“Best let me do the collectin’ over there, Miss Singer.” Gran’ther Tim pulled a short stick out of his bag as well as a small trowel. He then poked around in the ferns and into the moss. Suddenly a horrible smell arose from the moss. Something wiggled away from them and plopped into the water. Gran’ther Tim picked up a wiggling object that lay on top of the moss. “Slow worm. Reckon if he’s about tain’t no adders in here. This here’s his tail he left behind.”
“What’s a slow worm?” Celeste asked, watching as Gran’ther Tim scooped up some moss and carefully dug out a fern or two.
“He’s like a snake with legs. No harm to ‘em, but adders like ‘m to eat. So’s if they’s a slow worm, likely no adder about.”
“Are adders poisonous?” Celeste asked.
“Oh, they do be!” Betty said. “Peg McNally’s son Tim …”
“That be one o’ my grandsons,” Gran’ther Tim put in.
“Anyways,” Betty went on, “Young Tim got bit when he was diggin’ up the garden. He swole up and was ever so sick.”
“I’ll pay attention then, and not come gathering at the bog alone.”
When they returned, Betty helped Celeste carry their treasures into the Duke’s study. Betty was called away to change bed linens, and Celeste went to work with the materials they had gathered. In a short time, she had an arrangement that looked very much like the bank where they had collected the moss and ferns. Catkins, the stalks tucked in artfully concealed glasses of water, rose from behind the ferns. These Celeste had flanked with carefully arranged dried grasses that were stuck between the glasses, into the moss.
“Thank you,” the Duke said. “It is the perfect bit of greenery to rest my eyes from doing accounts.”
Celeste started, nearly spilling the watering can. She had not heard the Duke come into the room. Trying to recover her aplomb, she said the first thing that came into her head.
“You do your own accounts, Your Grace?”
“Yes, indeed. Did you not keep your own records when you had your dress shop?”
“Yes, of course. But who would I have asked to do them for me? You have, well, everyone you could wish to help you.”
“I could do that.” The Duke seemed to think about it for a moment, then he smiled.
Celeste basked in the warmth of his expression.What a lovely smile. It could warm you all the way to the depths of your soul.She could not help smiling back.
The edges of his dark brown eyes crinkled up, and the strong, mobile lips parted revealing even, white teeth. Just one tooth was a little out of line, she noticed. It was somehow endearing.
“But if I hired someone,” the Duke continued his train of thought, “I would be less in touch with how everything is going on my estates. Even if I had an accountant who was scrupulously honest, I would miss out on small subtle things.”
“Like what, Your Grace?” Celeste knew she was being bold, but somehow she just could not help herself.
“Like a charming view of the talented artist who has been making arrangements for my study. And a notation of a very small account being opened with my steward for one Celeste Singer. Are you planning to leave us, Miss Singer?”
“Leave? Oh, no. But my parents are still in France. I am hoping I will hear from them soon. I would like to rent a little cottage in the village so they could come live here.”
“And you are saving for their fare?”
“Yes, Your Grace. And for the rent on a cottage.”
“Ah, now, you see I would have missed that entirely if I had not been in the habit of going over the books for my estate. Now I know that instead of being in danger of losing a good worker, I am about to gain two worthy tenants.”
“I think I understand, Your Grace.” Celeste dropped her eyes to the small watering can she held in her hands.
Does he care that much about everyone on the estate? Or would he be genuinely unhappy if I left? Stupid, foolish, to read something into his questions.
“Now, let me think. As it happens, I think I have just the place for an older couple. Are they able to work?”
“Yes, Your Grace. My mother was a teacher in her youth, and does letter writing for people in the village. My father is a carpenter and a gardener. He isn’t as able as he once was, but he can still do some things.”
“Excellent. Now, Miss Singer, would you accept a small loan?”
“A loan?” Celeste stared at him for a moment.
