Read Online The Truth About Love by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Tags: Historical
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through any action of mine.”
“Very good.” Millicent nodded ahead to where Barnaby was regaling Jacqueline with some story, the two bright heads close. “In that case, I suggest you send Mr. Adair back to me. I would dearly love to hear what that scoundrel Monteith has been up to now. I knew his father, and a bigger blackguard I never did meet.”
Gerrard couldn’t suppress his grin. Bowing, he left Millicent and quickly overtook the pair ahead.
Barnaby was intrigued by Millicent’s request; he happily fell back to walk with her, leaving Jacqueline strolling with Gerrard.
A small forest of tall conifers, all shades of dark green, some carrying their canopies high above long boles, others more like thick bushes, appeared before them. The path wound on between the trees, through the still shade; they followed it, their feet crunching on dry needles.
“The stables lie beyond the ridge.” Jacqueline waved ahead. “This path takes you to them, but we’ll turn off it soon. Each segment of the gardens was designed to represent one of the ancient gods, Roman or Greek, or one of the mythical creatures associated with them.” In the cool beneath the trees, her voice carried easily to Millicent and Barnaby behind them. “This”—she gestured about them—“is the Garden of Hercules, the massively strong trunks representing his fabled strength.
“He was, of course, a demigod, but an obvious one to include.” She smiled briefly at Gerrard. “My ancestors weren’t dogmatic over their choice of subjects, and in that time, there was great interest in the ancient myths.”
Gerrard nodded. They reached the ridge line and paused; ahead lay the usual stable buildings, separated from the gardens by a strip of open field through which the path continued. To the left of the path was a fenced paddock in which horses grazed; to the right, out of the center of a ring of tall corn rose an old, worn but still recognizable statue.
“Pegasus.” Gerrard smiled.
“They had him shipped from somewhere in Greece.” Jacqueline studied the winged horse for a moment. “He’s one of my favorites. To get to the stables, you have to pass beneath his eye.”
She turned left onto a connecting path that led along the ridge a little way before curving back down into the gardens; brows rising, Gerrard followed. Barnaby and Millicent had paused to exchange comments on Pegasus; they eventually followed some yards behind.
“This next garden,” Jacqueline said as the conifers thinned and the path led on into the sunshine, “is the Garden of Demeter. Among other things, she was the goddess of crops and the fruitful earth, so…”
They walked out into a large and varied orchard. Some of the trees still held a few blossoms; the scent of growing fruit was tangy and sharp on the air. Bees lazily buzzed as they strolled down the gravel path, descending deeper into the valley. Jacqueline and Millicent unfurled their parasols; the sun was high enough to flood the valley with warmth and light.
The house now lay to their left, rising above them as they descended into the valley. Directly ahead at the junction of four paths—theirs and three others that spread like an open fan into the gardens before them—stood a small wooden pergola, painted white. Roses rambled over it in lazy profusion, spilling yellow blooms over the roof and down the carved pillars.
Jacqueline pointed left to a long strip of garden that ran from the pergola back to the terrace. “The kitchen gardens, otherwise known as the Garden of Vesta, goddess of the hearth.”
It didn’t look like any kitchen garden Gerrard had ever seen. As if reading his thoughts, Jacqueline said, “What you can see are mostly herbs. There are vegetables planted between, but the rampant growth of the herbs screens them.”
“ ‘Rampant’ being a very apt word,” Barnaby returned. “Everything seems”—he glanced around them—“extraordinarily healthy.”
Pausing under the
“Very good.” Millicent nodded ahead to where Barnaby was regaling Jacqueline with some story, the two bright heads close. “In that case, I suggest you send Mr. Adair back to me. I would dearly love to hear what that scoundrel Monteith has been up to now. I knew his father, and a bigger blackguard I never did meet.”
Gerrard couldn’t suppress his grin. Bowing, he left Millicent and quickly overtook the pair ahead.
Barnaby was intrigued by Millicent’s request; he happily fell back to walk with her, leaving Jacqueline strolling with Gerrard.
A small forest of tall conifers, all shades of dark green, some carrying their canopies high above long boles, others more like thick bushes, appeared before them. The path wound on between the trees, through the still shade; they followed it, their feet crunching on dry needles.
“The stables lie beyond the ridge.” Jacqueline waved ahead. “This path takes you to them, but we’ll turn off it soon. Each segment of the gardens was designed to represent one of the ancient gods, Roman or Greek, or one of the mythical creatures associated with them.” In the cool beneath the trees, her voice carried easily to Millicent and Barnaby behind them. “This”—she gestured about them—“is the Garden of Hercules, the massively strong trunks representing his fabled strength.
“He was, of course, a demigod, but an obvious one to include.” She smiled briefly at Gerrard. “My ancestors weren’t dogmatic over their choice of subjects, and in that time, there was great interest in the ancient myths.”
Gerrard nodded. They reached the ridge line and paused; ahead lay the usual stable buildings, separated from the gardens by a strip of open field through which the path continued. To the left of the path was a fenced paddock in which horses grazed; to the right, out of the center of a ring of tall corn rose an old, worn but still recognizable statue.
“Pegasus.” Gerrard smiled.
“They had him shipped from somewhere in Greece.” Jacqueline studied the winged horse for a moment. “He’s one of my favorites. To get to the stables, you have to pass beneath his eye.”
She turned left onto a connecting path that led along the ridge a little way before curving back down into the gardens; brows rising, Gerrard followed. Barnaby and Millicent had paused to exchange comments on Pegasus; they eventually followed some yards behind.
“This next garden,” Jacqueline said as the conifers thinned and the path led on into the sunshine, “is the Garden of Demeter. Among other things, she was the goddess of crops and the fruitful earth, so…”
They walked out into a large and varied orchard. Some of the trees still held a few blossoms; the scent of growing fruit was tangy and sharp on the air. Bees lazily buzzed as they strolled down the gravel path, descending deeper into the valley. Jacqueline and Millicent unfurled their parasols; the sun was high enough to flood the valley with warmth and light.
The house now lay to their left, rising above them as they descended into the valley. Directly ahead at the junction of four paths—theirs and three others that spread like an open fan into the gardens before them—stood a small wooden pergola, painted white. Roses rambled over it in lazy profusion, spilling yellow blooms over the roof and down the carved pillars.
Jacqueline pointed left to a long strip of garden that ran from the pergola back to the terrace. “The kitchen gardens, otherwise known as the Garden of Vesta, goddess of the hearth.”
It didn’t look like any kitchen garden Gerrard had ever seen. As if reading his thoughts, Jacqueline said, “What you can see are mostly herbs. There are vegetables planted between, but the rampant growth of the herbs screens them.”
“ ‘Rampant’ being a very apt word,” Barnaby returned. “Everything seems”—he glanced around them—“extraordinarily healthy.”
Pausing under the
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