Garden Folly

by Candice Hern

  Lord Strickland gently lifted her chin so that she would look at him. Only she could not bear to look at him. "Saddled?" he said in a soft, kind voice. His eyes were so full of concern that she began to feel even more wretched. "You know I would not think any such thing. I would not have asked if I had thought marriage with you would be so disagreeable. Come now, Catherine. Tell me the truth. What is it, really, that has upset you so?"

  "I c-cannot m-m-marry you, my l-lord." Her voice was choked with tears and she took a deep breath to try to compose herself. She was making such a mess of things.

  "Tell me why," he said.

  "B-because it would not be f-fair," she blurted. "I do not love you—"

  "Oh but, Catherine—"

  "—and I only wanted you for your f-fortune even though I I-loved someone else b-but he is not r-rich and I was in d-desperate need of money and Susan­nah was supposed to find a r-rich husband but she fell in love with Captain Phillips instead and so it was all up to m-me and you seemed to l-like me and you are very r-rich but Susannah said I should n-not marry you if I did not love you and MacDougal said it was not fair to you and he was right because here you are b-being so kind and you deserve someone who could love you but I wanted to m-marry you anyway because of the money and then I got all con­fused and now I cannot do it because Susannah was right and oh I am s-so s-sorry, my lord."

  She paused to take a breath and saw that he was smiling. He reached down and took one of her hands. "I knew about your plan to marry a fortune, you know," he said. "But it did not matter to me. I have not been looking for love, Catherine. I have had one true love in my life and never expected another love match. I never expected you to love me. But I was prepared to offer companionship, respect, and mutual affection."

  "Oh," Catherine said, feeling miserably low and wishing he were not being so kind.

  "But if you are in love with another, my dear, I would never dream of denying you the opportunity for the sort of happiness I snared with my late wife. I am, of course, disappointed," he added as he gently squeezed her hand. "But your happiness is the most important thing to be considered. I hope that you will pursue this other relationship, even though you say he has no fortune. For there is nothing more wonder­ful in the world, Catherine, than to share you life with someone you love."

  Catherine's fears began again at his words. "B-but we can never share a life together. He hates me!"

  "Are you so sure of that? Love can be a rocky course at times. It is not always easy. But I am sure every­thing will work out."

  Catherine drew a deep breath and let it out with a faint shudder. "I am not so sure, my lord," she said. "I have made him hate me with my obsession over money. I have lost him."

  "Do not be so quick to believe that, my dear," the earl said. "If he loves you—and I am sure he does—then you have not lost him."

  She looked into his gentle brown eyes and thought for a moment she had made a mistake. Perhaps she did love him, after all. Just a little.

  Lord Strickland released her hand and rose from the bench. "Perhaps I should leave you now."

  "Th-thank you, my lord, for being s-so understand­ing. And so k-kind. I am honored that you wished to m-marry me. I am so s-sorry I cannot."

  "You have my best wishes for the future, Miss Forsythe. May you find all the happiness you de­serve." He took her hand again and kissed it, then turned and walked out of the garden.

  Catherine gave in to her tears when he was gone. What had she done? Good Lord, what had she done? And what was going to happen to her now?

  Before she could ponder these questions, she heard the sound of others approaching the rosarium. She quickly darted through the hedge gate into the next garden and saw the distinctive row of terms against the high hedge. She realized she was next to the Old Hall garden, a place so private no one would ever find her. She ducked behind one of the terms and came into the beautiful old garden.

  She found a bench, sat down, and gave full vent to her despair in a torrent of tears. What was she going to do? What was to become of her? She had thrown away a secure future for the love of a man who could only hate her for the awful things she had said to him the day before. She had rejected the earl, and Stephen Archibald had rejected her. He hated her. He never wanted to see her again. And so now she had noth­ing. No one.

  What on earth was she going to do? What was to become of her?

  The unanswered questions clanged like hammer blows through her head.

  Stephen's head still throbbed from the abuse of the night before. It had been years since he had drunk so much. And the irony was that none of it had been able to wipe away his sorrows or make him forget. It had only made him feel worse. He still felt miserable. Only now his head pained him as much as his heart.

  He flinched at the sound of a knock on the office door. He knew it would be Miles. And he dreaded what his friend would have to say.

  "Come in," he called.

  "Hullo, Stephen," Miles said as he entered the of­fice. "You will never guess—"

  "Please, Miles, let me first apologize to you for last night, for my abominable behavior. I said some wretched things to you, my friend. I have regretted my loose tongue ever since."

  "Do not give it another thought," Miles said as he threw himself rather ungracefully into the chair oppo­site the desk, which was for once clear of clutter.

  "And do you have more definite news tonight," Stephen forced himself to ask. He really had no wish to hear the answer.

  "I do, indeed," Miles replied.

  The words tore at Stephen's heart like a rusty blade. He had known it would come to this. But now that it had, he did not believe he could bear it. He did not want to hear that his closest friend was marrying the woman he loved. Yes, he loved her. He had stopped arguing with himself over that detail. She exasperated him. She angered him. She provoked him. And most of all, she disappointed him. But he loved her.

  "And so?" he managed to say. "Shall I wish you happy?"

  Miles smiled and looked so pleased with himself that Stephen was tempted to slap him across the face. "As it happens," Miles said, "the lady refused me."

  "Then let me be the first to congrat—What did you say?" Miles's words had just registered, but Stephen knew he must have misunderstood.

  "She refused me."

  "Refused you?" Stephen tried to quell the tiny flut­ter of hope that began cavorting in his chest. "But. . . but I don't understand," he said, thoroughly confused. "Why did she refuse you? She was hell­bent on marrying a fortune. Why would she pass up the opportunity to be a rich countess?"

  This did not make any sense. She had been so defi­nite about it. She wanted a rich husband and it was going to be Miles. She had made herself perfectly clear on that point. And so what had happened? "Good God!" he blurted. "Have others been courting her as well? Does she have other prospects? Damna­tion, Miles, did she toss you over for someone else?"

  "None of the other guests is courting her, I assure you," he replied. What was that damned sparkle in Miles's eyes? Why did he seem so pleased to be re­jected?

  "None of this is making sense," he said. "Why did she refuse you, then? And for God's sake, why are you so bloody cheerful about it?"

  Miles chuckled, and Stephen was once again tempted to strike him. If he did not get on with the story, Stephen swore to himself that he would do so. "It appears Miss Forsythe cannot marry me because she is in love with . . . with someone else."

  Stephen's breath constricted as though he had been punched in the stomach. "Someone else?" he mut­tered.

  Miles laughed and reached across to desk to clap Stephen on the shoulder. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he said, smiling broadly. "You have finally found a woman who loves you for yourself and not your title. She still believes you are a gardener with no money, you know."

  Stephen stared openmouthed at Miles. His words threw Stephen's heart into a wild disorder.

  She loved him?

  "She also believes," Miles
continued, "that you hate her. Do you?"

  "Good God, no! No, I. . ." Stephen stopped. Was he really about to admit that he was in love with the woman his friend had wanted to marry? And had been for most of the time Miles had courted her? What a wretch he was. What would Miles think of him?

  But she loved him. Miles said she loved him.

  "I'm sorry, Miles. Truly I am. I never meant for it to happen."

  "You do love her, then?"

  "Yes. Yes, God help me, I do."

  "Then you have nothing to apologize for," Miles said. "It was worth anything just to hear you say that." Miles began to laugh again, and Stephen felt so light-headed that he laughed along with him.

  "I must say," Miles continued, "my vanity was bruised a bit at first. I had been so sure of myself, you see. But you had said nothing, you dog, or I might have saved myself from an embarrassing disappoint­ment. But it is all eclipsed by the prospect of seeing you happy at last."

  "You are sure it is me she is in love with?" Stephen asked, suddenly nervous and uncertain. "Did she ac­tually mention me by name?"

  "Good God, Stephen! Don't be such a sapskull. Are you going to let her walk out of your life while you sit there and think about it?"

  "No! No, I am not." He rose so quickly that the chair was knocked out from under him and clattered to the floor. He reached the door before he realized he did not know where he was going. He had no idea where she was. What if she was in the house, gath­ered somewhere with all the other guests? He could not simply make an appearance in one of the drawing rooms after a month in hiding. He turned an implor­ing look on his friend. "Miles, where—"

  "I left her in the rosarium," he said.

  "Thanks, old chap." Stephen turned to rush out the door, but stopped and came back in. He held his hand out and Miles clasped it. "Thank you."

  Miles smiled and nodded, and then Stephen was off, leaving his friend sitting alone in his office. He hurried through the old conservatory and out its door, keeping close to the brick walls. It was a bright evening, and still somewhat early. Other guests were sure to be about.

  He crept along the hedge borders as he made his way toward the rosarium. He spied several strolling couples, but dashed away before they could see him. When he reached the rosarium, he went crashing in­side in his impatience to see her. Five or six startled guests turned to look at him and he ducked immedi­ately back out. Damnation. But Catherine was not among them. Where had she gone? What if she had returned to the house? He could not follow her there.

  The strong smell of cheroot caused Stephen to turn around. A tall, dark man was leaning against an arbor in the walkway between the rosarium and the sum­mer garden. His face was hidden in the shadows, but Stephen could see the glow of his lit cheroot.

  "Yer Grace," he man said, doffing his cap.

  Stephen nodded a distracted acknowledgment and continued to wonder where he should look next to find Catherine.

  "Ye'll find Miss Catherine in the Old Hall garden," the man said, his voice tinged with a slight burr.

  Of course! He should have known she'd be there. He rushed down the path without a word, but stopped suddenly. Who was that fellow? He did not have any Scotsmen on the staff, as far as he knew. And yet he had recognized Stephen as the duke. He turned back toward the arbor, but the man was gone. The smell of cheroot still hung in the air.

  Who the devil had it been?

  Stephen shrugged and hurried down the gravel path. It did not matter. There was only one thing on his mind at the moment.

  He must find Catherine.

  Chapter 18

  Catherine sat cradled in Stephen's arms. He held her so tightly she thought he never meant to let go. And that was just fine with her. She knew now that this was where she belonged.

  "I am so s-sorry," she stammered, burrowing her head against his shoulder. She had wept buckets of tears this night and could not seem to stop. "I did not really mean any of those horrible things I said to you before. I was so hateful to you."

  "Hush, love. It doesn't matter."

  "But you do not understand. I know you must have thought I was heartless and greedy. But I was so scared. I thought it was my last chance. I didn't want to lose everything like my father did."

  "Hush, love."

  "But I really believed I needed a fortune, you see. I really believed I could not be happy without one. But I know now I was wrong. And after I said all those hateful things to you!"

  "Shh. It doesn't matter."

  "But I didn't mean it, Stephen! I didn't mean it. You are not an ignorant gardener. How could I ever have said such a thing? You are the most wonderful man in the whole world. And you are not at all ignorant. You know so many things about plants and history and you've been to America and you've taught me so much and you are such fun to be with and you make me laugh and you find me flowers to paint and you look so handsome that you make me weak in the knees and you make me feel tingly all over when you kiss me. Oh, how I wish I had never said those horrid things to you! Can you ever forgive me?"

  "It doesn't matter, love. None of that matters any­more." He lifted her chin and kissed her so tenderly she thought her heart would break from the sweet­ness of it.

  He pulled back and looked into her eyes. "I love you, Catherine," he said, and then pulled her close against him once more.

  Her heart soared at his words. How could she ever have believed it was not important? She winced at the thought of how close she had come to never knowing the joy of hearing those words.

  "When I heard you had refused the earl . . ." He seemed unable to continue. His voice was choked with emotion. Catherine wondered briefly how he had known about her refusal, but did not really care. "When I heard that," he continued at last, "I was afraid to hope it might be because you loved me. Do you, sweet Catherine?"

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked deeply into his eyes. "I do," she said. "I do love you."

  "Oh, God, Catherine." His lips captured hers in a kiss so lush, so full of promise, she thought she might drown in the hot, sweet taste of him.

  After a long interval during which they were lost to one another, Stephen lifted his head and smiled. He took her face ever so gently in his hands. "Will you marry me?"

  Her heart began to flutter in her breast, like the wing beats of a thousand butterflies. This was what she wanted. She had been foolish to think otherwise. After denying them for so long, she was unexpectedly shaken by the force of her feelings for him. How could she have ever doubted? She choked back a lump in her throat. "Oh, Stephen," was all she could seem to say.

  Uncertainty gathered in his green eyes and she real­ized he still believed she still might reject him for a fortune. How could she be so cruel to allow him to think so?

  "Stephen, I—"

  "You love it here at Chissingworth, do you not?" he interrupted. "You love the flowers and the gardens?"

  "Of course I do. It is the nearest thing to paradise on earth."

  "Then, come live with me here, Catherine. Come live with me in this garden paradise, and we shall be forever happy together."

  "I would love nothing more," she said and kissed him.

  "Then, you will marry me? You will live here at Chissingworth with me?"

  "I would be honored to marry you, Stephen."

  He crushed her to him so tightly she thought her bones might break. But it did not matter. It felt so good, so safe, to be in his arms. He rocked her gently back and forth as he held her, whispering words of love in her ear. She never wanted to leave this spot. She wanted to stay here in his arms forever.

  And she could. For she was going to marry Stephen and live with him at Chissingworth.

  But a niggling curiosity, a twinge of the old concern tugged at her. She had to understand. It did not really matter. It was purely a matter of curiosity, for they had never spoken of it. She merely wanted to know.

  She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked at him. "Where . . . where exactly would we li
ve, Stephen? Do you . . . do you have a cottage on the es­tate?"

  Catherine saw a flicker of concern in his eyes and regretted her words instantly.

  "Would that be so terrible?" he asked. The uncer­tainty in his voice tore at her heart.

  She flung her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "No, of course not," she whispered. "I would be happy living anywhere with you. Deliri­ously happy. Even a one-room cottage would be suffi­cient, so long as we are together."

  He began to chuckle and she felt him relax. "Well, it is not quite so bad as that," he said, a hint of amuse­ment in his voice. "But do you really mean it? You would marry me, with no fortune and no prospects?"

  "Of course I mean it," she said while feathering kisses over his face. "I love you, Stephen." She stopped kissing him and looked directly into his eyes. "You must try to forgive me for being so very foolish. But I have learned my lesson. Susannah would be very proud of me. For I have learned that love is worth all the fortunes of the world."

  Stephen's heart was so full to bursting he wondered that it did not explode right out of his chest. She really loved him. She really wished to marry him.

  And she still had no idea that he was the duke.

  He could not say for certain if this was the end he had hoped for from the beginning, from those first days of his masquerade. But somewhere along the line, he knew it had become so. It had become his unswerving objective that he could make a woman fall in love with him for himself and not as the duke. But not just any woman. This woman. Catherine. He had wanted her all along, but he had also hoped that she would want him.

  And she did. Stephen could never have predicted the intensity of emotion such a declaration would have on him. He was almost overcome by it. All he wanted was to hold her and hold her and never let go. He could still hardly believe it. She loved him. She really loved him. Oh, she was a bit nervous about liv­ing in a one-room shack, but she was willing to do so. What would she do when she learned that the grand house at Chissing-worth was to be her home instead?