“How are you coping with all this, Diana?” Marcus asked.
Their feet crunched on the newly leveled gravel, and she glanced through the iron gates into the freshly dug kitchen garden, where rows of vegetables had been planted.
Evan strode ahead, so eager, he reminded Diana of a child at Christmas. He hurried under the archway beneath the belvedere clock tower, his coattails flapping. He always seemed to be on the move, overseeing, ordering, and organizing, very much in command these days. He’d settled into being the master of the estate much easier than he had London society.
“Better as time goes on. The place really was a disaster when we arrived, but Evan has worked wonders. He’s so driven and focused. And he handles the men wonderfully. So much has been accomplished so quickly because he knows how to direct and lead.”
“He’s a good man.” Marcus clasped his hands behind his back. “He’s coped well with everything that has been lobbed his way.”
“Including me?” Diana asked. Evan had coped well with her. For the most part. Though he still had an unpredictable temperament upon occasion, she now wondered if it had more to do with what he had seen on the battlefield, his injuries, and the nightmares that disturbed his sleep. Evan didn’t want to talk about those things, so they must bother him, else why not discuss them? And those episodes had grown less frequent the more time he spent at White Haven.
Men were more complicated creatures than she’d ever assumed. Her father and Percival were simple enough. Angry, arrogant, and greedy. But her husband was a cat of a different color, one she was just beginning to know and might never fully understand.
“Well, you must admit,” Marcus said, “you were, shall we say, an unexpected blessing.” He smiled, but his eyes were piercing, as if taking her measure. “But you’ve worked wonders here. And you have excellent taste. Your orders have been arriving steadily in London, and between the lawyers and myself, we’ve overseen the purchases. Even my mother and sister, when I showed them your sketches and color choices, think your designs are flawless, and my mother is not often pleased by anything.”
Diana hugged that bit of rare praise to her heart, remembering the duchess’s caustic tongue. “She is a bit of a Tartar, isn’t she?”
“I think the Prince Regent should put her in charge of the troops on the Peninsula. She’d have the French routed—horse, foot, and artillery—within a month. Never seen such a bossy female.”
Diana stole a look at him from under her bonnet brim and noted that he had a rather indulgent look about his mouth and eyes now. For all his mother’s carping, he did seem to hold her in some affection. Which was generous of him, since the woman seemed to feel he was unimportant, being merely a second son.
They walked under the stable’s arched entrance into the cobblestone yard. Evan stood with one of the grooms, running his hand down the foreleg of an underweight chestnut that tossed his head and jerked on his lead. Other equine noses poked over the half doors of the stalls, and Diana counted six occupants, not including the chestnut.
“Walk him around for me.” Evan stood back and made a circular movement with his finger, totally engrossed. The groom—one of the men they had encountered at the cottages in the woods—led the horse away at a walk.
“So this is the pet project.” Marcus crossed his arms and studied the animal. “There’s some work to be done there.”
The chestnut’s head bobbed low every time he put his left foreleg on the ground.
“There’s time. Once the paddock fences are properly repaired, these fellows can be turned out to graze and laze in the sunshine and hopefully come right again.” Evan followed the horse’s halting gait. “They need time to recuperate, some peace and quiet. When they’ve rested and put on some weight, we’ll start gentling them again. They’re not useless, just a little banged up.” He leaned and bent to keep his eyes on the horse’s walk.
Diana watched her husband’s face, seeing the determination there, the fire in his blue eyes. Did he see his comrades in these horses? Was that why he had hired so many former soldiers, so many halt and lame, and given them jobs and a place to live and a purpose? Her heart warmed.
Nobility had more to do with character than birth. There were many who called themselves noble because of their family tree, but Evan had nobility stamped all over him because of his character.
Not for the first time, she wondered if she should trust him with her secret. But what did he know of Arthur Bracken? He’d never spoken the name aloud again, not waking or dreaming, but she feared what he might do, what connection he might make between Bracken and Cian.
“My lady.” Marcus turned to her and offered his arm. “I can see your husband will be engaged here for a while. Perhaps you would like to show me the orangery? I’ve heard it was once legendary. I’d love to know your plans for the place.”
She took his arm. “Evan, you don’t mind? We’ll return shortly.” She didn’t want to take any of Evan’s joy with his new stable inhabitants away, but he was totally engrossed in diagnosing the chestnut’s limp with the groom and didn’t seem to need her help.
“Fine. I’ll see you up at the house.” Evan ran his hand down the foreleg again.
Diana smiled at Marcus. “I hope you’re up for a bit of a trek. Not much work has been done on the orangery or the path to get there yet.”
The track was rutted and overgrown, and Marcus held back tree branches and Diana ducked under them, raising her hem so it wouldn’t snag on the weeds that encroached along the trail.
The orangery, with its symmetrical, tall arched windows and pale stone walls, rose above the brambles. Here the workman had just begun replacing the broken glass and repairing the flat roof. “We don’t plan to stock it just yet. There are so many other things that need tending, not to mention laying in fuel to keep it heated enough to grow fruit.” Diana stood back and let Marcus open the glass-paned doors.
The dead trees and bushes had been sawn up and hauled away, and the flagstones swept. Here and there, an iron bench stood along the center aisle, but beyond that, the building was empty. Cold and soulless for the moment, but if Diana closed her eyes, she could almost smell the delicate fragrance of orange blossoms and taste the fresh tang of citrus on her tongue.
“Someday.” She raised her eyes to the ceiling thirty feet above. “We’ll have oranges and lemons for sure, and maybe some palms, just because I love the look of them. Down at the far end, we’ll have seedbeds, to supplement the succession house for starting new plants for the gardens and wintering over more delicate things.”
Marcus led her to the closest bench. “Diana, I didn’t bring you down here to talk about plants. I wished to speak to you in private.”
His voice held such gravity, Diana’s chest squeezed tight. “What is it?”
He didn’t sit, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing the uneven slate floor. “It’s your father.”
Her hands fisted in her lap. She worked some moisture into her mouth. “What about him?”
“Two nights ago, as I was coming home from the opera, my carriage nearly ran him down in the street. He staggered out of a tavern, so drunk he couldn’t have hit the ground with his hat—if he knew where his hat was.” Marcus stopped pacing. “It has been his constant condition since your marriage.”