Tempting the Bride - By Sherry Thomas Page 0,73
What is that you are drawing?”
He glanced back at his sketch. “The design for the last wall of Bea’s mural. I am thinking of introducing a new family of characters and adding a new cottage to Old Toad Pond.”
The design of this particular little cottage made her exclaim. “My goodness! It looks just like the miniature cottage my father had built for Venetia and me when we were small.”
“You are right. I might have been thinking about it—I’d seen that miniature cottage quite a few times when I visited Hampton House.”
“We still have it, as far as I know,” she said excitedly. “I can have it shipped to Easton Grange and set down right at the edge of the pond for Bea.”
He gazed at her, one long, steady look of longing. She realized that she’d made a commitment, however minor, to Bea—and to him.
“Don’t look so overcome,” she said, now a little unsure of the wisdom of her gift. “It is an old toy that will need refurbishing, hardly an extravagant gesture.”
“Indeed,” he said, letting her off the hook, “nothing of the sort. It’s probably all maggoty and covered in bird droppings.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “Now you insult me.”
He smiled a little and squeezed her hand. “Bea will be very happy, thank you.”
He hadn’t touched her since they came to Easton Grange. A thrill raced up her arm.
As soon as her memory came back…
The miniature cottage from Hampton House arrived a few days later, weathered and worn, but in better condition than Helena had expected. Hastings took charge of the exterior of the structure, painting it himself after the carpenter had done the necessary repairs. Helena arranged for the interior: new wallpaper, new curtains, a small table and chairs with a tea set, and even a little bookshelf to hold, eventually, all the published copies of Tales from Old Toad Pond.
To prepare Bea, they showed her a drawing of what the miniature cottage would look like, had her choose the spot where it would be set down, and reviewed with her, almost to the minute, her altered schedule for the day of the grand unveiling.
When the day came, everything went off without a hitch. The weather was lovely: bright sun, fat white clouds, and an endlessly blue sky. The picnic was delicious. The cottage, with its muted pink walls and leaf green trim, almost had Bea drop Sir Hardshell in her rapture.
The perfection of the day did not end there. That afternoon, instead of riding on horseback to accompany Bea on her pony, Hastings and Helena rode safety bicycles—Helena, indeed, remembered how to ride. And Bea did not raise a single complaint.
Helena was delighted. Thrilled, even. But she was still determined to be patient, and to wait for the rest of her memory to come back.
That was, until the stethoscope.
Bea brought Sir Hardshell to tea and presented the tortoise to Hastings without comment. Hastings excused himself, left the tearoom, and came back a few minutes later with the smallest, most adorable stethoscope Helena had ever seen—who knew stethoscopes could be adorable?
He put on the earpieces, then set the chest piece, no larger than a button, on Sir Hardshell’s back.
“Very lethargic heartbeat,” he said after about fifteen seconds, “but that’s normal, considering he is cold-blooded.” He turned over the reptile, which had by this point withdrawn both its head and its wrinkly limbs, and listened to its armored stomach. “The same here, more or less. He is still alive, so that is good news.”
He held out Sir Hardshell toward Bea. “But he is tremendously old, ninety years we know of, and who knows how many more before there was ever a record on him. And when a creature is this old, even if it doesn’t look sickly, it still might not last much longer.”
Bea took her tortoise back, seemingly not having heard a single word of her father’s gentle warning. As she tucked enthusiastically into her sandwich, he gave a small sigh.
The chaos and the sweet pain swept back into Helena’s heart. She knew then, with absolute certainty, that she not only loved him, but would love him for the rest of her life. And she would stand by his side, holding his hand, as he guided Bea through Sir Hardshell’s inevitable demise—and all the other certain-to-come upheavals in any young person’s life.
He caught her staring at him and raised a brow. She merely grinned and asked, “Do you, sir, happen to have a music stand in this