“Still in Windsor,” she confirmed. “I think he will be until tomorrow morning as his meeting run over. Are you staying the night?”
“I suppose I’ll have to. I don’t fancy traveling back home just to return again in the morning. Checkmate!”
“Oh, balls!” I threw my pawn across the table, and it bounced off onto the floor. “Was I even checked?”
“Yes, dear, you didn’t notice. You’re awful at it.” Aunt Cat stood. “I’ll ask Jennifer to prepare your bedroom, Alexander, and I’ll call Elizabeth and let her know you’ll be home tomorrow afternoon.”
There was no arguing with her tone, so he simply said, “Thank you, Aunt Cat. I appreciate it.”
“Of course you do. Now bring my great-niece with you next time. I’ll have new ducks next week.”
“You’ll what?” I did a double-take. “New ducks?”
“Yes, dear. I’ve managed to source some lovely Cayuga ducks along with some rare Welsh Harlequins.” She patted her skirt pockets for her phone. “I don’t have my phone to show you pictures, but they’re lovely.”
“Does Daddy know about this?”
“Whyever would he know? I’m not stupid enough to tell him.”
“You can’t just show up with more ducks.”
“I most certainly can.” She strolled to the door and looked over her shoulder. “You should all be thankful I’m not bringing home more goats.”
That was true. “Victoria and Albert are definitely enough.”
Alex snorted. “Victoria and Albert? You named your goats Victoria and Albert?”
“Technically, it’s Queen Victoria and Prince Albert,” I answered.
She blinked at him. “What else would I name them?”
“Billy?” Alex offered with a grin. “Gruff?”
I laughed.
“I do fancy another pair, though. I was thinking about Elizabeth and Philip.”
Alex composed himself. “Skipped a few monarchs there, haven’t you?”
“Well, yes.” She tapped her chin. “But the four kings between our queens are Edwards and Georges. I suppose George is an option, but Edward isn’t. Has rather a negative connotation to it, doesn’t it?”
I kicked Alex under the table.
We were not going to get my aunt started on Edward.
I’d hear nothing but her rants on him and Wallis Simpson for the next week, and I much preferred my sanity.
“Elizabeth and Philip are great names for goats,” I agreed. “Especially since the Queen is the GOAT.”
“Did you just call Her Majesty a goat?”
Alex’s shoulders shook with laughter.
“No, I said the GOAT.”
Aunt Cat pressed her hand against her chest in horror. “That’s your distant relative you’re besmirching!”
Jesus. How did I get here? “The greatest of all time,” I said quickly, before she could spiral any further. “It’s a compliment. GOAT. Greatest of all time. See?”
She frowned. “Why can’t you just say she’s the greatest of all time? You kids these days. You’re so lazy in your English. Never mind horticulture classes, Gabriella, you need some elocution lessons.”
Absolutely not. Two years of those in my teens was more than enough, thank you very much.
Aunt Cat disappeared on that bombshell, and I grimaced when I caught Alex’s eye. He was looking at me contemplatively with his head tilted to the side.
“What?” I said warily.
“Horticulture classes?”
“So?”
“Hey, no, it’s a good thing for you.” He touched my hand. “You’ve always loved to garden. What’s taken you so long?”
“What do you think?” I muttered, folding the chess board away. I wasn’t allowed to use the actual chess table because of the fact I was, apparently, a Very Bad Loser. See the pawn under the bookcase twenty feet away. “I doubt Dad would be very pleased with it. He’s on state banquet business and he’s trying to set me up with Steven.”
My cousin shuddered as he retrieved my wayward pawn. “Didn’t you go on a few dates in college?”
“Mhmm. He had a wandering eye.” I took the piece and put it in its spot in the box. “I understand Daddy’s desire for me to get married, and preferably to a future duke, but I’d prefer it to be to someone who can keep it in his pants, regardless of a title or not.”
“Isn’t he seeing somebody?” Alex held the door for me as we headed outside. “I could swear Spencer told me Steven was going out with—bloody hell, who was it?”
I had no idea.
“Annabelle Fortescue!”
“Ugh!” I shuddered. “Why is he seeing her?”
He shrugged. “She’s good in bed.”
“Alexander!” I slapped his shoulder. “I don’t want to know that.”
He chuckled. “You asked. At least she was when I was eighteen. Can’t imagine she’s gotten worse.”
“Oh, that’s enough.” I was going to have to bleach my flipping ears now. “I was hoping you’d say it was for philanthropic purposes. Hell, I’d take a PR relationship over whatever else it is you think.”
His laughter continued as we walked through the garden. “Show me what you’ve been working on. How’s the rose garden?”
“How do you know about the rose garden?”
“I used to cut them with scissors and give them to my mum.”
I stifled a laugh. I did, too. “How did I never know?”
“Because Margaret let me,” he replied, referring to our old gardener. “I used to bring her her favourite hard-boiled sweets in exchange for a few roses every time we visited.”
“Rude. She used to chase me out with her garden hoe every time she caught me in there!” I ducked under the archway that was filled with rose buds ready to bloom and fill the pathway with their gorgeous, sweet scent. “Mind you, I’m allowed to cut some roses now, and the current gardener chases me off anyway. Or he would if he had a hoe to hand.”
“What are you doing to him?”
“Nothing. Why does everyone assume it’s always my fault? Could it not be that he’s simply grumpy and rude?” I sniffed. “I am a delight, thank you very much.”
“Going around calling people grumpy and rude isn’t a delight.”
“I wouldn’t have to call people grumpy and rude if they weren’t grumpy and rude.”
“Fair point.” He stepped ahead of me and opened the gate, motioning for me to go ahead first.
I sighed.
Why couldn’t all men be more like my cousin?
You know.
Polite.
The rose garden was one of my favorite places. It straddled the line between private and public—the roses bloomed in two separate flushes, with the second almost always being bigger and brighter and better than the first. We kept the path to it closed during the first flush so we could enjoy them ourselves, then opened it during the second.
The rose garden was a labour of love for the Hastings family. For four generations, we’d planted roses that meant something to us. Each one was named after a departed member of our family, and after a few years of searching for the right one, I’d finally found the one to plant to commemorate Uncle Arthur.