“If it hasn’t been reprinted, the shop will look in the secondhand stores or buy it from a lending library or the publisher’s inventory. There’s bound to be more than one in the kingdom,” he said, concealing his amusement that she blossomed at a book and not him. “But if you’re in a hurry. . .”
She pensively nibbled on a finger. “I’ve not had enough experience in this climate to know when the bees will settle in for the winter. I’d really wanted the hives done by now. But I suppose we could start in the spring. It’s just. . . we’d have to start building a fence or hedge now to protect the hives we have.”
“Or Avery will have to train his beast better,” Gerard agreed.
“Nettles,” she said in dry amusement. “I should start a nettle hedge.”
And that was the moment he recognized her. . . the tart-tongued servant who had saved his life in Rainford’s library.
Five
“You!” the earl exclaimed out of the clear blue sky.
Startled and frightened, Iona pushed her chair away from the table. Did he recognize her? How? She’d been so absorbed in the drawing appearing beneath his talented fingers that she hadn’t paid attention. . . always a danger. She wasn’t prepared to flee, but her thoughts were already doing mental leaps and bounds.
“You’re the one who brought Lady Alice here,” he grumbled in a slightly lower voice. “Why the hell did you do that?”
Iona tried to slow her panicked response to read his scent, but beneath his usual façade of indifference, he was so many layers of confusion that she couldn’t sort him out fast enough. He only recognized her from that night? If she didn’t have to run again. . . She could breathe a little easier.
“She needed help?” A simple response seemed to be her only option.
“Not my help.” He shoved back his chair.
The other ladies were discreetly staring at them over their handiwork.
Unaccustomed to dealing with more than bees and servants, Iona floundered. She couldn’t order an earl to sit down and shut up. She wasn’t even entirely certain why he was. . . what? Angry at her? Definitely upset but not exactly angry, she decided.
And then she recognized the problem. He was angry because she’d brought Lady Alice here, to his home. He must have learned about her delicate condition. Since she’d seen him in a compromising position with the lady. . .
She stood up so the earl wasn’t glaring down at her so much. “I did not know who you were at the time,” she reminded him. “We weren’t introduced. I had no idea I was bringing her to your home. I was bringing her to Winifred. She’s a midwife.”
He ran his hand through his hair and growled under his breath. That was frustration, she could tell. He was big, but she was pretty certain he wouldn’t strike her. She wasn’t afraid of men any longer. Men toppled like rose canes when she cut them off in the right places.
“Fine. I’ll stay in my tower, out of the way. I’ll order that book for you.” The Earl of Ives and Wystan strode off, tall, lean, and the most handsome man she’d ever met.
Probably also the most confusing—not that she knew many men for comparison.
Iona sighed. It would be lovely to be normal and attend balls and learn to attract the attention of handsome men. She’d be a doddering old spinster before her stepfather died, though.
She could marry, she supposed. She had just never given it much thought after the disaster her mother had made of the wedded state. And then her own circumstances had made hiding more essential than looking for a husband.
“The earl is temperamental,” Simone said reassuringly, looking up from her crochet. “Stifling one’s gifts leads to frustration.”
Iona put away the drawing materials and nodded as if she understood. If the earl had a gift, it was for upsetting women, it seemed.
“How is Lady Alice this morning?” she asked. Had the earl thought she’d brought the lady here because she believed the child was his? Or maybe it was. Who knew?
“I don’t believe she mourns the child,” Simone said curtly. “We’ll keep her away from the earl.”
Iona almost smiled at that. It was amazing how the women here understood each other so well. “I think he’ll appreciate that.”
Lady Alice was apparently a conniving woman of loose morals, but women lacked the opportunities available to men. She’d not judge.
But now that husbands and marriage had occurred to her, Iona couldn’t stop thinking about them. She returned upstairs for her beekeeping habit, gathered her equipment from the shed, and set out for the orchard.
Instead of worrying about honey and hedges, however, she realized that if she married, Arthur would leave her alone. He might go after Isobel. . . But a powerful husband could go to court and prove Iona was the eldest. He’d want her to petition the court for her grandfather’s title, but. . .
She couldn’t go past that thought. Her mother had refused to allow her second husband to use her title and look what had become of that.
She should have been a queen bee, Iona thought wryly as she watched a few worker bees return to the hive with their late summer harvest. Mate once a year, lay a thousand eggs, and let the male die and blow away at the end of the season.
Except human children took a little longer to raise than a season—which was where her mother had succumbed to weakness and married again.
Iona hummed as she worked, soothing the bees and letting them settle down for their long winter’s rest. She had only been able to bring one queen with her when she’d fled, but that one would pass on her wisdom to her offspring. They would recognize Iona.
“Next year, you’ll have newer, nicer homes,” she assured the queen as she worked. “It’s warmer here, isn’t it? Just think of all the honey the apple blossoms will produce. It will pay for our new
