Page 25 of A Landscape of Love

“Oh,” she said, glowing in the light of the words he’d given her.

Lord, had no one ever praised her, ever told her quite how wonderful she was? He could see all too well how some bounder had led her on and made her believe he cared for her with a few sweet words. She was so thirsty for love and attention she bloomed with the slightest amount of kindness. Lady Fidelia had so much to give, and the man who became the recipient of all that love would be lucky indeed.

But that would not be him, he reminded himself sternly, ignoring the sharp stab of regret that accompanied the thought.

“I shall order some plants from my hothouses,” he said, handing her back the painting. “And you can test your skills.”

She gazed at him in wonder. “You would do that?”

“Of course. It’s foolish not to encourage talent when you find it, and you, like your brother, have talent.”

“You’re very kind,” she said. “But I know such things are frightfully expensive, I should not wish—”

“Well, I do wish. I will send you some flowers to paint,” he said sternly.

Fidelia returned a hesitant smile. “Then you must take my painting as a thank you for your kindness.”

Hart nodded, more pleased than he wished to admit at keeping it for himself. “I should be happy to do so. Now, I’m afraid I do have an early start in the morning. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

“It was not the least bit lovely for you,” she said, laughing ruefully now, and Hart was pleased to see she had recovered her spirits. “But it was kind of you to say so. Goodnight, Mr De Beauvoir.”

She held out her hand to him and Hart took it gently, bowing over it. “Goodnight, Lady Fidelia.”

He turned and walked away, making his way to the front door, and feeling her eyes on his back all the way.

Chapter 7

To Miss Spencer,

What a lovely surprise to hear from you.

I am quite recovered, I thank you and consider myself honoured you remember me so fondly – as I do you, might I add. I promise you needed no excuse to contact me, especially when your letter was accompanied by such a beautiful gift. How clever you are. Your skill with a needle puts my meagre talents quite in the shade.

Mr De Beauvoir is indeed hard at work here, having designed a beautiful garden for us at Hardacre. I am afraid I have not yet seen the plans – my father does not invite my interest in what he considers outside of my purview – but I am looking forward to doing so. I confess it is rather hard to see beyond the muddy mess at present, but Mr De Beauvoir has promised me it will be beautiful, so what else can I do but believe him? He spoke most warmly of you and your family when I mentioned you at dinner last night and sends his regards.

I have never visited De Beauvoir Nurseries and Landscaping, but I will certainly make a point of doing so in the future.

Do please write again, it was so lovely to receive such an unexpected letter. I do not have many friends and there is little society to be had at Hardacre. I welcome your friendship with gratitude and the happy expectation of further correspondence.

With kind regards and amities,

―Excerpt of a letter to the Hon’ble Miss Violetta Spencer (cousin and adopted daughter to The Right Hon’ble Kitty and Luke Baxter, Countess and Earl of Trevick) from The Lady Fidelia Ponsonby.

15th February 1850, Hardacre Hall Estate, Hardacre, Derbyshire.

Hart had not seen so much of a glimpse of Fidelia since the night he’d dined with them at the house. This was hardly surprising, considering the turn the weather had taken. The temperature had plummeted, and rain fell ceaselessly, turning the ground into a quagmire and the men’s spirits sour. It was impossible to keep warm. Icy droplets fell from Hart’s hat and funnelled down the back of his neck. His clothes were damp practically within the first half an hour of setting foot outside and remained that way the entire day. Half the men were showing signs of going down with coughs and colds, and he did not doubt the other half would follow. It was utterly miserable. Taking pity on the wretched-looking sodden gardeners, Hart called a halt to the day a little earlier than usual and told them to go home and get dry. He’d have no workforce at all if they all went down with bloody pneumonia.

With visions of a hot mug of tea and a seat by the fire dancing enticingly in his mind, Hart was halfway to the cottage when he heard hoofbeats thudding behind him. Turning, he saw Lord Alex and halted as the lad cantered up to him.

“Have you seen Fidelia?” the boy asked, his face creased with concern.

“No?” Hart replied as unease slid beneath his skin. “Why? What’s happened?”

“I don’t know,” Alex replied, looking bewildered. “I got a letter from Father saying he’d be away longer than he expected, at least another week, perhaps more, and she went into a rage. Well, I know he is selfish and all the other things she said, but I don’t understand why that should send her into such a pelter. Why does she want him back? That’s what I don’t understand. It’s far nicer without him here.”

“She’s not at the house?” Hart demanded, understanding why Fidelia had lost her temper. She’d been so patient, waiting to discover the contents of her father’s diary, and now she must wait longer still.

Alex shook his head. “She went for a walk, though I tried to stop her, but that was two hours ago. She’ll be frozen to the bone by now.”