They discussed it further, of course, and Aurora was surprised by how easily it came to her. With Lord Winters' involvement, she had expected this to be dull and frustrating; but once they really started discussing their goals, it was easy to lose track of time.
She was almost starting to enjoy it, her smile coming a little easier, by the time Father arrived with their meal.
He had prepared a simple soup, with bread from earlier this morning. The savory smell hit Aurora the moment he set the tray on the desk, and her mouth was watering. Along with soup, there was a thick slice of meat pie for them both, with tea and biscuits for after.
"Thank you, Mr. Washam," Lord Winters expressed, "this looks delicious."
"It does," Aurora confirmed, "thank you. Will you eat with us?"
Father shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid I'm quite tired, so I'll retreat to the parlor and see if I can't relax before bed. I'll likely end up doing something else anyway, you know how restless I get."
It was true, and Aurora wished that he didn't guilt himself so much for enjoying his rare free time. Although she would have enjoyed the company and help, he deserved some peace.
"Call on me if you need anything, though. Don't stay up too late, either." There was a knowingness to his tone, though, like he already knew they’d be up late.
Aurora smiled. "We'll try not to." It wasn't a promise, but a little word to put Father at ease.
He didn't linger, which was disappointing but understandable. Aurora found that she didn't dislike being alone with Lord Winters this time, knowing Father was nearby.
At least, that was the reason Aurora told herself, rather than lingering on the truth; the truth being that she had started to like his company and quiet confidence.
Turning back to her notes, Aurora flicked to the next unused page. She had written so much lately, and drawn even more, that the ink pot was running low. She would need to get more if this was to continue, and ink was expensive. It was for a good cause, though.
"Why don't we eat?" she suggested, nudging the tray towards Lord Winters. "Sit across from me, and we can discuss our plans more. How long does angel's trumpet take to grow from a sprout?"
"Five years to first bloom, but they can grow up to ninety centimeters each summer season."
Five years. All right. The flowers didn't need to be fully grown before taking cuttings. And if the samples from Mr. Russo contained different types of angel's trumpet, then they could begin grafting as soon as they were mature. It was still a long time though, five years. They could get lots done in such a time, like delve into more research or acquire more samples, even build another greenhouse…
But she was getting ahead of herself, clearly, and that wasn't helpful.
She must have been so lost in her head, because when Aurora snapped back to reality, Lord Winters was smiling pleasantly. He looked as if he had been watching her think; something that should have been odd, but Aurora found oddly sweet. Perhaps he was more interested in what she had to say, than she first assumed.
Then again, Christopher had been interested, as well.Toointerested; he had hung onto Aurora's every word, always shown the greatest interest whenever she mentioned wild bergamot or other medicinal herbs. It had all been for a reason, of course, and Aurora had found that out in the worst way possible.
He was no longer living in London, no longer invited to the botanists' meeting after she had come sobbing to her father after. Nobody else had believed that Christopher had stolen months of her work; but nor were they willing to argue with a righteous father defending his daughter.
That was in the past, though. This project with Lord Winters was very much happeningnow.How could she guarantee that this wouldn't happen again? A man had hurt her once, and Mr. Buckley had a saying thathistory has a habit of repeating.
Lord Winters was still watching her, as he took a bite of his pie. It was still warm, white steam billowing up and obscuring his expression.
"Apologies," Aurora said with a wince, "I don't mean to ignore you. I was lost in thought."
"That happens a lot, but I can't say I'm any different."
Her nose crinkled. What did he have to be lost in thought about? He had been content enough to sit and let Aurora ramble, with little interjection of his own. Was it a new tactic, to try and impress her? Instead of his usual big talk, he was letting her take the lead and hoping for appreciation for it.
Aurora cleared her throat. Turned to the meal. It was white soup, creamy and savory. While not her favorite, it paired well with the pie — Lord Winters didn't seem to have any complaints, despite no doubt being used to much richer dishes.
Although the plan had been to continue talking, they ate in comfortable silence. Lord Winters went through his notebook, lingering on the beautiful angel's trumpet. Aurora had the feeling that he wanted her to look, and so she did.
No matter how often she looked, they never became less lovely. He had a way with color that she couldn't describe, not being an artist herself — although God knew she tried. It was so vibrant andreal,as if he had taken the essence of the plant and captured it perfectly in watercolor.
She had never known men to be artistic. Father wasn't, and he admitted so willingly. How many other talents was he hiding?
Although Aurora was focused on the art, she didn't miss Lord Winters' quiet sigh. He was as deep in thought as she was, as he flipped idly between pages. When he was concentrating, his eyes took on a faraway look, eyes lidded so that dark lashes cast shadows on his slender cheeks.
He was quite beautiful, or so Aurora thought. Not in the traditional way, although he certainly had the desirable chiseled jaw and deep-set eyes. No, his attractiveness came from how he held himself confidently, how his expression softened into a small smile when he wasn't paying attention. There was a softness about Lord Winters that wasn't present in most men.