.
house was quite beyond our humble means. His hobbyhorse was roses. He loved to experiment with them, to graft different varieties and create new colours and scents.’
‘Did he name one after you?’
‘He did. An English rose. Apricot, with a blush of pink. He called it Joanna Athena—after the Roman goddess...’
‘Of learning—you see, they did manage to beat some Latin into me at school.’
Joanna led them over to a gilded bench set into a nook beside the waterfall. ‘What about your family, Drummond? Are your parents still alive? Have you brothers and sisters?’
He sat down, stretching his long legs out in front of him. ‘My father is still hale and hearty, to the best of my knowledge. I lost my mother about ten years ago. I am the bairn of the family. My eldest sister, Fiona, moved in with her brood to look after my father when my mother passed away. Eilidh and Catriona, the other two, are both married, and have a thriving clutch of weans apiece. In fact the county of Argyll is awash with my nieces and nephews, for none of my sisters has strayed far from the ancestral home.’
‘Ancestral home? Good grief, do you mean a castle?’
Drummond laughed. ‘Aye, though I reckon if you saw it, you’d likely be disappointed. It has turrets right enough, and battlements and even a section of dried-up moat. If your taste runs to crumbling ruins, it’s romantic. I’ve often thought it would make a fine setting for a Gothic novel.’
Joanna chuckled. ‘Are you aware that your accent broadens whenever you talk about your homeland?’
‘Then it’s going to be nigh on impenetrable on New Year’s Eve—or Hogmanay, as we call it. His Grace asked me to brief him on all our Highland customs for the party. He has a piper coming, of all things, and has plans for us all to dance a few reels.’
‘Will you be wearing the kilt?’ Joanna asked, fascinated by the idea of him in such a garment, with those fine legs on display.
His smile faded. ‘I’ve not worn the plaid since I was last home, which was a long time ago. Too long. When my appointment with Wellington is confirmed, I’ve promised myself I’ll visit, for depending upon my posting, I may be abroad for the foreseeable future.’
And yet he had not returned in the last three years despite having ample opportunity to do so once he had left military service. His absence from the Highlands was deliberate then, but why? ‘So, instead of returning to the Highlands you chose to settle in Shropshire,’ Joana said, thinking to tackle the issue from another angle. ‘You have friends there? Fellow officers, perhaps?’
‘To my knowledge, there is not a single officer of the Scots Guards in that county or any neighbouring it. That was part of the attraction.’
Having no idea what to make of this, Joanna said nothing. It was an uncomfortable silence. Drummond had a habit, she’d noticed, of touching the scar which ran through his eyebrow, when he was discomfited. He was doing it now.
‘I have never thought of Shropshire as my home,’ he said finally. ‘It was simply a place to—to bide my time. And soon enough I’ll be posted abroad. Have you ever travelled to the Continent?’
‘I’ve never even been to Scotland, though I would love to stay in a romantic castle such as the one you described. I have a secret weakness for Gothic romances, I am embarrassed to admit.’
To her relief, Drummond’s harsh expression softened. ‘The reality is such places are full of cobwebs and mice, and the walls are crumbling with damp, and there’s always a gale howling down the fireplace. There’s nothing romantic about that.’
‘You’ve pretty much described my current abode,’ Joanna said.
He took her hands between his. ‘Is it really that bad?’
‘Oh, I’m sure you’ve suffered much, much worse living conditions while on campaign.’
‘Not always. I spent a winter in Seville, once. We officers were barracked in a palace, all tiled terraces and fountains, and marble courtyards. Oh, and orange trees, lots of orange and lemon trees. The scent in the morning, it was one of the most delightful aspects of staying there.’
‘And were there delightful Spanish ladies to keep you company?’
‘Oh, indeed,’ Drummond said with a wicked look. ‘One only had to pick one from the bunch, like plucking a ripe orange from a tree.’
‘I don’t doubt it.’
‘You know I’m teasing you?’ He caught her hands between his. ‘I’m thirty-two years old, Joanna, I’m no virgin, but I’m not a rake. There have been women from time to time and I’ve had my share of amorous fun, but there has never been anyone serious.’
‘Why not?’
‘The army always came first with me, and the army is no place for a woman.’
‘But there are army wives...’
‘And a very rough time they have of it. No,’ he said decidedly. ‘I would never want a wife of mine to lead that life.’
‘But since you left the army?’
‘Since I left the army, my life has been—uncertain, as unsuited to marriage as life in the army. And so I have never allowed myself to become anywhere near fond enough of any woman to ask her to marry me.’
‘Never allowed?’ Joanna exclaimed. ‘You find it so easy to place a leash on your emotions?’
Drummond gazed down at their hands, twining his fingers between hers, a frown furrowing his brow. ‘Normally,’ he said, looking up to meet her squarely, ‘but you seem to be providing a sterner test.’
Her throat went dry. ‘What are you saying?’
‘I don’t know, exactly. What about you, Joanna? Have you ever been in love?’
‘Good heavens, no,’ she exclaimed, thrown by his abrupt turn of the subject. ‘That is, I have never swooned or palpitated or—or felt as if I would die for the want of some man. I am no Clarissa, nor indeed Madame de Tourvel. Les Liaisons Dangereuses,’ she added, at Drummond’s questioning look. ‘Madame de Tourvel is seduced by Valmont and—oh, it doesn’t matter. What I’m saying is...’
‘That you have never been in love. But you have been kissed.’
She blushed. ‘Yes, most expertly by you, several times now.’
‘It is not like you to be coy. You know perfectly well I meant before.’
‘Sorry.’ She loosed her hands from his to try to cool her cheeks. ‘It is really very hot in here.’
Drummond shook out a large kerchief and dipped it in a little waterfall, handing it to her, watching her silently while she dabbed it gratefully on her heated skin, aware all the time that he was biding his time, that he would not let the subject drop. So she sighed and nodded. ‘There was a man. His name was Evan. We had known each other all our lives, and it was always assumed that we would marry, I suppose. He proposed to me on my eighteenth birthday, though there was no question of our marrying for some years, for Papa needed me. Then Papa died, and it made a great deal of sense for us to marry for I had no home, but I realised that I had never really—well, the truth is, I’d never really thought too much about it, and when I did think about it...’
‘You didn’t love him?’
‘Well, no, but I never thought I did, and he never pretended—we were very fond of one another, it would have been a very amicable marriage, but—oh, dear, this sounds dreadful—but it would have been so frightfully tedious, Drummond. You probably think me a most unnatural female. Evan did, but I knew I would not have made him happy. I was twenty-one. I had never ventured more than ten miles from home, and though I loved Papa with all my heart, I cannot pretend that his passing—it felt like a release. I didn’t want to swap one life of duty