“Hmmm?” Derek murmured drowsily. Emma watched his blue eyes open and slowly focus. He smiled up at her, turned his head, and squinted at the marquee. “Sorry, love. Don’t quite get the joke.”
Emma looked again and saw that Madama was alone once more, slicing a loaf of bread in silence. “But she was there a minute ago, Derek, a white-haired woman, with a huge handbag. Madama was talking to her a mile a minute.” Emma shrugged. “Go back to sleep. It’s not important. The only reason I mentioned it was because it’s the first time I’ve ever seen Madama talk. Do you know, I’m not even sure what language she speaks?”
“Nor is Grayson,” Derek observed. “Madama came over as a war refugee, but Grayson’s father was never able to ascertain her country of origin. Grayson claims that she must be from Mount Olympus, since she cooks meals fit for the gods.” Derek propped himself up on one elbow, displaying more energy than he’d shown for the last half-hour. “Did you say that the woman was carrying a handbag?”
Emma nodded. “A big one. A sort of carpetbag, I think.”
“Fascinating. Sounds almost like ... No.” Frowning, Derek shook his head, then stretched out again. “Hardly likely. She rarely leaves London.”
A familiar peal of laughter drew Emma’s gaze back to the table where Nell sat, resplendent in white georgette, playing hostess to the three guests who had arrived the night before.
“Dearest Nell, that was really ...”
“... most amusing, but is Bertie quite sure that the vicar wanted ...”
“... a strawberry in his punch?”
“I’m sorry, Vicar,” said Nell, contritely. “Bertie’s been a terrible palooka lately. I’ll get you a fresh glass.”
Derek propped himself up on his elbows again, chuck-ling. “The vicar’s going to regret driving the Pyms here after your children are through with him.”
“My children?” Emma exclaimed.
“I accept no responsibility for their abominable behavior,” Derek declared. “Before they met you, they were perfect angels.”
Emma caught sight of Peter speaking earnestly with Mrs. Shuttleworth and watched as Nell carried the vicar’s brimming glass of punch through the throng without spilling a drop. “They still are, aren’t they?”
“Spoken with the sickening conviction of a besotted stepmother-to-be. I rest my case.” Pulling himself into a sitting position, Derek reached for his flute of champagne and raised it to Emma in a silent toast, then leaned back against the cushions. “You seemed quite pleased by the thingummy the Pyms brought with them. Couldn’t believe you were out there this morning, sticking it into the ground.”
“Thingummy?” Emma rolled her eyes. “Derek, that’s not a thingummy. It’s a tree peony. And it’s not just any tree peony, but a cutting from the Pyms’ own tree peony, which they grew from a cutting the dowager gave them years ago.”
“I see,” said Derek, watching Emma’s face carefully.
“Ruth says it has amber blossoms,” Emma went on. “The flowers can get to be a foot in diameter, and the whole plant can grow as high as severe feet tall. It’s going to look wonderful against the north wall.”
“Sounds impressive,” Derek commented.
“It will be, but it’s not just that, Derek.” Emma looked eagerly into his blue eyes. “I wanted so badly to have all the plants in the chapel garden come from Penford Hall. I didn’t think it would be possible, not after the storm wiped out the garden rooms and I had to use the plants Bantry’s friends sent. But the Pyms made it possible, at least in a small way. I’ve finally planted something in the chapel garden that really belongs there. I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.”
Derek set his glass aside and reached for Emma’s hand. “I do understand what you mean, love, and I’m very happy for you. Worried, too, of course.”
Emma knew what was coming. The Pyms had brought Derek a copy of the Cotswold Standard, the nearest thing Finch had to a local newspaper, commenting in stereo that, since they’d received the delightful wedding invitation, they’d thought that Derek might be contemplating making a few other changes in his life. The advertisement describing the fourteenth-century manor house (“with outbuildings and courtyard”) had been circled in violet ink. It was a stone’s throw away from Finch and had apparently been on the market for some time. Derek had been fretting about it all day.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Emma said, anticipating the change of subject.
“Doubt it,” said Derek. “At that price, it’s probably the local white elephant. Are you sure you understand what that means?”
“I think so,” Emma replied serenely.
“I’m not talking about unpleasant wallpaper in the breakfast nook, Emma. It’s likely to be in very poor repair indeed. I’ve seen this sort of place before. No indoor plumbing, no roof to speak of ...” He glanced at her slyly. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it has rats.”
“We’ll get a cat,” said Emma. “Maybe two. I like cats.”
“Yes, but, Emma, my dearest dear, it’ll take me at least a year or two to make the place habitable. Until then you’ll be camping out.”
“Sounds perfect. Until Peter’s finished making up for lost time, it might be better to live in a place that’s already a mess.”
“But what about Nell? Can’t see her and Bertie huddling around a campstove.”
Emma removed her sunhat and shook her hair down her back. “Nell will build castles wherever she lives,” she said. “I think she’ll enjoy helping you build a real one. And the Pyms will be on hand to pamper her.”
Derek’s eyes crossed suddenly and he flinched as a jet of water passed within inches of his nose. He scrambled to his feet with a roar and the marauders scattered, squealing with delight, save for one scamp, for whom Peter had expressed great admiration, who let rip a parting shot that hit Derek full in the face. Swiping a hand across his dripping chin, Derek flopped sullenly on the blanket and muttered that perhaps the manor house was worth looking into after all.
“A spot of rough living’ll do the boy a world of good,” he declared. He dried his face with the napkin Emma offered, then cast it aside and grew serious once more. “But what about you, Emma? If I’m spending all my time working on the house, I won’t be bringing home many pay slips.”
Emma picked up the discarded napkin and dabbed a few remaining droplets from Derek’s forehead. “Not a problem,” she said firmly. “I love my work and I, too, am very good at what I do. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job in London that I can commute to. I may even set up my own consulting business. I have no qualms about supporting the family until you’ve finished with the house.”
Derek sighed. “Won’t leave you much time for a garden,” he said ruefully. “The Pyms’ tree peony may be the last thing you plant for quite a while.”
“I’ll have the rest of my life for a garden,” said Emma. “And you’ll have some time at home with Peter and Nell. It’ll give you a chance to get to know each other again.”
“If I survive,” Derek muttered. He sighed deeply. “You’re a stubborn woman, Emma Porter.”
“Wait until you see my plans for my home office,” said Emma.
“I’ll build you the office of your dreams,” Derek murmured, and, twining his hand through Emma’s hair, he leaned over to nuzzle her neck.
“Now, there’s a sight that does an old heart good.”
Derek swung around and Emma blinked at the glowing face and startling figure of Syd Bishop. It was the first glimpse she’d had of him all day, and she scarcely recognized him. He wore a relaxed, cream-colored three-piece suit, a shirt the color of weak tea, a silk tie in a deeper brown shot through with streaks of bronze, and, to top it off, a white Panama hat, tilted at a dignified angle above a beaming face. The duke and Kate slowly walked up on either side of him, their faces slack with astonishment.