“Home? How will we get home ourselves?” Sophie asked. It was so beautiful by the river, basking in the idle, warm sunshine, that she didn’t feel much interest in the response.

Patrick didn’t answer. He had discovered a new game. Their rosy blanket lay in the shade of a honeysuckle hedge, and Patrick was pulling small tendrils of honeysuckle off the hedge and tucking them into his wife’s bright curls.

“Patrick?” Sophie smiled lazily and stretched again, enjoying the way her husband’s eyes turned coal black.

“Yes?”

“My nurse used to pull the petals off daisies, the way you do,” she teased.

“Why?”

“You can tell whether someone is in love with you,” she said. Feeling suddenly a bit shy, she sat up. Curls and honeysuckle blossoms hid her face. But a strong hand silently presented her with a perfectly formed daisy.

“He loves me,” she said slowly, pulling off a petal. Tender fingers pushed away the curtain of tawny curls that sheltered Sophie’s face.

“He loves me not,” she said. Teeth nipped her ear. Sophie trembled as she chose another petal.

“He loves me.” In a sudden movement, Patrick slipped behind her, pulling her onto his lap.

“He loves me not.”

“He loves me.” Strong arms encircled her, and Sophie relaxed back against Patrick’s chest. Whisper-smooth lips caressed her forehead. Petals fell gently from her fingers.

“He loves me not.”

And: “He loves me.” The last petal drifted to the ground.

“He loves you,” Patrick said, his deep voice unquestioning, strong, there for her life and beyond.

“Do you know how much I love you, Patrick Foakes? I’m in love with you.”

Sophie’s soft words sank slowly into Patrick’s brain. There was a moment’s pause, as if the whole warm lazy afternoon held its breath. For a second Patrick didn’t hear the chirping burr of crickets and the singing hum of bees. The world narrowed to his wife’s vivid blue eyes.

He didn’t want to speak, to disturb the moment.

“You do?” His voice came out hoarse, disjointed. “You are?”

Sophie’s face had turned a rosy pink, color stealing up from the creamy bodice of her dress.

She twisted about, placing her hands on his face. “Of course I do.” And then: “Why do you look so surprised? I thought you knew. You said you knew.”

“I thought …” Patrick’s voice was still a little hoarse. “I thought you were in love with Braddon.”

“Braddon!” Sophie’s eyes were sharp, shocked, Patrick thought dizzily. “How could I be in love with Braddon? He’s in love with Madeleine!”

“It doesn’t follow that you couldn’t be in love with him,” Patrick insisted. It was time they straightened all this out.

Sophie’s hands fell from his face. “How on earth did you get such an odd idea?”