Repairing the drive hadn’t been on his list, mostly because he hadn’t got ’round to making a list. “You inspire me to rethink my plan.” They’d reached the irises, which had the most delicate fragrance, hardly a fragrance at all. Simply a sweet note on the air. Robert took out his penknife and sliced off a deep purple bloom about a foot below the flower. “Mind the petals don’t bleed on your dress.”

“Thank you.” Constance took off her gloves and accepted the flower. “I would like to put this in water so I can—”

“—sketch it,” he said, cutting another four stems. “We’ll find water and a vase in the library.”

“What plan did you refer to, Your Grace?”

“My plan for appearing mentally competent for as long as possible.” He added three yellow tulips to the bouquet.

“You are mentally competent.”

“At times, I can be. Come.” He led her to the experimental bed and knelt to cut off one last stem. “Now your sketch will be a little more interesting.” He rose and presented her a tulip with variegated petals of pink and white.

“I have never seen a tulip like this before except in Dutch paintings.”

“Some people think the bulb has been tainted with a hereditary flaw, others think the color comes from crossing strains. The color reproduces, though, so I lean toward the first explanation.”

She took the final bloom. “Having more individuality than other flowers is not a flaw. You should plant these on the front drive for the whole world to see, not hoard them here for your private delectation.”

“You scold me?”

“I give you something to think about. Nathaniel likely tiptoed past your every whim and sniffle. These flowers need water.”

And I need you. Robert came to that conclusion as if he’d been working through a geometric theorem. The answer sat at the bottom of the proof, patiently awaiting the student’s deductions.

But was it the correct answer, or merely a relic of a young man’s fondness for an even younger female?

“This way,” he said, turning back toward the house. “I would normally take you through the French doors, but love is in the air. For all I know, love is in the library, taking shocking liberties on the desk, so we will use the corridor and knock loudly.”

“Are you jealous?”

“What a question.” What an insightful question. “Are you?”

“I am, and I’m not. Althea has always wanted a family, a home of her own where she can take care of others and be taken care of. She will have her heart’s desire, and I do envy her that.”

“Have you a similar long-cherished dream?”

Lady Constance paused on the garden steps, the bouquet held before her. The picture she made was lovely—also lonely.