“A dwarf version of Caro’s tree for people who don’t have room for a bloody great orchard.” The “Caroline Nash” cherry tree he released a few years after his marriage had caused a sensation in horticultural circles.
“How is it going?”
Stone’s lips twitched. “Will it sound like a bad joke if I say I’m making small progress?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent.” His tone turned serious. “We’re actually at a critical point in the grafting. I hope in the master’s absence, my army of assistants back at Woodley Park are watching the shoots and not breaking into the wine cellars.”
“So why did you come to Shelton Abbey?”
Stone shrugged without resentment. “Caro and Helena haven’t had much time together over the last months, at least time away from the social world. And the children were clamoring to see their cousins. Family is more important than a cherry tree, however fine, even if I do say so myself.”
Charles’s envy of this man’s domestic contentment sharpened until it tasted like rust on his tongue. This, this was what Charles wanted. With Sally Cowan. Love. A passionate connection with a lovely woman. Children. A home where he found purpose and joy.
Yet Sally persisted in treating him like an acquaintance. It was enough to make a man want to join Stone’s unsupervised assistants and raid the claret cellar.
“I’m sure. Even horse-mad sisters.”
Stone nodded. “Even horse-mad sisters. Hel’s always been avid for the nags. It was something she and West had in common when they were young. I’m devilish glad they found their way back to one another.”
Charles eyed Stone in the flat gray light. “By God, you’re a romantic.”
Stone gave another shrug. “Life’s made me one.”
“You’re lucky.”
“I am indeed.” Stone’s smile expressed what he didn’t say. But Charles had witnessed the soul-deep happiness in his family and didn’t need any explanation.
Stone surveyed Charles from under his brows, as if unsure whether he should continue. “You know, you could be lucky, too.”
Charles frowned, although he wasn’t surprised Stone had noticed his interest in Sally. The Nashes were a notoriously clever family, and not just with horses and horticulture. “You’ve guessed that I’m contemplating matrimony?”
“It’s reasonably obvious, at least to a fellow who’s languished in just your situation.”
“I’m not sure the lady returns my interest.”
“Poor devil, I remember that feeling. It was damned wretched.” Stone sent him a straight look. “Of course, there’s only one way to find out whether you’re wasting your time. You need to declare yourself. Unless you mean to yearn after her until you’re both old and gray.”
Charles gave a twisted smile. “I never knew the meaning of terror until I set out to win a bride.”
Stone clapped him on the back. “Worse than facing a loaded pistol at twenty paces. But worth it in the long run.”
“Only if she says yes.”
“You’re a persuasive fellow. You’ll get your way in the end—and my advice is make your move while you’re down here. Fewer distractions.”
Charles had to laugh. “Are you saying my proposal isn’t interesting enough to capture the lady’s attention?”
“Heaven forbid, old chum. No, I’m saying that Shelton Abbey is full of isolated corners inside and out that a man can use to…make his point with a lady he fancies. And if you haven’t worked that out already, I’m a Dutchman.”
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Charles had worked it out. Yesterday alone in the rose garden with Sally—and again in the deserted long gallery—she’d only just escaped a thorough kissing. But that damned air of fragility had stopped him.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I’m going about this all wrong. The subtle approach isn’t getting me anywhere. A siege might be called for, after all.”
Stone’s smile reeked delight. “That’s the spirit. I tried something similar to your slow burn pursuit with Caro, and nearly lost her to bloody West as a result. I remember how putting myself on the line scared me silly—but it won me my bride, so it was worth every collywobble.”