Page 46 of The Duchess Audition

William nodded.

“That is elderflower,” she explained. “Now, elderberries are very good for colds. But you can turn the flowers into a syrup. Indeed, it might be the most special syrup of all.”

The boy leaned in, eyes wide. “Why? What does it cure?”

“A sweet tooth,” she replied with a chuckle. “It is the most delicious drink you shall ever have. Better than lemonade.”

To her delight, William laughed, his eyes bright and his cheeks rosy. “Can we make some?”

“I would not have pointed it out otherwise.” She grinned and swung her leg over the bough, carefully making her descent, letting her feet find the safest way down.

Nevertheless, she gained a few scrapes and scratches from the ridged wood, but it was nothing a bit of ointment would not fix.

“Come on,” she called to her stepson. “You would not let a helpless young lady pick all of the elderflower herself, would you? Will you not think of my poor, dainty hands?”

William snorted playfully. “You are not helpless at all, Marina. I think you’re what Mrs. Havers always calls ‘capable’. I never understood that until now.” He swung down with the ease of a monkey, dropping off the last bough to land at her side. “And you do not have dainty hands.”

“The gall of you!” She feigned insult, elbowing him lightly in the arm.

He laughed, his whole face lighting up. “What I meant was, you don’t now.”

She glanced at her hands, now scratched and dirtied, and flashed him a wicked grin. It was the first time since leaving Stadley to head to London that she had felt entirely like herself, completely free and at liberty to do whatever she pleased, without worrying about what others might think.

Here in the woods, with Mrs. Havers napping, she did not have to fret over the judgment of the servants or, worse, her husband receiving word about her strange behaviors.

“I know this is just the beginning of our acquaintance, William, but I think I shall be sad when you leave for Eton,” she said, putting an arm around his shoulders.

He beamed up at her, and her heart nearly broke at his earnest delight. “I think I shall be sad to leave,” he said. “But I still have a few more years. I say we fill them with fun and medicine and elderflower syrup and me having a thousand grisly stories to tell my peers when I get there.”

“And I say that sounds like a grand plan.” Laughing, Marina steered the boy toward the wall of blooming elderflower, where she taught him how to carefully pick them, so that enough would be left for elderberries to grow in their place.

By the time Marina’s skirts were full of the white flowers, her heart was at peace, her mind reinvigorated. Although, nothing comforted her more than William turning to her with a smile and saying, “Thank you for this, Marina. Thank you for letting me talk to you.”

“I shall always be ready to listen,” she told him, as she wondered what remedy she might able to pull from her brain that could fix the broken relationship between this dear boy and his father.

Indeed, she worried that might be a cure she had no idea how to concoct.

A delicious, fragrantly sweet aroma drew Anthony out of his study, his nose following the sugary scent through the hallways of Knotgill House, toward the kitchens. The hour was late, darkness long settled across the estate, and though he had refused dinner due to a lack of appetite, he felt his stomach awaken.

Amber light spilled out through a gap in the kitchen door, inviting him inside. As he stepped into the vast room, however, he froze.

Gone were the usual array of servants, hustling and bustling to prepare the household meals. Even the cook was not there, though she usually stayed up late to make bread for the morning. Instead, there was a lone figure at the far side, stirring a large pot.

Her dark hair was loose, tumbling down to her waist in soft waves, dressed in her housecoat as if she had just come down from her bed. And she was humming: a quiet, melancholic song that stirred him with its vague familiarity.

“I will not be much longer, Mrs. Hounslow,” she called out, her back to him.

He did not need to see her face to know exactly who she was.

Pausing there on the threshold, he had to weigh up his options: did he stay and finally hold a conversation with his wife; or did he leave before she had any idea that he had been there?

As she turned, the decision was made for him.

“Oh!” she yelped, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh, goodness, I… I thought you were the cook.”

He cleared his throat and proceeded further into the kitchen. “I came to see about some supper. I did not mean to scare you.” He sniffed the air, that fragrant sweetness wrapping around him. “What are you doing down here at such an hour?”

He could not fail to notice that she was standing there in just her nightdress and housecoat, nor that the hem of her nightdress was rather too short for her. At such a distance from her, he could not ignore the glimpse of bare ankles… and bare feet, too.