in her room with candlelight, reading Justine while others were sleeping and couldn’t help but smile. It was rather adventurous for someone any younger than she was now. However, knowing she’d read it and enjoyed it also stirred me in a way that was not good for either of us.
“And what is yours, my lord?” she asked me then.
“Ashington ,” I reminded her.
“Ashington ,” she repeated.
“I must say that my favorite novel has recently become Justine by The Marquis de Sade,” I replied honestly.
Miriam laughed loudly this time and the pleasure from being the one to make her laugh with such freedom was rather intense. She was becoming more than I had planned for and I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I wanted Miriam Bathurst in my life and in my bed. I just needed her to want me for herself. Not because I would be exactly what everyone in her life wanted.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Miriam Bathurst
Whitney had been ready to explore by Sunday morning after breakfast. I still wasn’t sure if she had been ill or if she had simply been giving me time to be with Ashington alone. As grateful as I was for the time I had spent with him getting to know him, I was more relieved by Whitney’s recovery. However, tomorrow we would leave for London and I worried about her making that trip again so soon if, in fact, the first trip had put her to bed.
I enjoyed watching her talk to the horses in the stable as if they were as human as she and the way she inhaled the perfumed air as we walked through the rose garden. She was truly taken in by the splendor of Chatwick Hall, and even if I was here only for the reason I suspected, I was still thankful she had been given this experience. It was one of her many dreams to live in a place such as this.
While Whitney studied the different roses, calling out a different type of rose with excitement when she found them, I watched the forest in the back of the property where I knew a path was well-disguised. I thought of Emma and what she may be doing today. It had yet to rain, which was a rare gift and the sunshine was out again with but a few clouds. Yesterday, I had thought Ashington would mention her or possibly take me to meet her but neither happened.
Instead, we rode horses and had a picnic. He was an excellent companion and as I had laid in bed last night, I realized I laughed more that day than I had in a very long time. As lovely as the day had been, I did wonder when or if I would be introduced to Emma. His not doing so yet could only mean I had not met his qualifications. Perhaps that was a bit harsh, but it was all I could think. It was hindering an otherwise perfect day.
“Have you ever seen so many Tudor roses in one place?” Whitney exclaimed with glee. Her hands were clasped together as she looked reverently on at the roses she had just come across. I would admit that I knew little of roses, but I did enjoy them. Deciding to focus on Whitney, I turned and walked back down the small path toward her.
“Which are the Tudor roses?” I asked.
Whitney frowned at me. “You can’t be serious. With all those books you bury your head in, you have read nothing of roses?”
Whitney was not one to read, so she did not understand the love of novels or the difference in a story and a book meant to educate. “I read novels that take me to another place and time. They give me an escape from the reality in which I live. I do not read books on botany. I have little interest in that sort of knowledge. However, it is clear that you do. Father had some books in his library that I believe you would find enjoyable. There aren’t any specifically about roses, but there are a few about the flower gardens of the English countryside.”
Her eyes widened at that. “Truly?” she asked as if the idea had never crossed her mind. She had never been one for stories, even when she was young. I tried to read to her and she never made it through one complete story before falling asleep.
“Yes, I should have thought of bringing you one before now,” I said,