, whenever she got the opportunity. It was exquisite torture for them both.
Every nerve ending in her body seemed to scream with awareness of his magnificent physique, his magnetic personality. He seemed to be blissfully unaware of just how much he affected her sensibilities. He simply took the offered implement, rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
Alexander felt so clumsy he was sure would behead himself with the vegetable scraper. Were her legs really touching him by accident? Or was she sending him a silent message of desire?
His certainly couldn't be described as silent. He was sure his was screaming from his every pore. But though his back prickled and his front felt as though it was tied up in knots, he could recall just enough about his past to know that something was wrong.
And in any case it was wrong to want her so, especially after all the things she had done for him. He berated himself for his depravity even as he allowed his knees to rest against her thighs. After all, his hands were full of potatoes. How harmful could the contact be?
By two o'clock they had all the makings of a wonderful feast. Hard-boiled eggs, potato salad, green salad, fresh bread, ham, cold tongue, roast beef, pickled beets, a variety of pies made from their store of preserves, scones, freshly churned butter, crumpets, were all loaded into baskets which she piled into the gig.
Sarah walked the horse along the road, with Alexander holding her hand along the way, their fingers twined intimately. She felt as carefree and happy as a child, and suppressed a shudder at the thought of what could have happened that fine spring morning.