"I…" His voice cracked. "I…"
He could not finish.
The flower slipped from his fingers and fell onto the grass. He looked down at his empty hand. Then, to the astonishment of the entire company, the Earl of Wyncombe, fifth of his line, who had not wept since he was seven years old, put his hand over his eyes, and his shoulders began to shake.
Chapter Ten: What She Had Done
It was Cecilia who moved first.
She had stood frozen through all of it, with her hand at her mouth and her heart hammering like a trapped bird. But when she saw him weeping, she forgot the crowd, forgot the gossip, forgot all her careful timid years of yes, my lord and no, my lord, and she crossed the grass in three steps and put both arms around him.
"Lucian," she said. "Lucian. It was for you."
He stood rigid in her arms. "What?"
"The glasshouse. All of it. The new panes, the paths, the boiler. The flower." She was crying too, and her voice came out broken and rapid. "I heard you say once that it was the only place you had ever been happy. I thought, if I could only make it right. If I could give it back to you. I was so afraid that you would not want it, that you would think it a presumption, so I did not say. I went to Mr. Hale and I asked him to help me, and we worked every morning, and I wanted it to be a surprise for your birthday, and it is today, it is today, and I—"
She could not go on.
The Earl took his hand from his eyes. His face was wet and utterly naked, stripped of all its stone, and she had never in her life seen anything so frightening, or so dear.
"For me," he said.
"For you."
"But the note." His hand went to the breast of his coat. He drew out the crumpled paper and held it out, as though it were evidence at a trial. "I cannot bear it any longer. Come to me tonight. I found it in the wall. I thought…"
Samuel Hale had come forward. He took the note from the Earl's shaking hand, read it, and frowned.
"I did not write the last line, my lord."
"What?"
"Look at it." He held the paper out, and then, because the Earl seemed unable to take it, held it up where the Duke and the vicar and Cecilia could see. "The first part is mine. I wrote it Thursday, to her ladyship, to ask her advice. I am going to propose to Miss Hannah Cole on Sunday, my lord, at the lych-gate after morning service. Her ladyship has been helping me." A faint, rueful smile touched his mouth. "She said I should not use the phrase a great many cuttings. I used it anyway. The last line is not mine. The ink is different. The hand is a very good copy, I will say that, but it is not mine."