The Last Garden in England(108)

“No one is asking you to be,” said Mrs. Hastings.

“But you are, even if you don’t use those words. I can take him to school and remember to feed him and make sure he takes a bath, but those are all items to check off a list. I can’t love him the way I should. I’ve been trying to make myself since Joan died, and I can’t,” said Miss Adderton.

“But you’re his family,” Mrs. Hastings pushed.

“I would have thought that you of all people would know how terrible it is to live with someone who is obligated to care for you.”

Mrs. Hastings’s eyes widened. “What happened with my aunt was completely different.”

“Was it truly, though? Wouldn’t you have wanted a chance to be raised by someone who loved you?” Miss Adderton asked.

“I can love Bobby,” Diana interjected. “I already love him for who he was to my son. In time, I can love him as my own.”

Miss Adderton nodded, her eyes still fixed on the papers in her hands. “I sign these and you’ll give me the money to move to London?”

“Yes,” breathed Diana. “I’ll give you the money for a room in a boardinghouse or flat, if you prefer. I’ll help you with a wardrobe and pay for your courses—not correspondence courses but an actual secretarial college. I can ask my friends in London to help find you a placement. You can travel. Let me help you live the life you’d always wanted.”

“It hardly seems like a fair trade,” said Miss Adderton with a hollow laugh.

Mrs. Hastings looked from one to the other. “I can’t believe that you’re actually considering this.”

Miss Adderton whirled on her friend. “I hate it here. I hate being in service. I hate that my sister left Warwickshire and I stayed behind. You have the life you want, Beth. Let me try to have mine.”

Mrs. Hastings, who looked as though she was about to argue, snapped her mouth shut.

“You can see Bobby whenever you wish. I would be happy to bring him up to London if that’s easier,” said Diana.

Miss Adderton crossed her arms over her stomach and hugged herself closely. “Mrs. Symonds, please understand: If I sign these documents, I will never see my nephew again, but I do want to know how he is. Will you write to me?”

“Of course,” she said.

The cook reached for a pen. “Where do I sign these?”

“There are three copies, one for you, one for me, and one for my solicitor to register the adoption,” she said, easing the papers out of Miss Adderton’s hands so she could show her the spaces to sign. Then she bent down to put her own signature to the pages.

Straightening, she held out the pen to Mrs. Hastings. “We require a witness.”

Mrs. Hastings stared at the pen, and for a moment, Diana thought that the woman would refuse.

“Beth, please,” Miss Adderton whispered.

Mrs. Hastings snatched the pen out of her hand. “Fine.”

“Please keep an eye on him, Beth. You’re going to be so close,” Miss Adderton said.

When Diana lifted her brow, Mrs. Hastings said, “My husband and I have an agreement to let a house on the grounds of Braembreidge Manor. We’ll move there when the war is over.”

“It sounds as though we’re all beginning anew,” Diana said.

Mrs. Hastings pursed her lips but nodded.

Diana blotted the signatures and stood back. It was done.

“What now?” Mrs. Hastings asked.

“I’ll speak to Bobby and tell him he’s to live here. Unless you want to, Miss Adderton,” she said.

“No. I’ll make arrangements to leave by the end of next week,” said Miss Adderton as she took her copy.

“I’ll write to my banker. He’ll see to it that you have what you need,” she said.

Miss Adderton turned to leave, but then she glanced over her shoulder.

“You can’t call him Bobby any longer. It’s far too common a name for the heir to this house. Robert would be better.”

Diana squeezed her eyes shut. “That was Robin’s given name, as well.”

“It’s a good name,” offered Mrs. Hastings.

Diana gave her a weak smile, grateful for the olive branch. The other woman might never understand—most wouldn’t—but Diana knew that she’d done what was right for the three people who mattered.

“We’ll see what Bobby thinks, but later,” she said. “Right now, one change at a time.”





? EMMA ?


OCTOBER 2021

Emma stamped her boot down onto her spade and levered more earth out of the hole she’d been at for the last five minutes. Beth’s drawings had shown two beautiful stands of hydrangeas up against the winter garden’s wall. Usually hardy plants, the ones she’d revealed when cutting back foliage had been diseased beyond the point of preservation. A couple of calls and a few favors, and she managed to secure two huge pot-grown plants to replace them at a deep discount.

Normally, she’d only dig down about a foot and plant out the shrubs, but the surrounding roots were so dense she was digging down further to give the hydrangeas a fighting chance. Twice already she’d had to pull out the handsaw to get through a dense thicket of roots, and she’d already shed her jumper.