“Standing here, I can well imagine it.” His gaze absorbed the greens, an endless combination of every shade there could be; trees reaching high over ferns, spindly stalks topped with whispering gathers of tiny leaves rustling beneath. The landscape was irregular, any number of small hills interrupting the view with their soft green bumps.
He pointed in their direction. “Odd arrangement of grass…”
“An ancient mine, we believe.” She nodded and headed that way as he followed. “Tin, possibly. My grandfather swore the Vikings had done it.”
“You mean like the burial mounds they left dotted all over the place?”
“Yes. And it’s not out of the realm of possibility. There have been more than a few Viking artefacts uncovered by surprised farmers in the area.”
“But you don’t think so?” He caught the dismissal in her tone.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Every few years one of the mounds collapses. There’s even something that might have been an entrance down into a pit or mine of sorts. My sense is that the Vikings built more sturdily with an eye to posterity. Whoever left these mounds had no such intentions.”
“How long have they been here?” He watched his footing as the path grew rough.
“For as long as I can remember, of course. And when I asked Grandmama about them, she said they’d been here for several generations at least.”
“Hmm.”
“Come,” she beckoned. “There is a bench over here where we may sit for a moment.”
Rounding a stand of willows, he observed that indeed there was a bench. It was settled into the ground, ringed by bushes, and facing the delightful sight of a stream winding a few feet below. Across the bank were trees and shrubs, flowering profusely. He couldn’t even guess at their names, so he simply gazed at their splendour.
“A pleasant prospect,” he observed, taking a seat beside her. “A good place to think, one might suppose.”
Her quick smile was confirmation of his statement. “Yes indeed. I do come here quite often for just that purpose.”
“I forgot. You grew up here…” The Duke sat, stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles, a pose of casual relaxation that Ivy found quite disarming.
“Well, yes, I suppose so. Although Vine Hall was home for my earliest years.” She gazed across the stream and sat next to Colly, arranging her skirts around her knees as the wind toyed with the frills. “I love it here.”
“You missed your parents, though…” His voice was calm, but with a touch of sympathy.
“Of course.” She glanced at him. “But Grandmama was wonderful. She and Elvina helped me past the grief and sadness of the accident. I’m not sure what I would have done without them, to be honest.”
“A tragic occurrence,” the Duke said quietly. “One that leaves a scar on the heart.”
“Indeed.”
Touched by his comment, Ivy remained still at his side, letting the soft sounds of water babbling, leaves rustling and birds chirping wash over her. It was peaceful at that moment, and as if Colly sensed it as well, he casually reached out and took her hand in his, and allowing them both to rest, clasped, on his thigh.
She swallowed, then told herself to relax. It was a friendly gesture of comfort. That was all. She must not read anything into it.
“We’re awfully lucky, you know.”
His words surprised her. “How so?”
“Well here we are, sitting in this glorious place, warmed by the sun, with no worries as to food or shelter. We want for very little, Ivy.”
“An odd observation, Colly, although yes, you’re right.”
He sighed. “I’ve had communications of late from several friends with estates in the north.” He released her hand and leaned forward, his arms on his thighs. “Food is scarce. Crops and harvests have been insufficient. People are starving and wages falling.”
She took a breath. “I have read about some of this. Although not much.” She wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It seems the newspapers would rather publish gossip than things that really matter.”
“Sad but true.” He shrugged.
“Do you have holdings in the north?” She touched his arm.
He turned to her. “No, I don’t. But there’s one thing I find utterly hateful, and that is poverty. To know that British citizens, many of them soldiers who stood with Wellington, are on the verge of starvation…their children dying for lack of food…” He broke off and took a deep breath. “I have difficulty sometimes accepting that such situations exist in a country that prides itself on its sophistication.”
“The Corn Laws?” She ventured a guess.
“Certainly aren’t helping,” he answered wryly. “They’ve just pushed the price of a loaf of bread to a point where too many people can’t afford it.” He gazed across the stream. “I read a short piece in the Times over breakfast this morning, before we left. Sitting here now, it came back to me and made me realise how very lucky we are, and how I wish I could do something more to help those who will never have chance to experience moments such as this. Like the one we’re having right now.”
“Such sentiments do you credit, Colly,” Ivy answered quietly. “Will you take a seat in the House of Lords? Make your opinions known?”
He shook his head. “I’ve thought of it, of course. But there are too many voices with too little sympathy. It would waste my time and exhaust my patience.”
“I could wish there were more like you in Parliament.” She looked at him.
He leaned back and turned to her, his face amused. “Do you? Boring dukes with little conversation and stiff spines?”
“No, no. You’re completely mistaken.” She took a breath and inhaled his masculine scent, sandalwood and leather and man.
“But I thought it was common knowledge that I am as dull as dishwater…”
She couldn’t
