The Lady Always Wins(19)

“I made a worse one,” he said baldly. “I was so fixed on how much I wanted you that I never stopped to ask myself what you wanted.”

“Surely, I could have—”

“Goddamn it, Ginny. Stop trying to make me feel better.” He touched his thumb to her nose. “Let me apologize to you as you deserve.” His fingers were tracing her face, as if he could pull the curve of her smile into the palm of his hand.

And then he let go of her and got down on his knees. “Ginny,” he said, “I love you. I have always loved you. By some miracle, you appear to…to not be indifferent to me. If you would trust me with your heart, I promise from this moment forward that I will do my best to deserve it.”

“I—”

He held up one hand. “No,” he said. “Don’t answer yet. There’s something I have to show you. Do you know why I wanted to hold the opening ceremony in Chapton?”

“Because it’s halfway between Castingham and London?”

“No. It’s because my parents own a house here. After my father sold the house in Chester-on-Woolsey, he purchased the one here. My father says he’ll give it to me as a wedding present, but first, he insists on meeting the bride. D’you see that iron gate just down the road?”

She hadn’t seen it until this moment. But there it was—set back amongst the trees. Now that he’d pointed it out, the black metal seemed to loom, dark and cold. He was taking her to see his parents. Even though they were adults, even though they had three fortunes between them at this point, that reminder brought back those days so long ago.

He stood and wiped the dust from his knees. “Don’t look so distressed. Four years ago, my father told me, ‘If I had known you were going to mope over her forever, I’d never have kept you apart.’”

Ginny swallowed. “And your mother?”

“She just bumped him in the arm and said, ‘I told you so.’ They want grandchildren.” He gave her a tight smile. “Besides, they manage to tolerate even me. Once they know you, they’ll adore you. You’ll see. I wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I believed you would be hurt.”

“I’m not scared,” Ginny said brashly.

“Of course you’re not.” He took her hand and swung it in the air. “Come. I have something to show you.”

A path led from the road, through the gate. It traveled over a little wooden bridge, past tuffets of sheep-cropped grass and a ragged copse of trees, before ending in a well-trimmed hedge.

She’d expected a formal garden. But once inside the hedge, she saw only beds of dirt alongside the path, dark and rich and newly turned.

Some twenty yards away was a good-sized cottage; two stories, with neat white shutters over the windows and morning glory climbing up to the eaves. Pink and yellow rosebuds peeked out from glossy green bushes planted near its walls—indications that once there had been gardens here. But all other vegetation had disappeared.

At least it had for the present. A white-haired man sat on a bench beside a trowel and a burlap sack.

“Good morning, Father,” Simon said.

The man turned, and his face creased into a smile. “Simon. You managed to convince her to come. Miss… well, it’s not Miss Barrett any longer, is it? Mrs. Croswell. I would offer you my hand, but…” He held up the trowel, and showed her his dirty gardening gloves. “I was just finishing pulling the last of the primroses.”

He was going to be her father-in-law. She would see him at holidays. It was best if they started off right.

“By the by, Mrs. Croswell,” the elder Mr. Davenant offered, “you can have no idea how terribly sorry I am for what I did. In my defense, I believed it was nothing more than calf-love.”

“From Simon?” Ginny smiled. “Surely you knew that even at nineteen, he was too bullheaded to be a mere calf.”

His eyes twinkled at her. “I was still hoping, back then, that he’d grow past that. If I had known how difficult he would prove to be, I would have shoved him at you straight away and wished you well of him. But then, England wouldn’t have had its finest railways constructed, so I suppose it’s all for the best.”

Their eyes met. They shared a tentative smile. And in that moment, Ginny knew it was going to be well. They could be friends. They could share in a teasing affection.

“What are you planting?”

“Oh, these?” He looked down at the burlap sack. “Well, Simon. You’d better be the one to explain, as you won’t let me help.”

Simon upended the sack and wordlessly let its contents spill across the path. Ginny would have known those smooth, papery roots anywhere. It felt as if a giant fist closed gentle fingers around her heart.

“Tulip bulbs?” she asked.

“There are three more sacks in the carriage house, and what I had to do to find this many bulbs in early summer…” He gave her an easy smile, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. “I’ve been planting them, these last days.”

She took a breath, but her lungs couldn’t quite seem to contract properly.

He picked up a bulb. “You told me that the tulips at Barrett’s Folly made you think of madness—of money tossed away without thought for the future.”

His voice had grown a touch raspy. She turned to him.