Page 14 of A Landscape of Love

“Well, I told you to, but that doesn’t mean you had to do it. Don’t just do what you’re told, for the love of God. You’ve a brain. Coming with me was a daft thing to do. You ought to have refused,” he grumbled.

“B-But…” Fidelia stared at him in consternation.

Mr De Beauvoir took off his hat and rubbed irritably at his hair. It ran the gamut of brown, from almost golden tones through to a rich chocolate colour and was cut severely short at the back and sides, despite the fashion for men of longer hair. It was longer on top, though, and now stood up at strange angles after his brusque treatment of it.

“Well, you’re here now, and this place is out of the way. Just have a care.”

“I will,” she promised meekly, and then realised she was doing what he told her again. Frowning over this, she watched as he set his hat down and peered at a tray full of earth. Wondering what he found so fascinating, she moved closer. Tiny green shoots punctuated the fine soil.

“Sweet peas,” he said gruffly.

“Oh, I love sweet peas,” Fidelia said with a sigh.

“These are called Painted Lady,” he said, glancing at her.

“I hope that’s not an insult,” she replied dryly.

He sent her a dark look which made her smile, as she believed it would never occur to him to say such a thing to her. Not that she used make-up. His grace frowned upon such things.

“These are lovely, with a beautiful perfume. They are a deep pink, with pale rose wings and a white keel.”

“Keel?”

“The centre,” he explained automatically, reaching for another tray. He moved along the bench to where a quantity of rich soil was piled with a scoop shoved into it. Taking the scoop, he filled the tray and tapped it hard to get the soil to settle. Then he took a small watering can and watered the soil, so it was damp. Fidelia watched with interest as he reached into his pocket and pulled out half a dozen paper squares.

“These arrived yesterday. I’ve not had a chance to plant them yet,” he said, inspecting the names. “They’re chrysanthemums.”

“What’s that?”

“An impressive flower head with lots of petals. These are dark purple. Here, take your gloves off.”

Fidelia quirked an eyebrow at him, and then watched, amused, as he rolled his eyes.

“If you want to,” he added.

She laughed and stripped off her gloves, laying them carelessly on the dirty bench. Mr De Beauvoir hesitated for a moment before he took her hand and shook some seeds into her palm. They were tiny and unprepossessing looking things.

“Scatter them carefully over the surface of the soil,” he said, watching critically as she did so. “Very good.”

Fidelia smiled at him, pleased.

“Now, get a small scoop of the soil, and carefully shake a fine layer over the top. You want to barely cover them.”

Following his instructions, she did as he told her.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we wait. They need sunlight and to be kept out of the frost while they germinate. They ought to be in a glasshouse, really, but then the gardeners will see you and wonder. This little corner seems to have been abandoned. If I can, I’ll make some cold frames, but we’ll have to make do with the light from the windows. Here, you do this tray.”

Fidelia took it from him and carefully scooped soil into it, watering the tray with care under his critical gaze.

“You need patience in gardening,” he said, his voice soft.

He was standing close enough that his breath fluttered against the back of her neck, making her senses leap. For a moment she closed her eyes, wondering how different things might have been if he had been the man she had lost her wits over. His deep voice rumbled on, pleasantly gruff, and she thought she could listen to him speak all day and never grow bored with the sound.

“You can’t rush nature. She’ll take her own sweet time, but then she’ll reward you with a fine healthy plant, or a burst of colourful flowers. I plant trees all the time, yet I know I might not see some of them reach their maturity. You plant for the next generation as well as your own, you see.”

Fidelia paused with the watering can in her hand, staring at him. She had never met a man like this before. There was an intensity about him that seemed to radiate energy, and yet he was a peaceful presence, solid and reassuring.