I looked to Miles.

“I have tea,” he replied.

“Yes, please, then. Better make it a pot.” I smiled at Julia, and she returned it with a cheeky grin before she disappeared.

Damn it.

Now I was going to get the rumour mill started. I could hear it now: Lady Gabriella spotted canoodling with the gardener! Downton Abbey has nothing on this scandal!

Drama was my middle name today, apparently.

“Can you help?” I asked sheepishly.

“All right.” Miles couldn’t fight his smile. “But only because you got more tea. And I know the pergola in your basket is the wrong dimensions.”

I paused. “Probably. I don’t think I checked. It just looked pretty.”

With a sigh, he rounded the table and sat next to me, turning my laptop so we could both see the screen. “I assumed as much. Do you have the measurements?”

“In the Word document.”

“All right. You don’t happen to have a pen, do you?”

Ah-ha! I grabbed my bag. “I have three.”

“Why do you have three pens in your bag?” He eyed it sceptically.

“In case somebody needs a pen,” I replied, digging around for one.

“Yes, but why do you have three? Surely one would suffice.”

Ah-ha again! I brandished one biro pen. “In case I lose the other two.”

He took the pen, staring at me. “I will never understand women.”

“Don’t worry,” I replied, setting the bag down between my feet again. “We barely understand ourselves. What do you want the pen for?”

He pulled a napkin towards himself. “To write down these dimensions.”

“Ooh!” I scooted my chair back and dug in my bag again.

“If you pull a notebook out of there I’m go—”

“Voila.” I produced my little notebook and set it down between us with a grin. “There you go.”

He stared, dumbfounded, at the A5-sized notebook before he met my gaze again. “What else do you have in there? Your own coffee cup? The solution to world hunger? The blood of a virgin?”

“Not that I know of, perhaps, and there’s a very good chance it might some in there somewhere.”

Miles blinked. “All right, Mary Poppins. Let’s get on with it.”

“Are you scared?” I grinned.

“Little bit.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“What are you planning on doing with a metal peacock family?” Miles asked, looking over at me. “Have you thought this through?”

“Of course I’ve thought it through,” I said, holding the strap of my bag. We’d stopped at my car so I could drop off my laptop. “They’re decorative!”

“You have real peafowl. Aren’t you concerned the peacock will get ideas?”

“I hardly think Lord Pea is going to capitulate with metal peahens.”

His side-eye was heavy. “Really? You don’t?”

“He doesn’t have access to this part of the gardens!”

“When has that ever stopped a peacock? Need I remind you of the goats who also don’t have access to the public gardens?”

I stretched my neck. “Irrelevant. They have new fencing now. Not even Prince Albert can get through it.” I paused. “I think it might be military grade.”