Thornbrook Park (28 page)

“I suppose we're about to find out. Sophia is probably already making out the invitation. But just in case, our mission should be to see the lemon trees replanted and thriving as soon as possible to send him on his way.”
Our
mission. She liked the idea of them sharing in something. It was a start.

“Agreed, Lady Alice, on that point. I'm not looking forward to seeing the man any more than you are, I suspect. Perhaps much less.”

“No sign of gloves, I'm afraid,” Mrs. Hoyle interrupted. Alice had no idea how long the woman had been standing there watching them together. Not long, most likely. Mrs. Hoyle wasn't the sort to wait to be heard. “Will that be all, Lady Alice? There's still time to join your sister at breakfast, I believe.”

“I suppose I will take a moment to say hello. Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle. Mr. Winthrop.” As much as she hated to pull herself away from him, it wouldn't do to stand in conversation with the estate manager now that Mrs. Hoyle had reappeared. “I look forward to the arrival of the lemon trees. Good day.” She delivered a brief nod in parting and willed her feet to walk away.

***

He'd made a new life for himself at Thornbrook Park. No longer was he a gentleman's son, free to court gentlemen's daughters. Lady Alice made him want to forget, but it wouldn't do to allow himself the liberties he wanted to take with her, a breath of fresh air in his otherwise dreary life. He'd failed to grasp happiness when fate might have allowed it, and now it was beyond his reach.

Alice deserved a young man of fortune and good standing, someone who could give her the kind of life befitting her station, not an estate manager with a tarnished past. But sometimes, when she stood close and studied him with that look of awe in her eyes, he wanted to take her in his arms and remember what it was to be young and in love. He was entirely wrong for her, and he dreaded the day he would have to make it clear to her by behaving in a manner that would frighten her away from him for good.

For now, he sensed she needed a friend, and it didn't hurt to lend an ear. How she did prattle on sometimes, drifting from one topic to the next. It made his work go by faster when she was around, like a symphony playing on the wind. And when he had a chance to stop and really listen to her, she had some remarkable things to say. The girl had good sense. Perhaps he needn't have worried that she seemed to be developing an inadvisable interest in him.

It was entirely possible that he flattered himself, imagining that a strong-willed young beauty could be falling in love with him. Likely, her real interest was horticulture, just as she'd often claimed when she appeared at his side as he supervised the trimming of roses, the planting of seedlings, or tilling of the soil. An estate manager needn't dirty his hands, but working the land helped Logan feel some little bit of hope restored, that he could control what grew from the earth, what flourished, and what faded, after so much time spent out of control in his own world.
His old world
. The life that came before, which he'd struggled to put behind him.

“Are you all right, Mr. Winthrop? You look a little pale.” Mrs. Hoyle appeared with a cup and saucer in her hand. He'd been standing in the kitchen where Alice had left him, frozen in place after watching her walk away. “Something to refresh you?”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hoyle. I am a little tired.” He didn't want the tea, but he accepted it, drank it down in one gulp, and handed her the empty cup. That he'd been up since dawn without stopping for a meal might have been the real reason for his mental ramblings. “You're very kind to think of me.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Winthrop.” A blush? From Mrs. Hoyle? “We must look out for one another. If one of us falls ill, who is to look after our family?”

“Our family? Oh yes.” She meant Lord and Lady Averford of Thornbrook Park. Their “family.” “Must keep up our strength. I'm off to get some keys from Mr. Finch. Good morning, Mrs. Hoyle.”

“And a good one to you, Mr. Winthrop.” She turned to bring his cup to the sink.

With family on his mind, he set off to find the butler, Finch. Logan had a family, and they were not the Averfords. Logan's father had been the Baron Emsbury, as his older brother had become upon their father's death. Logan hadn't seen his brother since what they all referred to as “the incident,” but he exchanged letters with him and his wife Ellen, and with Mrs. Lenders, Grace's governess, who assured him that the girl was happy and thriving in the care of Logan's brother and his wife. Grace would be nearly a young woman now, twelve years old, the same age her mother had been when Logan had first kissed her.

“Mr. Finch.” He turned the corner, glad to find the butler at his desk going over an inventory list so that Logan could put thoughts of family behind him and delve back into his work.

My thanks to everyone on the Sourcebooks team for making me feel welcome and helping me to be at my best, especially Deb Werksman and Eliza Smith for their brilliant suggestions, Susie Benton for her patience, and Danielle Dresser for her enthusiasm. As always, I'm grateful to Stephany Evans for believing in me. And to my friends Julia London, Dee Davis, and Julie Kenner for always telling me what I need to hear and for the peach vodka; I love you, man.

Sherri Browning writes historical and contemporary romance fiction, sometimes with a paranormal twist. A graduate of Mount Holyoke College, Sherri has lived in western Massachusetts and greater Detroit, Michigan, but is now settled with her family in Simsbury, Connecticut.
www.sherribrowningerwin.com
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