rang with good cheer, sincerely so on Sedgewick’s part.
Beau looked tired around the eyes, as though he hadn’t slept any better than she had. The strain of this entrapped situation was beginning to show, Maggie thought, her heart sinking even lower at the prospect of the news to come...the news which would almost certainly blast this beautiful day and bring the winds of change.
“Jeffrey is preparing a special treat this morning,” Sedgewick informed them as he poured her a glass of juice.
Maggie’s stomach hosted so many butterflies she didn’t feel like eating anything.
“He is an exceptionally good chef,” Beau remarked.
And well he might, Maggie thought, considering the stream of treats that had been coming from the kitchen all week. In Sedgewick’s opinion, good food promoted good humour and the butler was leaving no stone unturned in encouraging what he now saw as a promising relationship. Jeffrey undoubtedly had orders to soothe with excellence and titillate with innovation.
“He considers himself an artist, Master Beau,” Sedgewick answered, beaming benevolent approval at the reformed wild child.
“So what gourmet delight is he producing this morning?” Beau asked with a show of eager interest.
Was it forced? Maggie wondered. How could his stomach not be in knots? Was he confident of taking any outcome in his stride?
“Jeffrey has a friend, sir, who comes from Louisiana. I understand the dish is a favourite there. Fried green tomatoes. Quite delectable, sir. I have sampled it. I promise you are sure to enjoy it.”
“Green tomatoes?” Maggie questioned.
“Yes, indeed. Slices of them coated in a golden crust which has a subtle taste of garlic and onion.”
Garlic was the last thing Maggie needed this morning.
“Tell Jeffrey we await the pleasure,” Beau said, apparently relishing a new eating experience. His eyes were twinkling, despite the look of fatigue on his face. His happy air of anticipation was absolutely incomprehensible to Maggie.
Sedgewick served her with her usual fruit compote and sailed off to the kitchen to deliver the good news. She picked up her spoon and stared at the fruit—slices of peach, pear and mango. Easy enough to slide down, she thought. Maybe she should leave them until after the fried green tomatoes. They might kill the aftertaste of garlic and settle any queeziness in her stomach.
“That yellow dress looks wonderful on you, Maggie,” Beau said warmly. “I must say it’s very heart-lifting to see.”
The compliment startled her. She looked at him, wondering what he meant by it.
He offered an appealing smile. “I do hope it means I’m forgiven for my trespasses.”
Her mind remained blank, unable to find any connection to what he was saying.
“I was sitting here, dreading the possibility you might appear in your jeans, ready for a quick take off,” he explained.
Finally it clicked. He was thinking of their meeting in the library, the morning after...when she’d offered to leave then and there, only agreeing to stay until the results were known and they were clear of the pregnancy fear.
“You don’t want me to go...no matter what?’ she tested, wary of taking anything for granted with him.
“Absolutely not,” he answered firmly.
Her heart hopped, skipped and jumped. His niceness to her over this past week couldn’t have been a pretence. Why would he invite a longer pretence than he had to? Maybe he really had begun to like her as a person. Or...maybe he was still feeling guilty about not treating her as his grandfather would have wanted, still doing penance for his trespasses.
Before she could form a question that might ascertain his motives, Mr. Polly intruded, carrying in a basket of roses, his weather-beaten face wreathed in pleasure.
“Please excuse me, Master Beau...”
“Of course, Mr. Polly.”
“...Prize blooms, these are. I told Mr. Vivian they would be this year. He said to enter them in the Royal Easter Show if they came out this good.”
“Well, go right ahead and do it,” Beau encouraged. “They look like winners to me.”
“Double Delight,” Mr. Polly almost crooned as he held one up for them to admire. “That’s what they’re called. Because of the red and white in the petals.”
“What a perfect rose!” Maggie exclaimed.
“Perfect for you, Nanny Stowe. I thought you might like these for your room.”
He was such a sweetie. “How kind! They’re so beautiful!” she said warmly.
“I’ll take them to Mrs. Featherfield to put them in water for you. And may I say, you’ve always been a Double Delight, Nanny Stowe.” He looked meaningly at Beau. ”I felt sure you would see a prize in them, sir. Thank you for your permission to put an entry in the show.”
Maggie felt herself colouring red on white as the head gardener took his leave of them, having delivered a remark which had the subtlety of a sledgehammer. She quickly picked up her spoon and delved into the fruit compote, hoping Beau was oblivious to her being labelled as a prize worth recognising. To her, the whole staff were embarrassingly obvious with wanting the chance for their relationship to develop into a happy-ever-after and secure future for everyone.
“You see? My life here wouldn’t be worth living if you left, Maggie,” Beau said in dry amusement.
Reluctantly she met his gaze and he grinned at her as he expounded on the situation. “Sedgewick would order Jeffrey to dish up slops for each meal. I’d be sent to coventry by Mrs. Featherfield. Wallace would undoubtedly ensure the grumpiest, bumpiest ride in the Rolls. And Mr. Polly would grow thorns.”
She couldn’t grin back. It wasn’t funny. “They’ve been with your grandfather a long time, Beau,” she reminded him. “They’re frightened of change. You should understand that before deciding on whatever course you’ll take.”
He weighed her words. “You care about them.”
“They’ve all contributed to giving me the best part of my life. Of course, I care about them. They’re good people. With the kindest of hearts.”
“All the more reason for you to stay on then.”
Maggie wasn’t sure of that. It could be prolonging hopes that were better cut dead so they didn’t obscure the realities to be faced.
“We’ll see,” she said noncommittally.
The reasons Beau was giving were centred on him—his comfort—not on any feelings for her. The hope that had danced through her bloodstream a few minutes ago, fell limply by the wayside. She ate the fruit without thinking about it, without even tasting it.
Sedgewick returned. The fried green tomatoes were served. Beau was suitably complimentary about the Louisiana dish. Maggie made agreeable murmurs and washed the glug in her mouth down with coffee. Nothing more of any importance was said.
After breakfast, Maggie excused herself to see to the roses Mr. Polly had left with Mrs. Featherfield.
“I’ll be in the library,” Beau said pointedly.
Where the fax machine was, Maggie thought, and found herself trembling. She clenched her hands, stiffened her spine and sternly told herself she would cope with everything better once she knew the test result.
In the end, she didn’t join Beau in the library, waiting for the news. She simply couldn’t bear to be with him. Having arranged the perfect Double Delight blooms in a vase, she carried it up to her suite, placed it on her dressing table, then wandered around the bedroom that had once seemed like a place fit for a princess.
It