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“There is a tree growing through the floor.”

“A small tree.”

He took in the broken glass, the rotted frames, the brown water, and began calculating the cost. He opened his mouth to call it impractical. Glass, timber, a mason, the flue, the roof made sound before anyone could safely stand beneath it. Months of work and a great deal of money for a room no one had used since his father’s funeral.

Then he saw her face.

“Samuel says the heating flue may still work,” she was saying. “And the morning light would suit drawing. The shelves could go back. There is room for specimens without taking anything he needs from the greenhouse. And the brick under the ivy would hold the warmth. We need not pretend it is a drawing room and fill it with furniture.”

“We?”

“It is a useful pronoun.”

“It would cost a great deal.”

“I have a great deal. You settled it on me.” She came toward him through the debris, lifting her skirt clear of a fallen frame. “I would draw here. Grow things. Learn what survives and what does not. Perhaps bring the children from the cottages to see the plants, if their parents like the idea.” She stopped in front of him. “I do not require it, Tristan, but I would like it.”

He thought of his father among the lemons. He thought of this room standing broken for six years because nobody could bear to walk into it, and of how many rooms like it he kept, in his house and in himself. Here, at least, he could give her something without pretending to know the rest.

He put a hand on the doorframe. The lower hinge shifted beneath it.

“This needs replacing,” he said.

“You mean…”

“And someone must inspect the glazing before you spend another morning here. The roof first. Nobody works under it until Collins has had a man check every beam.” He looked past her. “The tree comes out.”

“It has considerable character.”

“It is a sycamore growing through the floor.”

“You are remarkably intolerant of character.”

“I live with you.”

She stared, then laughed so suddenly that a pigeon burst from the brickwork. When he told her to make a list of what she needed, she crossed the last yard between them and kissed himimpulsively, her delight impossible to contain.

“Rule two,” he said, against her mouth.

“I considered it necessary.”

“I shall require evidence.”

She supplied it at some length, with her hands in his hair, enclosed in his arms, until the cobweb from her sleeve had transferred to his coat and he had forgotten the boundary dispute, the lease, and the Peace of Amiens.

She had yet another list in her pocket already. She had made it as soon as the ideas started flowing, sitting on an upturned pot. He read it in the ruined doorway: glass, timber, hinges, a mason for the flue, shelving, a smooth board for the drawing table. At the bottom, in smaller letters: one sycamore for Samuel to rehouse with dignity.

He was still laughing when someone cleared his throat outside.

Collins stood on the path with his hat in his hand, mud to the knee, and a look of great discomfort that had nothing to do with finding his employer in a derelict conservatory with the duchess.

“Your Graces. Forgive me. Whitmore said I might find you here.” He turned to Tristan. “It is the Hale cottage, Your Grace, by the brook. Part of the roof came down in the night’s rain. The family got out, but there are six children and Mrs. Hale near her time with the seventh, and the walls may not hold.”

Tristan was already moving. “Is anyone hurt?”

“Not badly. A falling slate cut the eldest boy’s head.”

“Send for Dr. Mercer. Have the carpenter meet us there.” He turned back to Lydia. The delight had left her face, and something graver had come into it. “I am sorry. I promised you the day.”