“Yes, indeed,” Hopple said. “Except for the four days when you first left for London, of course.”
Jock flushed a rabbit and gave chase.
Edward stopped and turned to the steward. “What?”
“Mrs. Wren didn’t come to work whilst you were in London.” Hopple swallowed. “Except for the day before you came back, that is. She worked that day.”
“I see,” Edward said. But he didn’t see.
“It was only for four days, my lord.” Hopple hastened to smooth things over. “And she was all caught up on the paperwork, so she told me. It wasn’t as if she let her work lie.”
Edward stared thoughtfully at the mud beneath his feet. He remembered the vicar’s mention of a “trip” the night before. “Where did she go?”
“Go, my lord?” Hopple looked to be stalling. “I, er, don’t know if she went anywhere at all. She didn’t say.”
“The vicar said she had made a trip. He intimated that she’d gone to do some shopping.”
“Maybe he was mistaken,” Hopple said. “Why, if a lady couldn’t find what she wanted in the shops in Little Battleford, she’d have to go to London to discover better. Surely Mrs. Wren didn’t go that far.”
Edward grunted. He went back to staring at the ground at his feet. Only now he knit his brows. Where had Anna gone? And why?
ANNA BRACED HER feet and hauled on the old garden door with all her might. Edward had given her the day to herself, but she couldn’t stay that long asleep. Instead, after spending the morning resting, she thought she’d use the free time this afternoon to plant the roses. The door remained stubbornly shut for a moment, then it gave suddenly and flew open, almost throwing her on her rear. She dusted her hands and picked up her basket of gardening tools before slipping into the neglected garden. Edward had brought her here just over a week ago. In that little time, there’d been a great change within the old walls. Green shoots were poking up in the beds and between the cracks in the walkway. Some were obviously weeds, but others had a more refined air. Anna even recognized a few: the reddish tips of tulips, the unfurling rosettes of columbine leaves, and the dew-spangled palms of lady’s mantle.
Each was a treasure she discovered with delight. The garden wasn’t dead. It only lay dormant.
She set down her basket and went back out the garden door to bring in the remaining rosebushes Edward had given her. She’d already planted three in her own little garden. The rosebushes lay outside, still wet from the buckets of water. Each had begun to sprout tiny green buds. She looked down at them. They had brought her such hope when Edward had given them to her. Even though that hope was dead, it didn’t seem fair to let the roses languish. She would plant them today, and if Edward never visited the garden again, well, she’d know they were here.
Anna dragged the first batch into the garden and let them flop down in the muddy path. She straightened and glanced around in search of a likely spot to plant them. The garden had a pattern once upon a time, but now it was almost impossible to discern what it had been. She shrugged and decided to divide the plants evenly between the four main flower beds. She picked up her shovel and began hacking through the tangled growth in the first bed.
ANNA WAS IN the garden when Edward found her that afternoon. He was irritable. He’d been searching for her some fifteen minutes, ever since Hopple had informed him that she was at the Abbey. Really, he shouldn’t have sought her out at all; he’d made just that resolution this morning. But something inside him seemed constitutionally incapable of keeping away from his secretary when he knew her to be nearby. So he was frowning at his own lack of fortitude when he spotted her. Even then he paused by the garden door to admire the picture she made. She had dropped to her knees in the dirt to plant a rose. Her head was uncovered, and her hair was coming down from the knot at the nape of her neck. In the bright afternoon sunlight, the brown locks gleamed gold and auburn.
Edward felt a tightening in his chest. He rather thought it might be fear. He scowled and paced down the path. Fear was not an emotion that a strong man such as himself should feel when confronting a meek little widow, he was sure.
Anna caught sight of him. “My lord.” She brushed the hair from her brow, leaving a smear of dirt behind. “I thought I would plant your roses before they died.”
“So I see.”
She gave him an odd look but evidently decided to make nothing of his strange mood. “I’ll plant some in each bed since the garden is laid out in such symmetrical lines. Later, if you wish, we could surround them with lavender. Mrs. Fairchild has some lovely lavender plants by her back walk, and I know she would be pleased to let me take some cuttings for your gardens.”
“Hmm.”
Anna stopped her monologue to brush away her hair again, further smearing the dirt on her forehead. “Bother. I forgot to bring the watering can.”
She frowned and started to climb to her feet, but he forestalled her. “Stay there. I can fetch the water for you.”
Edward ignored her aborted protest and strode back up the path. He reached the garden door, but something made him hesitate. Forever after, he would ponder what impulse made him pause. He turned and looked back at her, still kneeling by the rosebush. She was packing the earth around it. While he watched, Anna raised her hand and with her little finger hooked back a lock of hair behind her ear.
He froze.
All sound stopped for a terrible, timeless minute, as his world shuddered and toppled around him. Three voices whispered, murmured, babbled in his ear and then coalesced into coherent language:
Hopple by the ditch: I thought when that dog went missing for several days, we were well rid of it.
Vicar Jones at Mrs. Clearwater’s soiree: I wondered if she’d bought a new dress on her trip.
And Hopple again just today: Mrs. Wren didn’t come to work whilst you were in London.
A scarlet haze obscured his vision.
When it cleared, he was almost upon Anna and knew that he had started for her even before the voices had become understandable. She was still bent beside the rosebush, unaware of the approaching storm until he stood over her and she glanced up.
He must have worn the knowledge of her deceit on his face because Anna’s smile died before it had fully formed.