The Pursuit of Pleasure by Elizabeth Essex

dangerous wolf eyes. She’d have to guard herself. He was leaving.
    “How long have you lived there?”
    “I haven’t really. I bought the property some time ago, when I was last in England, recovering, because I couldn’t think of anything better to do with my money, and I thought … I thought it was pretty.”
    “Sentimental.”
    “Yes, well, it’s what makes one a gentleman, owning land. And I liked the idea of having something to come home to besides my father’s rectory, which, when he retires, he’ll have to leave anyway.”
    Some things were the same. He’d never been one for concealment. So honest and open about his life, his hopes. He didn’t pretend to be anything other than himself. He never had. It was something she admired.
    Admired, but didn’t aspire to. She had no intention of being what she ought. What others so insistently thought she should be.
    “And the gardens? You mentioned roses.”
    “Very well-planted gardens, but very old. I’m afraid they’ve been rather let go during my tenure. There’s no staff to speak of. Only the steward, Mr. Tupper, and his wife, who is the housekeeper. No footmen, or maids, although there are a few …” He hesitated, searching for the word. “… groundsmen. Gardeners and the like.”
    “But they’ve let the gardens go?” That made no sense.
    “They’ve plenty of other duties, keeping the buildings up and such. Jack-of-all-tradesmen, they are, keeping the gutters in good repair. So they’ve not so much time for the flowers, although the roses seem to do well enough on their own.”
    “I’m glad the house has been kept up. I can move in straight away.”
    “No.” His voice sounded low and harsh, but she must have mistaken him because when she turned to look at him, he smiled and went on smoothly. “Surely not without maids and all? You’ll get lonely all the way out there. I’m sure you’d prefer a house of your own, in town.”
    “I can’t imagine why you should think so.” Had she changed so much? “Much as I would prefer, I won’t pretend you didn’t hear Papa. I may be a ‘wild girl,’ but I never get lonely or bored, and I don’t require maids. I require roses.”
    “Every lady requires a maid, even you, Lizzie. How else did you manage to look so absolutely fetching in that habit?”
    “Why all this empty gallantry? I’ve already married you—you can stop convincing me. And I don’t have a maid. Never have. Mama is forever trying to send one up, but I can’t abide anyone fussing about me.” She waved her hands back and forth as if clearing out an imaginary room. But she was flattered nonetheless by his notice of how well she looked in her deep green riding habit. It went rather well with the bucolic setting. The habit was perhaps a little old-fashioned in style, but it was superbly cut and fitted her like a glove. Most men were impervious to fashion, but they did like a well-displayed figure.
    “How extraordinary you’ve grown to be, Lizzie.”
    She let out a little snort. “It’s wretched flattery to damn with such faint praise. Am I meant to be so helpless I can’t dress myself? You don’t have a valet. Does that make you extraordinary?”
    “Of course. It is extraordinary I’m so handsomely turned out without one.”
    Lizzie nearly laughed. It was easy to admire him when he was so charmingly self-deprecating. And she was more than a little ready to do more than admire Jamie.
    They turned down a lane lined with low stone walls and hedges laced with wildflowers. The air was sweet with the rising perfumes of late spring.
    “This is it then. My land. Nearly six hundred acres.”
    “Hmm.” Like him, the land was enormously picturesque. That was it—concentrate on the land. Best to think of practicalities and not strong shoulders.
    “Is there a mortgage?” She had spent as long as possible, in the short time allotted, going over the marriage settlement, fine print and all, but couldn’t remember any mention