Had he ever doubted her place in his life, that doubt would have fled yesterday when she and his hunchbacked brother stood in front of a topiary camel, a thick volume from his library open in her small hands while she read to him about the wonders, strength, stamina, value, and dignity of the animal to whom God had given a hump.
He shook his head at the memory. Only Scottish.
***
Kneeling beside Stephen, Joy looked up from the herb bed. "Oh, Alec! There you are! Come see." She watched him walk toward them, his long legs encased in riding breeches and tall black boots. The sight of him made her breath catch, just as it had the first time she ever saw him. The duke was still there, with his pride, the tinge of arrogance that came naturally to him, and the aura of command, but now his face revealed his pleasure and when he stood above her, she saw all that she had first seen in him, including the side that needed others but would never admit it. Gone was the aloofness and coldness he had once used to ward people off. This was Alec, her Alec.
She smiled up at him, not knowing her eyes held her heart and her delight. "Stephen was trying to guess what this is. Do you know?"
"I've never given much thought to gardens."
"But it's your garden. Don't you know anything about the plants here?"
Alec slowly scanned the garden. "They're green."
Stephen laughed at that, and Joy saw Alec's lips twitch.
"Here." She shoved a sprig in his face. "Smell this."
He took a whiff.
"Well," she said impatiently. "Does it smell familiar?"
"Reminds me of roast lamb."
She started laughing. "It is indeed used to spice lamb. It's rosemary. Rosemary stands for remembrance."
Stephen had a look on his face she had come to recognize. "Who is it named after, Rose or Mary?"
"Neither," she answered, ignoring some comment Alec muttered about remembering another Mary. She gave Stephen an understanding smile. "It's the same as butterflies."
The day before, Stephen had commented when they saw a butterfly that he'd never understood why they were called butterflies when everyone knew that butter wasn't black and orange and didn't fly.
"Oh, my goodness, look there! I hadn't noticed those."
Both men followed her pointing finger to where a small patch of blue and white flowers had just begun to bloom.
"Periwinkles!" she said, delighted, then oohed and aahed over the first flowers in the gardens. "Come see." She held up a small blue flower. "Periwinkles stand for early friendship."
Stephen picked a small bouquet and handed some to her and the rest to Alec and said, "My friends."
Joy gave him a quick kiss on his rough cheek.
He hung his head and muttered, "Mush."
She bent down and plucked a few white flowers. Handing them to Stephen she said, "White periwinkles stand for the pleasures of memory."
Stephen accepted the flowers, and she handed some to Alec.
He took them and pinned her with a very private look. Then he whispered in her ear, "The only flowers that bring me pleasurable memories are pink roses."
She flushed bright red.
Stephen's worried voice broke their private moment. "Joy, are you hot?"
Before she could gather her wits and respond Alec did. "You know, I believe she is." Alec slid an arm around her small shoulders. "She's been very hot ever since last night. Haven't you, Scottish?"
She jabbed her elbow into his ribs. Her husband did have a sense of humor, but all his jests were bawdy.
His confident expression said he had her right where he wanted her. "As I recall, the first time she was hot, she plastered her lips against the carriage window."
She gasped, felt her face flush even redder, and gaped up at him. He was staring at her mouth.
"I have something more refreshing than cool glass, Scottish." He leaned down and covered her mouth with his.
Not two seconds later a familiar voice mumbled in disgust, "Mush!"
Chapter 28
The music of a fife band rippled in the bright spring air above the village green. Little girls, their long hair woven with primroses, and laddies garbed in bright paper hats laughed and giggled and rode high on their parents' shoulders to see the festival procession. Costumed as maidens and robbers, horses and dragons, villagers danced to the tune of the kettledrum, fiddle, and fife in front of the eight garlanded oxen that pulled the Maypole. Made from the straightest and tallest of birch trees, the pole had been stripped of its branches and whitewashed and now moved toward the center of the green.
"I say, 'tis a tall one," Neil said, raising a quizzing glass that hung around his neck on the same chain as did his ague charm and a feathered voodoo fetish given him by Hungan John.
Richard mumbled something caustic and leaned back against the folded leather bonnet of the Belmore landau. Neil turned to him and grinned. "Wish to use my quizzer, Downe? Must be difficult to see with only one good eye."
Richard glared at him through both his eyes, the good one and the blackened one.
"Tell Joy and Alec how the hellion managed to rainbow your eye."
"About the same way I intend to rainbow yours, only I assure you it won't be an accident." Richard sat there quietly assuming an uncomfortable posture of anger and embarrassment.
"Rumor was the chit nailed you with a cricket ball."
The earl's fine jaw tightened, and Joy was sure he had just ground his teeth down a good bit. Part of her felt sorry for him. Like Alec, he was a proud man, but instead of hiding from the world behind an icy exterior, the Earl of Downe shielded himself with anger and cynicism. Since Alec had told her how Richard and Neil had championed him at Eton, even when he hadn't wanted to be championed, she had been more tolerant of the earl, had even begun to like him, especially since he, like Neil, had immediately accepted Stephen and been kind to him, no questions asked. In her eyes, they proved their friendship.
She bit back her smile and her husband said nothing, but Stephen knew no such tact. "The earl looks like a badger."
"I say there, Stephen, I do believe you're right." Neil chuckled, then turned his quizzer on his friend and appeared to take great pleasure in eyeing him thoroughly.
Richard leveled Neil with a threatening look. "You're going to need all those charms of yours in about two seconds, Seymour."
"Oh, look!" Joy pointed toward the green. "They've put up the pole."
The Belmore party, still sitting in the landau, turned their heads just as the music started again. Within a few minutes red, blue, green, and yellow streamers rippled downward from the top of the high pole, where a colorful bouquet of pink and blue rhododendrons formed a wide floral crown. From each streamer hung a silver ball and several golden stars; twined around the pole itself were garlands of deep green English ivy, fragrant white and green honeysuckle, sweet violets, and yellow primroses.
"The races will start soon. We'd better go." Alec stepped down from the carriage, then helped Joy down.
She threaded her arm through his, and they strolled along the village path. "This is almost as festive a Maying as we have at home. I missed the bonfires, though."
Very quietly Alec said, "I believe we burned enough fires last night."
She jabbed him in the ribs. Another bawdy jest.
"What fires?" Stephen asked, turning to walk backwards as he watched Joy, intently awaiting the answer.
"There was a problem with the fire in our sitting room, Stephen, 'Twas nothing," she lied and out of the corner of her eye she saw her husband's lips twitch. She changed the subject quickly. "Those wreaths above the doorways are lovely."
Alec laughed then, drawing a few strange stares before Stephen politely began to explain that there weren't any seals around even though people might have thought they heard one.
"Tell Scottish what the wreaths are for, Seymour."
"They keep the witches away," Neil shot back over a shoulder.
She stared at him.
Alec leaned closer. "Perhaps I should have worn a wreath that night on the North Road."
"Which would you prefer—toads or warts?"
He laughed and slid his arm around her shoulders. "Neither. I'd prefer to go a-Maying with you in the woods."
She stuck her nose in the air. "I've already been in the woods today, thank you."
"Ah, yes. I almost forgot about the miraculous dew."
"I say, did someone mention the dew?" Neil asked. "My mum and grandmum always washed their faces with May morning dew. 'Twas what kept them young."
"See?" she said. "I'm not daft. Washing your face with May dew does keep a woman beautiful. Besides,
I was not the only woman out there. Almost every woman under the age of fifty was doing the same thing."
He stopped and slid his hand in slow inches up from her shoulder to caress the line of her jaw before it tilted her head so she looked up at him. "Nothing could possibly make you more beautiful, Scottish." He ran a finger over her lips. "I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful as you."
She stopped breathing and almost started crying. Unable to say anything, she placed her hand on his heart and smiled. The loud roll of a drum broke the spell, and she turned toward the sound.
"The race is starting. I need to judge the winner," Alec told her.
"I know. We'll be fine. You go on." She watched his tall frame disappear into the crowd. When she could no longer see him, she scanned the hundreds of villagers, old and young alike, who filled the crowded green. Many of the Belmore servants were among the holiday celebrants who stopped at booths to buy anything from medicinal remedies and May dolls to willow brooms.
She stood with Stephen on the rim of the crowd, watching the children skip and weave around the Maypole, and when the adults started in, they joined the dancers for one round. Stephen lumbered through the skipping steps, but his face revealed his delight every time he passed her. They stood watching the other dancers and drinking lemonade for a while, and then Stephen went to watch the horse races with Neil and Richard, leaving Joy to wander at her leisure through the village.
Everywhere she looked, the flowers of spring reigned. Cowslips and oxslips and coronets of roses and columbine crowned the young girls' heads. Nature's sweet perfume provided a heady scent that mixed with that of the fragrant thyme bushes that lined the edge of the green. A colorful booth displayed May dolls bedecked with trailing ribbons and tiny violets. They were hugged tightly to the chests of the little girls who won them. The roofs of the whitewashed cottages were havens for bluebirds, sparrows, and doves that roosted in the thatch. And the music, both man-made and natural, blended with the peals of laughter and gaiety that welcomed May with the true sense of magic.
Half an hour or so later, while Joy was munching on a pear tart, Alec joined her, slipping his arm around her waist. With her mouth full and speechless, she lifted the tart for him to taste. To her dismay he ate the whole thing, which started a whole conversation about appetite, most of it bawdy enough to make her blush.
"Where's Stephen?" Alec asked after she refused to rise to his bait.
"He's with Neil and Richard. They went to watch the races."
Alec scanned the crowd. "The horse races are over, and the wagon races will start in a few minutes.