He didn’t know how he’d felt about that. If he was honest, he could admit he had rather enjoyed Leonie acting chastised. It meant his opinion mattered to her, that he could disturb her peace of mind as effortlessly as she did his.
Walking home, she hadn’t trailed behind him or sheepishly tried to stay by his side or even attempted to stomp ahead of him as she had the night before. No, she’d moved with easy grace.
She’d also been full of questions, asking him about his plans for the field he and the hired men had plowed that day. What would be planted there? Why had he chosen of all things clover?
When it came time to part ways—he, nobly taking himself to the stables and leaving her the house—she’d cheerfully wished him a good night as if something else occupied her mind. Something that wasn’t him.
She was planning to leave him. She must be thinking of returning to London. Roman could imagine no other reason for her behavior.
It had always been a possibility from the very beginning. Hadn’t she wanted that to be their bargain? And wouldn’t he be better off alone rather than spending his days and nights worrying about her tendency toward drink?
Except it didn’t make him happy.
He understood that he shouldn’t try to stop her from leaving. She had too much power over him. She could play him for a fool, just as she had in India.
But then, not everything had been her fault. Her parents had a role. They were the ones that had left him to face the tribunal. Nor could he blame Leonie for his decision to lie about Paccard’s death.
David’s suggestion that perhaps he should have let justice have its course nagged at him. What if his decision to take the blame for Paccard’s death was part of why Leonie drank? Perhaps they wouldn’t have this wall between them?
In the end, Roman had taken himself to the village and the local public house because he wasn’t fit company alone—and because he feared he had a strong desire to crawl on his knees to his wife and beg her forgiveness for his churlishness. He couldn’t do that. He wouldn’t.
A half bottle of whisky convinced him he was completely right in his rigid stance.
But that hadn’t stopped her from invading even his drunken sleep, and now here she was, right before him . . . and talking about hitching the plow?
Perhaps he was still dreaming?
From the way his head pounded, he didn’t think so.
He watched his wife pick up horseshoes and toss them into a bucket. She appeared rested and happy while he would like nothing more than to pull his head off his shoulders.
He found his voice. “Hitch the horse?”
“Yes, to the plow.” She dropped the last of the horseshoes in the bucket. She wore her hair down and loose around her shoulders, the way he liked it. Her dress was a plain, dark blue gown without embellishment, but Leonie didn’t need pleats, lace, and buttons to look lovely. “I’ve decided where the rose garden should be. Of course, it might be best if we plow up the whole back lawn and then I can replant it the way I believe it should be.”
The pounding in his head was subsiding. “You want to use the plow?” He spoke slowly.
“Is it hard to do? Don’t you just follow the horse?”
“You have to keep the plow down.” He could add he’d never seen a woman plow. And if he said that, Leonie might take it up as a challenge.
She considered his statement a moment. “I might need help.”
“I believe you will.”
She smiled at him, an expression so dazzling it hurt his bloodshot eyes. She’d picked up on the dryness in his tone. Perhaps she knew he was teasing slightly, or perhaps she just wanted him to feel more like the besotted fool he was.
And he was out of his depth. No woman had a smile more potent that Leonie’s. Yes, God had gifted her with looks that could set every male imagination on fire. However, in her smile was just that right touch of uncertainty, as if what he thought of her was important.
“Come,” she said. “Let me show you what I mean to do.”
She started walking out of the stall.
“Wait,” he called. “I need to put on my boots.”
“Do you need help?”
Now there was an offer! Roman blinked a few times to be certain he wasn’t still dreaming. He wasn’t. She stood at the stall door looking fresh as the day’s dawn.
He reached for his boots and gingerly slipped them on. It took him a moment to rise to his feet. That cot was the most uncomfortable thing he’d ever slept on. Stretching, he found his bearings and nodded for her to lead the way. He followed her out of the stables, blinking when he stepped out into the morning light.
“When I feel as you,” she said thoughtfully, “I have learned it helps to wash my face and clean my teeth.”
It would help. “I will be back,” he said. He started for the kitchen in the house. He’d moved his shaving kit and personal items there when he’d left their room.
“I’ll be by the garden door.”
Roman stopped. “The garden door?”
She laughed. “The back entrance. Wait until you learn what I have in mind.”
Was this his wife? Curious now, Roman hurried to bring himself to his senses. Splashing cold water on his face in the basin in the kitchen, he reflected that she was being very generous with him. If he’d caught her in his shape, he would have been . . . cruel?
Their circumstances were different, he told himself. He’d made a mistake. Drinking was a character issue with Leonie.
Or was he the one with the character issue?
He ran a hand over his rough beard and looked at himself in the mirror. He did not like what he saw. He appeared tired, disillusioned, drink bitten.
This wasn’t the man he wanted to be.
He lathered his shaving soap and quickly ran a blade over his jaw. The use of tooth powder also helped him regain a bit of his own. He put on a clean shirt and headed for the “garden” door.
Leonie stood out on the lawn looking up at the house.
Roman took a moment to savor the picture she presented. While he’d been gone, she had twisted her hair back into a knot at the nape of her neck. She stood on the rough ground that made up the back garden studying the house.
She sensed his presence and smiled her welcome. That was all it took to stoke his heart.
“What are you thinking?” he asked. His voice sounded normal despite everything inside him being a mixture of lust and wonder and wanting.
“How soon do you think it will be until you start rebuilding the side of the house?”
“Two days. Some stonemasons contacted me offering their services.”
“Will you be able to copy the stone mullions in the windows like they are on the other side of the house?”
“That may be difficult.” Roman joined her on the lawn. “We might have to settle for wood. It is easier to make.”
“With the curved designs?” She referred to the ivy leaf design on the original windows.
“Possibly not.”
“That would be a pity. Then again, that the house isn’t identical on both sides could become a story of interest.”
Roman agreed, then dared to ask, “Are you saying you might grow accustomed to Rook Haven?”
The lips of her generous mouth gave a rueful twist. “I call it that,” she admitted. “There are no rooks this morning.”
“There will be later.”
“We shall see,” she said with another quick smile, and then she changed the subject to her rose garden. She had many ideas. It would be a garden fit for a royal palace. She wanted the roses along the house and other flower beds in patterns across the lawn. She even had plans for an arbor with benches beneath it. “I saw it at Lady Fitzhugh’s garden and thought it the most perfect place to enjoy a summer day. Is it possible?”
Her enthusiasm charmed him. He liked what she had planned. “Of course it is possible. Adams in the village is a very capable carpenter. He and his sons will do whatever you design.”
“Whatever I design,” she repeated. She looked to Roman. “I like that. It will be my mark on Bonhomie.”
“Yes,” he said, daring to move toward her, but then an expression crossed her face that made him stop. It was wistful but there was regret there as well.
She took a step away from him. He had not misread her.
He stopped. They stood a little less than a foot from each other. A man and his wife discussing the garden, for all the world to see. But he knew this could be much more.
“I love you.” His words flowed out of him. They were a statement of inescapable fact. Doubts be damned, he felt what he felt.
Leonie crossed her arms. She attempted to smile . . . but she was not entirely successful. “I know you do.”
“Then all will be well between us.”
Her arms tightened against her. “I am trying to be strong.”
“You are strong. Perhaps stronger than I—”
She crossed the space between them and placed her fingertips against his lips. “You weren’t wrong to be angry,” she said.
“Leonie—”
“Shh, no. Don’t argue, Roman. Please, don’t. I don’t know if I can overcome my weaknesses. Is it love to care for your well-being more than my own? I would hate myself if I used you in such a manner. It would set me adrift, and I want something more than what my parents have.”
As did he. His mind, and his heart, knew she was right. And yet, his body begged for him to shout, Use me. Let me love you. I will do anything to keep you safe. To protect you.
She seemed to hear his unspoken words. “This isn’t about you. I am going to save myself. I must find a way to survive and I believe roses will be key. They have taken ahold of my imagination. I know this sounds silly, but look—” She held out her hand. “See? It is steady.”
His response was to take her hand. He adored the warmth of her skin. He dreamed of it.
He looked out over the expanse of lawn that she proposed transforming into flower beds. Transforming . . .
Roman had little use for flowers. He’d intended to raise food to eat, grain to mill, and fodder for animals. His passion was for what had permanence, such as rebuilding Bonhomie’s structure. Roses were fine. They smelled good, but they could not be eaten or woven.
However, if they could nourish Leonie’s soul, he’d plant acres of them.
For that reason alone, he considered the back of the house. “So, you want the rose bed over here along the house. Would this be deep enough for the beds?” He drew a line in the air to roughly indicate his thoughts.
“Yes, and an herb garden by the kitchen door. Your mother will help me design it. Those beds will be the beginning.” She glanced down to where their hands were still joined. She did not release her hold. Instead, she said, “I would also like a say in the hiring of the household servants.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Yarrow is yours to command. I’ll be busy plowing flower beds.”
She gifted him with a radiant smile. “Thank you, Roman.”
Dear God, she humbled him.
“Would you care for a cup of tea and toasted bread?” she asked. “My tea-making skills are fairly reliable and Dora told me how to toast the bread. I’d like to try her method. It doesn’t sound difficult. The loaf is fresh from your mother, so if the first piece is too black, you can eat it untoasted.”
“Who could have imagined the elegant Miss Charnock of London would be willing to toast bread?”
She blushed. “Wait until you’ve tasted my toast before you brag upon me.”
Leonie started toward the house but Roman, still holding her hand, pulled her back. She glanced to him.
“We will share a bed,” he said. Her lips parted as if to protest, but he continued. “Aye, we will. I’ll not do anything you don’t wish.” It would be damned hard not to touch her, but he could. “I’m tired of sleeping on that cot, Leonie. I want my bed.”
“And I can move?” Her chin had come up and a flash of fire lit her eye. “You are the one who left the bed, Roman. Not I.”
“That is true. I’m a fool.”
She looked down at their joined hands, and then her mood softened. She smiled.
He smiled back and, just like that, there was hope for them. It would take time. He understood. She was still fragile. She had set for herself a colossal task, one she must do for herself.
God, could he be patient and wait? Had he not waited long enough for her?
The answer was—he would wait for her forever.
And yes, she burned the toast.
Yes, he ate it buttered with praise.
True to his word, Roman had one of the field workers plow up the back garden. It was quite a chore.
Leonie didn’t have the opportunity to watch the work be done because she and Yarrow were busy discussing staff for the house.
This was all new to her. She’d never run a household and realized her mother hadn’t either. Her mother had other pursuits and Leonie had not paid attention to what the succession of housekeepers over the years had been doing. Besides, in such a wealthy household, there had always been plenty of servants to do even the most basic of tasks. That would not be the case at Bonhomie. Even with the wealth Leonie brought to the marriage, economies needed to be practiced to achieve all that Roman had planned.
Yarrow understood her lack of household knowledge. With infinite kindness, he helped school her in what the lady of such an estate as this should know.
Leonie also had the support and combined wisdom of her mother-in-law and her sisters-in-law. She would have hired the first cook who walked in the door if it had not been for Catherine.
“Don’t you want to know how she cooks?” Catherine had asked.
Shrugging, Leonie said, “She is a cook. She has references. Why would she not cook well?”
“Because there is a great deal to know about cooking.”
“I know nothing. How can I judge if she knows what she is doing? I served Roman burnt toast.”
“You eat, don’t you?” Dora said with her customary bluntness. “That is the only true measure of a good cook.”
Encouraged by the two women, Leonie asked the woman applying for the position to prepare a dinner. The food was terrible. Catherine, her daughters, and even David understood exactly why. There had been no salt. The gravy had lacked flavor because of a lack of fat and the vegetables had been cooked to mush. And so began Leonie’s education in the kitchen arts.
“Even a countess needs to boil an egg from time to time,” Dora declared.
Since that might be true, Leonie attempted egg boiling to accompany Roman’s burnt toast. Eggs led to chickens and Roman had the abandoned coop cleaned out. He purchased hens and a rooster to fill it and it was Leonie’s task to gather eggs until they hired a girl from the village for the duties of a scullery maid.
In two weeks’ time, Leonie hired, with the family’s approval, an excellent cook from Yorkshire who wished to move to Somerset to be closer to her family. The woman had worked on a large estate so understood that she was not only cooking for the Earl of Rochdale’s extended family, but would be expected to serve meals to the field workers, the stonemasons, the carpenters, the stable lads, and the growing number of household staff. Leonie didn’t know how Cook managed the overwhelming task and yet everyone was well fed and satisfied.
Roman hired a land steward, a Mr. Briggs, who came highly recommended and knew exactly how to tame the forests about Bonhomie. The fields began to take shape. One field was sown with the clover that had seemed an odd crop to Leonie but which Mr. Briggs agreed with Roman would be good for the soil and the future. The other two-thirds were planted with corn and hay. Briggs also had a cousin who could restore an old mill that had fallen into disrepair. Soon people would not have to travel all the way to Ilminster to have their grain ground. He and Roman also began making plans for a logging mill. Now that the stream was unblocked, water flowed freely and could be put to use.
Dunc
an Barr, Roman’s valet, discovered he preferred working with the animals instead of polishing boots. With Roman’s blessing, he took over the lambs that would become Bonhomie’s herder. Leonie adored watching the lambs play in the fields and was a touch sad when they matured to the point they didn’t kick up their heels or jump over clumps of buttercups.
Roman had visited an apple orchard where the sheep grazed beneath the trees and he was determined to do the same at Bonhomie. He said it made sense to use the land for two purposes. Of course, right now, his apple trees were little more than twigs in the ground.
A half acre between Bonhomie and David and Catherine’s cottage was prepared for a vegetable garden. His parents took on its management. Every day as spring rolled into summer, they could be found in the garden during the early morning hours. Sometimes Leonie helped with the weeding. Often Edward and Jane joined them. Leonie enjoyed their company. Their childhoods, surrounded by doting adults, were vastly different than her own had been. Their curiosity was encouraged, and she found herself thinking about how lonely she’d been.
Contrary to her vow to avoid all children save for her niece and nephew, Dora began spending more time at the village school, taking over Beth’s role as teacher. The parish was growing and Lawrence needed his wife’s help. Despite detesting her years as governess, Dora found she liked overseeing her classroom and that children were not so dreadful when they went home to their parents each day.
In all aspects, Bonhomie teemed with life. Roman brought ducks for the pond and a cow for her milk. Two huge oxen were purchased to plow the fields, leaving the wagon horses for other chores.
Rabbits discovered the garden. Roman had a fence built around it to keep away the deer, but the rabbits always found a way in and that was when Chester and Soldier came into their lives.
Chester was a herding dog who helped Barr with the sheep. When he was done for the day, he performed a rabbit patrol with Soldier, a lively foxhound pup who, when he wasn’t sniffing out garden thieves, wanted to follow Roman wherever he went—including into the house.
At first, Leonie refused the dogs entrance. Chester was happy in the stables with the hired men but Soldier was crestfallen. It took only one day of the poor pup sitting on the step crying in loneliness for her to relent.
If Ever I Should Love You Page 22
