like the others.”
Not of ghosts, he thought. But of his unkindness, of his power to harm her—yes, she had definitely been fearful last night. He’d done what he could to dispel that. “No, she has a great deal of spirit, hasn’t she? One can’t help but like that about her.”
His daughter smiled tremulously and got on with painstakingly cleaning the tines of a fork.
He went outdoors, and soon Edwina joined him in the weed-choked mess of the knot garden. The holly hedge surrounding it was overgrown, and the stone bench and other garden ornaments could only be described as dreary. He picked a sprig of rosemary and offered it to her.
~ * ~
Startled, Edwina took the sprig and bit off one needle, savoring its sharp flavor. He strolled away, making it clear the offering meant nothing—definitely not rosemary for remembrance of the kisses with which they had mended their disputes in the past. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t want to dispute with him! And although she knew her quick temper to be a worse failing than her stubbornness, she had a right to her indignation. No, her downright hurt and…
It didn’t matter. To him the past was of no account—a nuisance to be acknowledged and then forgotten. His entire concentration was on his children, and rightly so. On that at least they could agree.
Edwina nibbled on the rosemary and wandered slowly in Richard’s wake. The four squares of the knot garden were divided by pathways. Each square had a different knot design, and at the center of each knot stood a stone fixture: in one a birdbath, in another a sundial, in a third a plinth with a flowerpot, and in the fourth—the only one with a proper path to the center—an elaborate stone bench. “The design for this garden is quite old,” she said. “Was it planted at the time the house was built?”
“Shortly afterward, I assume, as according to the old stories, it was designed by the same Lady Ballister who now haunts us. It was her pride and joy. Sir Joshua, in his rage, took an axe to the garden, but once he had calmed down a little, he regretted his hastiness and replanted much of it himself.”
“What a horrid man, to regret destroying a garden but not his cruel treatment of his wife.”
Richard shrugged. “He was a proud man, and a knot garden was a showpiece.”
How cynical. He was most likely right, but she didn’t like the hard man Richard had become—or perhaps had always been. She strode away down one of the alleys and then slowed, reminding herself once again that she was equal to anything, including letting bygones be bygones—not that Richard had anything strenuous to do in that regard.
She took a deep breath, determined to compose herself. “The garden hasn’t been neglected for long.”
“No, my predecessor lived here, and he died less than a year ago.”
“With servants to care for him? No ghost to scare them away?”
“Oh, the house has always been haunted, but country people are used to the occasional ghost. She appeared rarely under previous owners, causing little trouble—except for the Ballister Curse.”
“Curse? What curse?” She whirled away, unable to believe she was to be confronted with more folly, and turned to face him again. “For heaven’s sake, Richard! First a ghost, and now a curse?”
He went on as if she hadn’t reacted so strongly. “It’s part of the same story and the reason I brought you out here, Edwina. For John’s sake, we discuss it as little as possible.” He blew out a sigh. “Let me start at the beginning. Sir Joshua and Lady Ballister had a young son, the only bright spot in their miserable marriage. She seemed willing enough to abandon the boy when fleeing with her lover, but—”
“Because she wouldn’t have been able to take him,” Edwina retorted. How typical of a male to assume the unhappy wife didn’t care about her child. “Since her husband didn’t get on with her, he might have been willing to let her go, but not with
Not of ghosts, he thought. But of his unkindness, of his power to harm her—yes, she had definitely been fearful last night. He’d done what he could to dispel that. “No, she has a great deal of spirit, hasn’t she? One can’t help but like that about her.”
His daughter smiled tremulously and got on with painstakingly cleaning the tines of a fork.
He went outdoors, and soon Edwina joined him in the weed-choked mess of the knot garden. The holly hedge surrounding it was overgrown, and the stone bench and other garden ornaments could only be described as dreary. He picked a sprig of rosemary and offered it to her.
~ * ~
Startled, Edwina took the sprig and bit off one needle, savoring its sharp flavor. He strolled away, making it clear the offering meant nothing—definitely not rosemary for remembrance of the kisses with which they had mended their disputes in the past. For heaven’s sake, she didn’t want to dispute with him! And although she knew her quick temper to be a worse failing than her stubbornness, she had a right to her indignation. No, her downright hurt and…
It didn’t matter. To him the past was of no account—a nuisance to be acknowledged and then forgotten. His entire concentration was on his children, and rightly so. On that at least they could agree.
Edwina nibbled on the rosemary and wandered slowly in Richard’s wake. The four squares of the knot garden were divided by pathways. Each square had a different knot design, and at the center of each knot stood a stone fixture: in one a birdbath, in another a sundial, in a third a plinth with a flowerpot, and in the fourth—the only one with a proper path to the center—an elaborate stone bench. “The design for this garden is quite old,” she said. “Was it planted at the time the house was built?”
“Shortly afterward, I assume, as according to the old stories, it was designed by the same Lady Ballister who now haunts us. It was her pride and joy. Sir Joshua, in his rage, took an axe to the garden, but once he had calmed down a little, he regretted his hastiness and replanted much of it himself.”
“What a horrid man, to regret destroying a garden but not his cruel treatment of his wife.”
Richard shrugged. “He was a proud man, and a knot garden was a showpiece.”
How cynical. He was most likely right, but she didn’t like the hard man Richard had become—or perhaps had always been. She strode away down one of the alleys and then slowed, reminding herself once again that she was equal to anything, including letting bygones be bygones—not that Richard had anything strenuous to do in that regard.
She took a deep breath, determined to compose herself. “The garden hasn’t been neglected for long.”
“No, my predecessor lived here, and he died less than a year ago.”
“With servants to care for him? No ghost to scare them away?”
“Oh, the house has always been haunted, but country people are used to the occasional ghost. She appeared rarely under previous owners, causing little trouble—except for the Ballister Curse.”
“Curse? What curse?” She whirled away, unable to believe she was to be confronted with more folly, and turned to face him again. “For heaven’s sake, Richard! First a ghost, and now a curse?”
He went on as if she hadn’t reacted so strongly. “It’s part of the same story and the reason I brought you out here, Edwina. For John’s sake, we discuss it as little as possible.” He blew out a sigh. “Let me start at the beginning. Sir Joshua and Lady Ballister had a young son, the only bright spot in their miserable marriage. She seemed willing enough to abandon the boy when fleeing with her lover, but—”
“Because she wouldn’t have been able to take him,” Edwina retorted. How typical of a male to assume the unhappy wife didn’t care about her child. “Since her husband didn’t get on with her, he might have been willing to let her go, but not with
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