“Yes, she is.”
Both Scott and Mr. Layton had been examining the state of the vegetable cellar, but only one of them had emerged looking a mess. Scott suspected Mr. Layton always looked ready to enter the most fastidious of drawing rooms.
“Miss Phelps does not have the appearance of one who is acquainted with financial want, but she clearly has an understanding of it.”
Scott nodded. “Her family fell on difficulties a few years ago. She was sent to live with Mrs. Brownlow, and her father—in all honesty, I don’t know what became of her father. She never talks about him.”
“As someone who spent a great many years refusing to talk about my father,” Mr. Layton said, “I will tell you this: if she does decide to confide in you on that topic, listen. That is an act of faith that I implore you not to take lightly.”
He turned a little toward his benefactor and leaned against the doorframe. “She came all this way because she wanted to make certain she got to see me again. I’m not reading too much into that, am I?”
Mr. Layton laughed almost silently. “If you ask me, Scott, you’re not reading enough into it. Fate has given you a second chance; I suggest you seize it.”
“I’m no Romeo.”
“Good. Romeo was unforgivably stupid.”
Scott liked Mr. Layton more with every interaction. “And I’d wager he, too, couldn’t get a decent price for lumber.”
With another laugh, Mr. Layton nudged Scott out of the doorway. “Go spend some time with her. Bring a smile to her face. Make her laugh. Give her reason to feel at home here.”
Scott started to move in that direction but stopped after a single step and turned back to him. “I suspect my father would have given me the same advice if he were still alive. Thank you.”
Mr. Layton’s bow was small but sincere. “My pleasure.”
Scott tucked his hands in his coat pockets and made his way down the path once more, whistling as he walked. Strickland and Gillian both looked over at him as he approached, and both seemed pleased to see him.
“Miss Phelps suggested we could take cuttings from the primroses at the back of the house and propagate ’em in pots over the winter.” Strickland motioned along the front path. “Then we’d plant ’em along here and beautify the front of the house. And it wouldn’t take no money to do it, only a little time and attention.”
Scott slipped his hand around Gillian’s. “Brilliant.”
Oh, that smile of hers.
“And she said we’d make quite a difference in the old knot garden just by trimming up the shrubs and clearing weeds from the gravel paths. Needn’t even replant flowers or pull grass fromthe beds until we’ve time enough.” Strickland looked pleased as anything at the idea. “That’d allow us to focus on the house and such before seeing to the grounds.”
Gillian brushed her arm against Scott’s. “I believe I have a future in landscape economizing.”
“We appreciate your applying that expertise here,” Scott said.
Strickland nodded. “We do, at that.” He tugged at the brim of his hat and made his way toward the back of the house.
Still holding her hand, Scott walked with Gillian along the empty path, swinging their arms between them. Society would frown on the arrangement, but Society wasn’t here.
“I like Thimbleby, Scott. There is work to be done, yes, but it is welcoming and inviting.”
“It is far more so now that you’re here.”
Gillian blushed a little. “You’re simply grateful I solved your landscaping difficulties.”
He sighed dramatically. “You’ve discovered my secret. I have a fondness for plant economizers.”
“Who doesn’t?” She laughed.
“Do you know, I’d cross this whole country to see that smile of yours.”
The wind rustled her hair. “My father always said he first fell in love with my mother’s smile.” She brushed a wisp away from her face. “I miss my mother.” Then, more quietly, she added, “I miss my father too.”
“Has he passed away?”