Learning to Have a Life Part 2

The carriage turned through the wrought-iron gates of the Valemont residence precisely twenty minutes later.

Ernest anticipated being met at the stone portico by a liveried footman. Instead, as the vehicle rounded the gravel drive, a flash of motion near the western rose gardens caught his eye.

Eleanor.

She was dressed with utter disregard for high society conventions. She wore a simple afternoon gown of pale cream cotton, her face shaded beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat, her hands protected by a pair of heavy, dirt-stained leather gardening gloves.

She stood beside an excavated flower bed, holding a small brass trowel.

The carriage came to a halt. Ernest stepped down onto the gravel, walking across the lawn.

Eleanor looked up, shading her eyes with a gloved hand. "You are early, Baron."

"By precisely two minutes," Ernest corrected, checking his pocket watch.

"That is early."