Page 54 of Not Just Any Earl
As she drew closer, a faint hint of spice tickled her nose, reminiscent of clove, or—no, not that, precisely, but something else. Cinnamon? No, it was earthier than that, more like…
Ginger.
Emmeline froze where she stood, a wild rush of hope surging through her.
An everyday tea rose?
This humble little rose—not one of her father’s rare hybrids, or the Portland rose, or one of Lady Hammond’s damasks—was the rose she’d been searching for? Not a rare specimen at all, but just an ordinary rose one might find in any garden, anywhere in England?
No, it couldn’t be…
But knowing her father as she did, it made perfect sense. He’d never been a high-stickler when it came to his roses. He’d loved them all, thought them all equally beautiful and worthy, from the Hambleden Glory to the damasks, and the damasks to the humblest tea roses.
She’d always believed she shared his impartiality, but if that was the case, why had she never once even considered the second rose in her father’s scent could be a common hybrid tea? How many times had she passed this rose in the garden, without ever suspecting it was the elusive rose she sought?
Dozens of times. Hundreds, even.
Just a common little tea rose, unremarkable, easily overlooked…
But now she’d noticed it, truly looked at it, she saw it wasn’t any of those things. It was lovely, with its pure white petals and its unique scent, and a hardy, courageous little flower, only unremarkable to those who expected it to be something other than what it was.
Some might think it not special enough to earn a place among Lady Finchley’s roses, not exalted enough to bloom alongside Lady Hammond’s damasks, but every rose was welcome in her father’s garden. It would have been just like him to pair a humble tea rose with the extravagant, showy Hambleden Glory.
She raised a hand to her mouth, a sob on her lips, and reached out a shaking hand for one of the cheerful blooms. With a gentle twist she plucked it from its stem, buried her nose in its whorl of petals, and inhaled. The warm scent of ginger flooded her nose, citrus and wood and spice, so lovely, and so perfectly, unashamedly itself.
The rose she’d spent all these weeks searching for had been in her garden all along, just waiting for her to take notice of it—
“I’ve never known another lady who adores dirt as much as you do, Emmeline.”
She went still, everything but her heart, which surged into sudden life, soaring in her chest on a wave of fierce happiness unlike any she’d ever felt before.
“How many of those pinafores do you have? I’ve been wondering.”
She was afraid to turn around, or even to breathe lest he disappear like the sun now sinking below the horizon. Behind her came the clatter of the wrought iron gate opening, then the soft thud of booted feet crossing the garden.
“I’d suggest that a pair of gardening gloves wouldn’t go amiss, but I prefer you as you are. I never would have guessed I could find dirt so fetching, but there it is.”
He didn’t sound angry, or frustrated that she’d fled London like a coward, but gentle and teasing and…happy, as if he’d found everything he’d been looking for, everything he’d ever wanted.
As if she was everything he’d ever wanted.
Her heart, so heavy just hours before, leapt with unrestrained joy in her chest. Her knees trembled, her entire body sagging with gratitude and relief, and she couldn’t—she simply couldn’t make herself send him away.
How had she ever thought she could give him up?
“Do you know, this is just how I imagined this moment would unfold?” The footsteps moved closer. “With you in that dreadful cloak, covered in dirt, with leaves in your hair, and me, thinking you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen.”
A sob caught in Emmeline’s throat.
“Turn around, Emmeline.” He was standing very close now, close enough she might have leaned into him, and found herself in his arms.
“Emmeline. Look at me, sweetheart.”
She did as she was bid, because she could do nothing else. She turned and looked up at him, at his handsome face cast in shadows, the waning light behind him gilding him with a hazy silhouette of gold.
He studied her without speaking, then with a quick smile he reached out and plucked a leaf from her hair. When he met her gaze again his lips were still curved, but his eyes were serious. “You must have known I’d never let you go, Emmeline.”
Had she? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore, except that she loved this man with all of her heart, and he was here, he’d come for her, and nothing in her world would ever be right without him. “I—I don’t know, or I didn’t…understand, at first.”
