Page 46 of The Courtship Dance

“We would not have to use the whole garden,” she went on as they circled the fountain and moved deeper into the garden. “We could mark off the paths at certain points to restrict them.”

He shrugged. “No doubt the head gardener will disapprove, but I think ’twould be pleasanter to have it all open.”

A tall, green hedge divided the garden, with an arch cut into it, leading into the back reaches. Beyond the great hedge, roses grew by the hundreds, filling the air with their heady scent. Here the garden grew less formal, the flower beds no longer contained in neat symmetrical shapes, but sprawling in gloriously bright abandon.

“It’s beautiful,” Francesca breathed. Though she had been to several parties over the years at Lilles House, and had called on the dowager duchess and Callie many times, she had never gone deeper into the garden than the section in front of the dividing hedge.

“My mother loved the garden,” Rochford said quietly. “She clashed with my grandmother over it—the only times I ever heard her dare to disagree with the duchess. She encouraged the gardener to keep the rear garden wilder.”

“I did not know your mother well,” Francesca said. “But I am sure I would have liked her if this garden is any example.”

“She did not visit Dancy Park much after my father’s death. You were still a child when he died—twelve or thirteen, I suppose. My mother was…she was a sweet woman, a romantic one. Theirs was a love match. Her family was quite good, but not as lofty as the Lilles. My grandparents thought my father could have made a better match, and no doubt Mother felt it. She was intimidated, I am sure, when she married my father. Well, you can imagine coming into a family with in-laws like my grandmother and Great-Aunt Odelia.”

“Sweet heaven!” Francesca said, much struck by the idea. “Either one of those women is enough to strike fear into anyone’s heart. Your poor mother.”

He smiled. “I do not think she minded as much as some women would have. She was glad enough at times, I think, for Grandmother’s counsel and advice. She was not always comfortable in the role of duchess. However, as a wife she was perfect for my father. They were very much in love. She was a good, kind mother, as well, one who did not leave her children entirely to the nurse and governess.”

“Well, those are the important roles she played. Being a duchess would not count as strongly.”

He glanced at her. “That is what I thought. And my father. With Grandmother, of course, duty is paramount. The family. The name.”

Francesca shrugged. “We have to face our responsibilities, of course. But surely happiness and love are more important.”

“Do you think so? I would not have said so, from your admonitions to me about marrying.”

Francesca stopped and turned to face him. “Are you again comparing me to the dowager duchess? Really, Rochford…you can be most maddening. I did not say you should marry for your family. What is important is that you be happy.”

He studied her for a moment, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. “I am glad to hear you say it.”

Francesca felt an odd quiver run through her. She did not care to think about it, so she turned and started forward again, saying, “Why did your mother dislike Dancy Park?”

“She did not dislike it so much as she found it hard to leave Marcastle. After Father died, she retreated from the world. She rarely came to London for the Season. She had lost her enjoyment of it. Indeed, she had lost most of her joy in life. She traveled less and less, preferring to stay where she and Father had spent most of their lives together. She felt closest to him at Marcastle.”

“How sad. I mean, ’tis very sweet, as well, but it seems a sad life to live.”

“It was. I felt sorry for her. And yet…”

“And yet what?” Francesca asked when he did not continue, unconsciously tucking her hand into his arm again.

He shook his head slightly. “You will find me very selfish, I fear. I wished she had not been so wrapped up in her grief. It was almost as if both our parents had died. Callie was just a child. She soon could not even remember our father. But for her our mother was…a wraith. A pale imitation of the woman she had been. Callie cannot remember the vibrant woman who was once our mother. She grew up with a quiet, sad person, one who was always a bit removed from everyone else’s life.”

“You must have missed her, as well,” Francesca offered.

He glanced at her. “I did. There were times when I badly wished for her counsel. I was but eighteen and often overwhelmed by the title. There was my grandmother to advise me, of course.”

“The upholder of Duty and Responsibility,” Francesca murmured.

Rochford smiled faintly. “Yes. At least with Grandmother, one did not have to fear a lack of opinion. She was always certain of the correct thing to do.”

“But not the most loving of women, I warrant.”

“No. Not that. She did not approve of you, you know.”

Francesca turned her face up to him, startled. “She knew? That you and I—”

“I did not tell her,” he assured her. “But she could see the attention that I paid to you that last year. She knew the inordinate amount of time I spent at Dancy Park instead of at the family seat, and she was able to guess the reason. Grandmother has always been astute.”

“Oh, dear.” Francesca winced. “She must have been furious with me, then, when I—”