Aunt Dimity and the Duke (26 page)

“... a strawberry in his punch?”

“I’m sorry, Vicar,” said Nell, contritely. “Bertie’s been a terrible palooka lately. I’ll get you a fresh glass.”

Derek propped himself up on his elbows again, chuck-ling. “The vicar’s going to regret driving the Pyms here after your children are through with him.”

“My
children?” Emma exclaimed.

“I accept no responsibility for their abominable behavior,” Derek declared. “Before they met you, they were perfect angels.”

Emma caught sight of Peter speaking earnestly with Mrs. Shuttleworth and watched as Nell carried the vicar’s brimming glass of punch through the throng without spilling a drop. “They still are, aren’t they?”

“Spoken with the sickening conviction of a besotted stepmother-to-be. I rest my case.” Pulling himself into a sitting position, Derek reached for his flute of champagne and raised it to Emma in a silent toast, then leaned back against the cushions. “You seemed quite pleased by the thingummy the Pyms brought with them. Couldn’t believe you were out there this morning, sticking it into the ground.”

“Thingummy?” Emma rolled her eyes. “Derek, that’s not a thingummy. It’s a tree peony. And it’s not just any tree peony, but a cutting from the Pyms’ own tree peony, which they grew from a cutting the dowager gave them years ago.”

“I see,” said Derek, watching Emma’s face carefully.

“Ruth says it has amber blossoms,” Emma went on. “The flowers can get to be a foot in diameter, and the whole plant can grow as high as severe feet tall. It’s going to look wonderful against the north wall.”

“Sounds impressive,” Derek commented.

“It will be, but it’s not just that, Derek.” Emma looked eagerly into his blue eyes. “I wanted so badly to have all the plants in the chapel garden come from Penford Hall. I didn’t think it would be possible, not after the storm wiped out the garden rooms and I had to use the plants Bantry’s friends sent. But the Pyms made it possible, at least in a small way. I’ve finally planted something in the chapel garden that really belongs there. I can’t tell you how good that makes me feel.”

Derek set his glass aside and reached for Emma’s hand. “I do understand what you mean, love, and I’m very happy for you. Worried, too, of course.”

Emma knew what was coming. The Pyms had brought Derek a copy of the Cotswold
Standard,
the nearest thing Finch had to a local newspaper, commenting in stereo that, since they’d received the delightful wedding invitation, they’d thought that Derek might be contemplating making a few other changes in his life. The advertisement describing the fourteenth-century manor house (“with outbuildings and courtyard”) had been circled in violet ink. It was a stone’s throw away from Finch and had apparently been on the market for some time. Derek had been fretting about it all day.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Emma said, anticipating the change of subject.

“Doubt it,” said Derek. “At that price, it’s probably the local white elephant. Are you sure you understand what that means?”

“I think so,” Emma replied serenely.

“I’m not talking about unpleasant wallpaper in the breakfast nook, Emma. It’s likely to be in very poor repair indeed. I’ve seen this sort of place before. No indoor plumbing, no roof to speak of ...” He glanced at her slyly. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if it has rats.”

“We’ll get a cat,” said Emma. “Maybe two. I like cats.”

“Yes, but, Emma, my dearest dear, it’ll take me at least a year or two to make the place habitable. Until then you’ll be camping out.”

“Sounds perfect. Until Peter’s finished making up for lost time, it might be better to live in a place that’s already a mess.”

“But what about Nell? Can’t see her and Bertie huddling around a campstove.”

Emma removed her sunhat and shook her hair down her back. “Nell will build castles wherever she lives,” she said. “I think she’ll enjoy helping you build a real one. And the Pyms will be on hand to pamper her.”

Derek’s eyes crossed suddenly and he flinched as a jet of water passed within inches of his nose. He scrambled to his feet with a roar and the marauders scattered, squealing with delight, save for one scamp, for whom Peter had expressed great admiration, who let rip a parting shot that hit Derek full in the face. Swiping a hand across his dripping chin, Derek flopped sullenly on the blanket and muttered that perhaps the manor house was worth looking into after all.

“A spot of rough living’ll do the boy a world of good,” he declared. He dried his face with the napkin Emma offered, then cast it aside and grew serious once more. “But what about you, Emma? If I’m spending all my time working on the house, I won’t be bringing home many pay slips.”

Emma picked up the discarded napkin and dabbed a few remaining droplets from Derek’s forehead. “Not a problem,” she said firmly. “I love my work and I, too, am very good at what I do. I’m sure I’ll be able to find a job in London that I can commute to. I may even set up my own consulting business. I have no qualms about supporting the family until you’ve finished with the house.”

Derek sighed. “Won’t leave you much time for a garden,” he said ruefully. “The Pyms’ tree peony may be the last thing you plant for quite a while.”

“I’ll have the rest of my life for a garden,” said Emma. “And you’ll have some time at home with Peter and Nell. It’ll give you a chance to get to know each other again.”

“If I survive,” Derek muttered. He sighed deeply. “You’re a stubborn woman, Emma Porter.”

“Wait until you see my plans for my home office,” said Emma.

“I’ll build you the office of your dreams,” Derek murmured, and, twining his hand through Emma’s hair, he leaned over to nuzzle her neck.

“Now, there’s a sight that does an old heart good.”

Derek swung around and Emma blinked at the glowing face and startling figure of Syd Bishop. It was the first glimpse she’d had of him all day, and she scarcely recognized him. He wore a relaxed, cream-colored three-piece suit, a shirt the color of weak tea, a silk tie in a deeper brown shot through with streaks of bronze, and, to top it off, a white Panama hat, tilted at a dignified angle above a beaming face. The duke and Kate slowly walked up on either side of him, their faces slack with astonishment.

Syd’s smile faltered and he raised his hands with a questioning shrug. Pinching the lapel of his jacket, he asked, “What about it? Mrs. Cole’s decided that I need a new look.” He lifted his hat and held it rakishly above his head. “So, what do you think? Is it me or is it me?”

Five hundred years of breeding came to their rescue. “My dear fellow,” the duke said gracefully, “if Nanny Cole says it’s you, who are we to argue?”

Syd replaced his hat and glanced with pleasure at the subdued gold cufflinks on his sleeves. “I gotta admit, it makes me feel kinda young again.” His eyes met Emma’s as he added, “Not as young as some I could mention.”

“Yes, Derek,” remonstrated the duke. “What the devil do you think you’re up to, disporting yourself so wantonly in front of the children?”

“The children are already used to it, Grayson,” Kate informed him.

“We’ve gotten their permission,” Emma added with mock solemnity.

“As a matter of fact,” Derek said airily, “I was trying to dissuade my intended from embarking on a very risky venture.”

“Anything I can do to help?” Grayson offered.

Derek eyed him warily. “Thanks, old man, but you’re the last person I’d come to for help on this particular matter.”

“Still worrying about the manor house?” Kate asked, sitting down beside Derek. “I don’t know why it bothers you so. Emma’s perfectly capable of paying the butcher’s bills while you toil away in the drains.”

“Spoken like a true duchess,” Grayson declared.

Syd clapped him on the shoulder. “This’s gotta be a big weight off your back, Duke. Petey tells me you don’t got to worry about the Fete for another hundred years.”

“I rather doubt that I shall be the one doing the worrying by then, but I take your point.” Grayson smiled shyly. “It is a bit of a relief. Funny thing, though. I’ve spent my whole life preparing for this day, and now that it’s here, all I can think about is the wedding.”

“You keep thinkin’ about the wedding, Duke,” Syd advised. “Keep lookin’ ahead. You gotta make sure there’s a little duke to pass the whole shebang on to, am I right?” Emma tried not to smile as Syd pulled a pocket watch from his cream-colored waistcoat. “Listen, kids, I’d love to hang around, but the show’s gonna roll in five minutes and Mrs. Cole’ll blow a gasket if I’m not there on time. You comin’, Kate?”

Kate sprang to her feet and took Syd’s proffered arm. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Have you seen Debbie Tregallis?” she asked as they turned to walk away. “Doesn’t she look beautiful in blue?”

Syd paused to look over his shoulder at Emma. “Not half so beautiful as some I could mention. Catch you later, sweetheart.”

“Catch you later, Syd.” Blushing, Emma looked out over the lawn. People were streaming out of the castle ruins and away from the shelter of the marquee to cluster at the foot of the terrace steps. Grayson stood with his hands in his pockets, surveying the scene, and nodding warmly to the Pyms, who returned his nod, smiling their identical smiles.

“Terribly good of Ruth and Louise to join the fun,” he commented. “Terribly good of everyone to pitch in the way they have.”

“Well, I’ve been useless to you, Grayson,” said Derek. “Didn’t fix the window or find the lantern.”

“Ah, but you found something much more important,” Grayson pointed out, “and your children took care of the rest. It’s quite fitting. Penford Hall has always owed a great deal to its children.”

“Will you be sorry when the Fête is over?” Emma asked.

“I will, as a matter of fact. It’s been such a splendid day.” Grayson stiffened suddenly. “Good Lord,” he said, “is that Teddy Tregallis? Oy! Teddy! Over here, old man!”

Emma looked over to see a tow-headed boy around Peter’s age standing in the entrance to the castle ruins, his water pistol hanging limply from one hand as he looked back over his shoulder, grinning broadly. At the duke’s shout, he came running, but the smile never left his face.

When the boy had scrambled to a halt at Grayson’s side, Grayson put an arm around him and squatted down conspiratorially. “I say, Teddy, old man, it’s no good making a target of yourself. Martyrdom’s all well and good, in its place, but if you’re determined not to be dragooned into service by Nanny Cole, then you mustn’t stand around in plain view. Take it from one who knows.”

“Yes, sir,” said Teddy. “I mean, no, sir.”

“Never mind,” said the duke, mussing the boy’s hair. “They’d probably reject you anyway, in your current damaged state. How’d you bung up the knee?”

The boy bent forward slightly to stare at the neatly taped square of white gauze that covered his kneecap. “Fell down in the ruins, sir, tryin’ to hide out in the chapel.” The boy looked over his shoulder. “A lady in the chapel fixed it for me. She was awfully nice, sir. Told me about the lady and the lantern.”

Grayson’s hand slid from the boy’s head to touch his own knee as he, too, looked toward the castle entrance. “Did she?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” said Teddy. “Never heard it told like that afore. Said it ’minded her of you and Miss Kate, sir, you bein’ the duke’s son and Miss Kate the village lass.”

“Is that so?” Grayson and the small boy slowly faced one another. “And how did the story make you feel?”

“Can’t hardly say, sir.”

“A bit dizzy?” the duke suggested. “But in a nice sort of way?”

The boy nodded. “That’s it, sir.”

The duke blinked rapidly, then pointed down at the cashmere blanket. “You stay here until the coast is clear,” he said. He waited until Teddy had seated himself cross-legged on the blanket, then stood, staring once more at the castle entrance.

“You’re being very mysterious, Grayson,” Emma chided.

Derek’s eyes narrowed as Grayson began to walk away. “What’s up, old man?”

The duke paused. “Emma, Derek, dearest friends, if you’ll excuse me, I—I believe there’s someone waiting for me in the chapel.” Looking every bit as dazed as Teddy Tregallis, the duke performed a courteous half-bow, then turned and broke into a run.

Nell’s Strawberry Tarts

Preheat oven to 375° F.

Pastry shells
8 3½-inch tart tins,
greased
3½-inch fluted pastry
cutter
¾ cup flour
pinch of salt
¼ cup superfine sugar
4 tablespoons butter
2 egg yolks

Makes 8 tarts

Filling
1 medium egg
2 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons flour
cup cold milk
cup heavy cream
1 pound strawberries
4 tablespoons seedless
strawberry jelly
¼ cup water
1 tablespoon shredded
coconut

Pastry Shells

Sift flour and salt onto work surface. Make a well in the center; add sugar, butter, and egg yolks; work them together until all the flour is worked in. Add a few drops of water if necessary to bind the mixture. Knead until smooth, then wrap in foil and refrigerate for one hour.

Roll out on lightly floured surface. Use pastry cutter to cut out eight circles. Arrange these in the pastry tins. Bake for 20 minutes at 375°, until pale gold. Turn out to cool.

Filling

Cream egg and sugar, add flour, and stir to a paste with a few drops of the cold milk. Warm the rest of the milk, then slowly stir it into the egg mixture. Slowly heat mixture until it boils, then cook it for a few more minutes. Remove from heat; allow to cool. Whip the cream until stiff, then beat it into the cooled mixture. Spoon a generous portion of cream mixture into each of the pastry shells.

In the center of each tart, plant a whole hulled strawberry, point upward. Hull and halve the rest of the strawberries and arrange the halves around the whole strawberry to cover the rest of the filling. Heat the jelly with the water and use it to paint the strawberries, then sprinkle with coconut.