B+.

And it was not good enough. Not for me. I knew I could have done better on that garden plan if only I hadn’t left it to the last minute, so my first job this morning was to head out there. I planned to set up a table and chair with my laptop and notepad and see if working there would continue to inspire me.

Something had to. Lord knows standing in the shower for twenty minutes replaying last night’s kiss with Miles wasn’t achieving anything other than getting me all hot and bothered.

After we’d kissed, we’d gone back inside. We’d gotten another drink, joined the rest of the party, and both of us had left within the next hour.

Midnight was getting harder and harder to stay up until, let me tell you.

Today was Sunday and he wasn’t working, and I was a little glad of that. I wasn’t quite sure what to say to him now. All the things he’d said last night had spun round and round my mind for hours on end.

He was falling for me.

He was falling in love with me.

And he’d tried to avoid me because he thought it was best if I married someone my father wanted me to.

Well, let’s be honest. If any of the men in my social groups were my future husband, I’d have figured it out by now. It wasn’t like titles or heirs changed every day, was it?

Besides, I didn’t care. That had always been and always would be the biggest issue between me and my father—I just didn’t care. I didn’t care if I married the future King of England or a shelf stacker at the local supermarket, as long as it was a marriage for the right reasons.

Not that the only future King of England was an option for me.

He’d already been snagged—and by a commoner, too.

If it was good enough for William, it was good enough for me.

Not that I was thinking about marrying Miles.

Oh, no.

Maybe. Just once or twice. Fleeting fantasies, you know?

This morning called for a coffee. A cup of tea just wasn’t going to cut it today. There had been far too much wine and not nearly enough sleep last night.

This was why I didn’t like parties.

The kitchen was empty when I entered, and I made my way over to the coffee machine to turn it on. There were all kinds of buttons and knobs on the model Aunt Cat had chosen, and I didn’t have the foggiest idea how it worked.

“Good morning, milady,” Arthur said, entering the room. “Did you sleep well?”

“No, not particularly,” I replied, studying the machine. “Do you know how to work this thing? It seems unnecessarily complicated.”

“It is, and I afraid I’m not terribly familiar with it. I tried to tell your aunt that if she wanted fancy coffees, there’s a Costa in the village, but she told me that was too far away, and the kitchen was much closer.”