Mist of Midnight by Sandra Byrd

Author:Sandra Byrd
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Howard Books

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Delia and I were to put the finishing touches to our picnic plan, which would be held in about a fortnight. I waited for her near the foyer; Captain Whitfield’s valet was moving about in the main house, too. It appeared that Thornton was preparing for another journey to London but he took a moment to rearrange the jasmine bouquet, now beginning to wilt and shed petals that drifted silently to the floor.

“White petals forever remind me of India,” I said.

“India sounds marvelous,” Thornton replied. “Except for the, er, maid that was here earlier, I’ve never met an Indian person and have only read of the place in an improving book.”

“There are no other Indian servants hereabouts?”

He shook his head. “I’ve never heard of it outside London.”

He bowed slightly, but politely, and took his leave just as Delia’s carriage pulled up. I had never watched her alight from it, having always greeted her inside. It was weathered around the edges, and the coachman looked tired and perhaps older than a man should be who is still required to drive. He helped her to step down, taking more than a moment to uncoil his back, which never did completely straighten. I backed into the main hallway to save her any discomfort she may have had at my observance of the worn state of her man, horse, and carriage.

“Delia!” I kissed her cheeks at the door, and she kissed mine in return. “I’m thrilled to have the day together.”

“I, too.” She looked me over carefully; I wore a lavender-colored dress with mother-of-pearl buttons. “No longer a raven.” She carried a small sheaf of papers, which, I assumed, included not only the names of those we had invited but details such as menus and music. We walked arm in arm out into the garden. “It is coming along nicely.” Her voice held real admiration. “You’ve done well!”

I surveyed it along with her, and yes, I agreed, the gardens, after a faint and fallow era, were well and truly reviving; a renaissance was under way.

“I must admit,” I said, “Captain Whitfield has done well. The planning is mostly his and I have only been here to see that his arrangements have been properly carried through.” But I’d done that with care and concern, and as I looked over the gardens, I thought that I now loved this landscape as much as India’s. The soft green and delicate blooms had begun to wend their way, like ivy, around my heart.

Delia sniffed. “Yes, Captain Whitfield has done well. You might take a bit more care with the roses.”

I looked up and saw said Captain Whitfield striding toward us across the long lawn. Delia saw him, too, and immediately loosened her bonnet.

“I must have been born under a lucky star.” He took one of each of our arms in his; we flanked him. “Two of my favorite ladies blossoming right here in the gardens.

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