Jenny Finchley wasn’t the sort of lady Alex would have expected his old friend to have married. She wasn’t shy or retiring. Quite the reverse. She was as vibrant as a flickering flame. Alive with questions and opinions. The way Tom looked at her, one would almost think he was a victim of mesmerism. He was plainly besotted.

“There are rose fields in Egypt,” she said. “I’d thought perfumeries in France and England imported their flowers from there now. Or from Turkey or some such place.”

Laura nodded. “In many cases, yes. Especially with roses. But some flowering plants—like lavender—are better grown at home in England. It makes for a softer scent. That’s one of the reasons I was so disappointed to learn that Mr. Weatherwax had sold our farm in Dorset.”

“The canal scheme,” Tom said. “Was that how he lost the profits from the sale?”

Alex frowned at the grim reminder. “So he claims.”

Tom’s own expression grew serious. “All isn’t lost. I’ve been investigating the matter for a client of mine, and it appears as though there was fraud on a massive scale. With luck, some of the victims of that scheme might see a percentage of their investment returned to them.”

“And some of the solicitors involved might see themselves struck off,” Jenny added. “You can’t imagine the sort of things—”

“My dear,” Tom remonstrated gently. “You know we’re not to speak of the particulars.”

Jenny managed to look chastened. “Was that a particular? Do forgive me, my love.”

Laura glanced between the pair of them, a hopeful glimmer in her eyes. “Do you truly mean that? There might be a way to recover some of my money?”

“I expect so,” Tom said. “Though it won’t transpire anytime soon. Cases of this nature tend to draw out for quite a long while. Sometimes for years.”

The hope in Laura’s eyes dimmed.

Alex gave her a bracing look. “It doesn’t matter in any event. We’re well settled, whatever happens.”

“Yes. We still have the farm here in Grasse.” Her mouth lifted slowly in a faint smile. “It’s really quite lovely here. And the soil appears to be as excellent as the weather.”

“The food is quite good, too,” Jenny said. “Everything is so fresh and fragrant. I shall have to ask what spices the cook used in our stew.”

Tom grinned. “My wife is an expert on foreign spices. She’s been attempting to teach our cook how to make a proper Indian curry.”

“Poor Mrs. Jarrow. She does struggle with it so.” Jenny dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “I don’t know what it is about the English palate. She won’t believe it’s done until all the flavor has been cooked straight out of it.”