Chapter Seven

To Robbie’s surprise, Adam went on another adventure with Lord Jonquil. This time, he didn’t need convincing. They weren’t going up a mountain or doing anything else that the little boy might consider dangerous or unusual. They were going to take the pony cart to the nearby village of Alnbury and spend a jaunty afternoon larking about.

While Robbie knew the outing would afford her an opportunity to begin preparations for the surprise Christmas celebration, she also felt confident that Lord Jonquil genuinely enjoyed spending time with Adam. But did he realize how much the boy needed it? His father had been nearly all of Adam’s little world. To have another gentleman make room for him and spend time with him would help the void left in his life by his father’s death feel a little less like it was going to swallow him.

Mr. Simpkin stood in the entryway, hat in his hands, when Robbie arrived there. His nod of acknowledgment was not gushing with friendliness, but neither was it insulting. The plan for the afternoon was for Robbie and Lady Jonquil to join him in the pony cart and discover what greenery was available for making their Christmas decorations.

“Has your stone still not arrived?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine he would have agreed to this outing otherwise.

“It has not.” His brows pulled together. “I don’t usually have this much trouble.”

“Fortunately, you’ve a bit of distraction at hand.”

He smiled a little. It was a nice change in him. “I do like evergreens.”

“Is there a variety of tree you don’t like?” she asked.

His light smile remained. “I can’t say there is.”

Lady Jonquil stepped into the entryway. She looked pale. Worryingly so.

“Are you unwell, my lady?” Robbie asked.

“I confess I am feeling a little poorly.” Her hand pressed momentarily to her middle. “That hasn’t happened as often of late.”

Ah. “A lady I worked for a few years back also felt a bit poorly when she was—well...”

Lady Jonquil saved her the trouble of finding the right level of delicacy and simply nodded her understanding.

“She found some relief from ginger tea,” Robbie said. “That and a lie down would likely help tremendously.”

Lady Jonquil pinched at her bottom lip. “I wouldn’t disappoint Adam for all the world.”

She had a good and generous heart.

“I’ll make certain you have all the greenery you need,” Mr. Simpkin said. “And I’ll happily scout it out as well. You look after yourself, my lady.”

That was an unexpected kindness.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” Lady Jonquil said, shaking her head. “We are pulling you from your work as it is. Requiring you to see to this errand on your own when it was not yours to begin with would be terribly unfair.”

“I’m more than willing,” he insisted.

“While I do appreciate that, I cannot countenance allowing it.” Her expression turned determined even as her pallor increased. The poor lady would work herself into true illness if she did not take care. And yet her concern over burdening the garden builder might very well push her to it.

“I’m meaning to go with him,” Robbie said. “Two will make the task faster. And you needn’t worry that he’s being left to carry a burden alone simply because you are unwell.”

“Are you certain?” Lady Jonquil pressed.

Robbie nodded firmly. “We can make short work of the task. You, meanwhile, can rest until your husband is home.”

The poor lady sighed a little. “I am exceptionally tired.”

“Do rest, my lady,” Mr. Simpkin said. “Miss MacGregor and I can manage this task.”

With a nod, she agreed. She made her way toward the staircase and would, no doubt, retire to her bedchamber.

“You don’t think her feeling unwell is a sign of trouble with her condition, do you?” Mr. Simpkin asked. “I’d hate for that to happen to so kindhearted a lady.”

Robbie shook her head. “Many women feel poorly while awaiting an arrival. She still seems quite hale and hearty though. I ken she’s simply a little worn down today.”

“Then, I’m glad we can take this task off her mind.”

“I’m glad of it myself.”

It was an odd thing, having so friendly and agreeable a conversation with a man she’d only recently declared in need of watching. He was a confusion, and no denying.

“We’ll not be gone long,” he said, leading her to the waiting cart. “I believe we’ll find a stand of evergreens not far up the road. And I’ve seen a few different types of trees between here and Alnbury. We could use branches from those as well.”

They were quickly situated and on their way.

“Christmas must mean a whole heap to the little duke to be going to such trouble,” Mr. Simpkin said as he led the horse down the road.

“Whether or not the holy season matters to him,” Robbie said, feeling herself grow vexed on the instant, “that ‘little duke’ means a whole heap.”

Mr. Simpkin shook his head. “I wasn’t offering any insults, only an observation.”

Robbie couldn’t entirely sort him out. In some ways he very much re-minded her of the late duke, who had a tendency to grumble. And yet there was an openness to him that’d been entirely lacking in Adam’s father.

“Boughs and wreaths were specifically asked for, I recall,” Mr. Simpkin said.

“Aye.” Robbie nodded. “Those were always present during Christmas at Falstone Castle.”

“Have you any objections to adding vases of flowers or trimmings made of flowers to our collection of evergreens?”

“I’ve not,” she said. “And His Grace won’t either.”

“I’d like to create a few things that Lady Jonquil will be pleased with, even outside of this Christmas celebration.” Mr. Simpkin guided the horse down a path leading in the direction of the nearby mountain. “And I know Lord Jonquil is fond of flowers. A great many early spring flowers have made their appearance. We can easily find hyacinths and tulips, and we have to include daffodils.”

Robbie was confused. “Why is that?”

“A jonquil is a variety of daffodil,” he said.

“Is it? I’d wager Lord Jonquil requested jonquils be planted in his garden.”

A note of pondering entered his expression. “He didn’t, actually. I wonder why that is.”

“Perhaps he’s nae thought of it,” Robbie said. “A shame, that. Daffodils are fitting, given the family surname, and they’re beautiful. They’d be lovely in any garden.”

“I have a brilliant idea,” Mr. Simpkin said, excitement touching his features. The eagerness softened his expression in a surprising way, and Robbie found she very much liked the sight of it. “If Lady Jonquil agrees, I could plant jonquil bulbs in the garden without telling her husband. Next spring, they’ll bloom and, I’d wager, prove a very pleasant surprise.”

It was, indeed, a brilliant idea. “I hope she agrees.”

“I’d wager she will.” Mr. Simpkin grinned. The man, grumpy and often off-putting, actually looked jovial. The way his face naturally slipped into the lines of a smile told her he smiled far more often than their earliest encounter had indicated.

“What else do we have at our disposal for decorating?” Robbie asked, eyeing the shrubs and trees and hedgerows they passed.

“Anything that grows wild and is blooming this time of year,” he said. “Brier Hill hasn’t a conservatory like some other fine houses have.”

“Have you ever worked in a fine house?” Robbie asked.

He shook his head. “I come from generations of builders. It’s all the Simpkins have ever done.”

“Build gardens?”

“No. That’s a twist I put on it myself.” He pulled the cart over to the side of the road and hopped out. He came around to her side and handed her down. “Have you always worked in households?”

“Since I was ten years old.”

They walked a pace off the road and among a stand of evergreens. Mr. Simpkin eyed the trees, but she didn’t think he was ignoring her.

“I worked as a ’tween-stairs maid,” she continued, “and then a chambermaid. I was fortunate to be given a chance to work as a nursery maid when I was seventeen. I found I’d a talent for it. I like working with children more than with their parents.”

She glanced at him quickly, wondering if he would criticize her for that. Not everyone abided servants speaking ill of those they worked for. But he was occupied with examining branches and evergreen needles and didn’t seem the least disapproving of her admission.

“How long have you been a nursemaid to the little duke?” he asked.

“All his life. I was hired at the time of his mother’s confinement. I’ve been at Falstone Castle all the years since.”

He moved to the next tree. “And has he any brothers or sisters?”

“No, he doesn’t. As his father recently passed away, there’ll not be any others.”

Mr. Simpkin met her eye. In his expression she saw undeniable compassion. “Enduring that loss so young is a heavy thing. Poor child.”

“It’s not been an easy few months,” she said. “Lord and Lady Jonquil invited His Grace to bide here a few weeks. I suspect they felt the change of scenery would give him something of a respite from his grief.”

“And what happens when he goes back? Eventually, grief catches up to a person.”

“You speak as one who knows.”

He returned his gaze to the trees, but there was no hiding the pain written on his face. “My father died not quite a year ago. The sorrow of it still catches me unsuspecting now and then.”

Robbie’s thoughts instantly fled back years and over miles. She hadn’t seen or heard from her family in more than two decades. Her siblings were scattered all over the kingdom. She’d passed those years raising other people’s children and safeguarding other people’s families, yet she’d not even the smallest family connection to claim for herself.

“I suspect Lord Jonquil will be disappointed if we’re not able to find any mistletoe,” Mr. Simpkin said.

She didn’t know if the abrupt change of topic was for her sake, her pensiveness having been noticed, or was simply a happy coincidence, but she was grateful for it. “Why is it you think that?”

“The master and mistress of Brier Hill are rather nauseatingly in love.”

“I don’t find it nauseating at all.”

He sighed in a way that very nearly sounded like a growl. “Why is it you ruffle up at everything I say? I wasn’t insulting Lord and Lady Jonquil or speaking ill of love. I was attempting to have a friendly conversation with you.”

Why was it he set her back up so easily? Likely because they’d begun on a bad footing. Their very first conversation had been him warning her not to let Adam get in his way.

“I’d wager Lord Jonquil will nae be bothered since he likely means to kiss his wife either way.” She attempted a conciliatory smile, hoping he recognized her attempt at a joke as the peace offering it was.

“And the little duke will likely be just as squeamish at the display whether the couple kisses of their own accord or at the behest of a plant,” Mr. Simpkin said.

Robbie couldn’t help a smile. How well she remembered many of her young charges over the years growing squirmy at just such a thing. She suspected they appreciated knowing their parents cared about each other, even if they’d no enjoyment for seeing a kiss between them.

She hadn’t the first idea how Adam would respond to such a thing. While she wouldn’t say his parents necessarily despised each other, they’d not been on friendly terms. That might be another benefit of this trip to Brier Hill: he’d see a happy marriage and experience a welcoming and peaceful home.

“These are pliant enough for making boughs and wreaths.” Mr. Simpkin tugged on a branch. “How extensively decorated was Falstone Castle at Christmastime?”

“Only a wee bit,” Robbie admitted.

Mr. Simpkin nodded. “I’ll fetch an armful the day Lady Jonquil wishes to begin decorating.”

“Along with wildflowers and such?”

He nodded. “I’m counting on the two of you to know how to pleasantly arrange it all. My expertise lies with planting the foliage, not crafting it into decorations. I’ll simply try to find things that are pleasant and green and filled with life. That is what Christmas is, after all—a celebration of life during that time of year when the world slumbers. The leaves have fallen. The landscape is barren. And yet in the midst of that darkness comes this moment when life returns. Life and light and hope.”

For a moment Robbie could hardly breathe. He’d spoken casually, quite as if he’d not just made a beautiful observation. It was an unguarded moment in which she saw a side of this man she’d not expected. This builder of walls and planter of flowers had a poet’s heart.

“That is what we must make this celebration,” she said. “Adam’s known too much loss and darkness. He needs to feel hope.”

“You likely think me strange for saying so,” he said, “but that is why I do the job I do. There is life in nature. There is hope in the cycle of it. Planning a garden or an expansive lawn or a conservatory that will change with the seasons without going entirely barren brings people hope.”

“Is that why you don’t mind helping us with this even though it is pulling you away from your work?”

“I will confess it is interfering. But it seems to me this is part of what I’ve come here to do.”

Robbie’d always had a healthy respect for the hand of fate. It had, she was full certain, brought Adam to this house, where he could feel wanted and peaceful. It had, apparently, also brought Mr. Simpkin so he could offer hope.

What remained to be answered, though, was why fate had brought her to Brier Hill.