Beautiful.
And as the laughter rose from the table at one of Daniel’s stories, somewhere in the corners of Maddy’s heart, a different sort of yearning took root.
The thought, impossible as it seemed, that there was a life to be found outside of Everwell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A full moon made the lamp Beau held as they walked back from the Chandler farm almost unnecessary. It had been a magical evening. They had welcomed him and Madeline unconditionally. They had traded stories about the past, and Beau discovered that he and Daniel had the same sense of humour and the same self-effacing ego. And most importantly for Beau, they had made Madeline feel as if she were the most special person in the world.
And she was.
That realization hit him square in the chest. Yes, he had wanted to bed her from the first moment. He’d been struck by her presence, quiet and yet magnetic. He’d been tantalized by her fiery red hair, her lush curves, and eyes that told everyone who dared hold her stare that she was not a woman to be trifled with. For Beau, that had been an absolute dare.
But he’d chased women before, like he’d chased money—for the challenge. The thrill of not letting something he wanted get away.
In the past few days—and probably more than that, since it was coming on so slowly he’d assumed his cock had still been in control—he realized that whatever his feelings were for Madeline, they were far deeper and urgent than just bedding her. And that had been magnificent. It continued to be. But there was something more. She was becoming necessary. And her happiness had, most unexpectedly, become more important to him than anything in the world.
The fact that the Chandlers seem to understand that, made them important too—even if Hollis Chandler had only been the neighbour next door. For that reason alone, Beau would have thrown out the entire deal with George’s College to save their farm.
Sometimes he wondered the rather useless question…what if? What if Hollis and Beau’s mother had managed to stay together? What if he had been raised next door?
It was a pointless exercise, of course. His life, and that of both his parents, would have been completely different. His mother had been very happy with Frank. If she harboured any regrets, she never expressed any to Beau. And while Hollis still carried some fondness for Beau’s mother, Shirley had clearly been the love of his life.
Beau knew from the moment Daniel embraced him that selling The Grove to anyone was out of the question. Yes, he would lose the substantial offer George’s College was making. The ease with which he was now letting that go would have, not so long ago, seemed impossible. Beau da Silva didn’t lose money. He made it. Even when he’d sold his beloved fishing lodge, he’d made a good profit on it. Chasing the next dollar seemed like the only way to get Frank’s attention, if not his admiration. And that had filled the emptiness inside him.
Now, The Grove, and everything about it, filled him with joy.
“If you weren’t at Everwell,” he asked, his heart pushing forward the question before his brain had the chance to consider the better of it, “and you didn’t have to worry about anything, what would you do?”
Moonlight mixed with the lamplight, casting her pale skin in an unearthly glow. She paused, and it was obvious she was thinking.
“If money was no object, do you mean?”
“I suppose so,” he said, realizing yet again that for him, money largely hadn’t been an object, except to chase. But it had rarely been a barrier.
“I would have a wonderful garden,” she said, “and a library.”
“But you have that at Everwell,” he replied.
“I do. But I am always on guard there. Always on lookout,” she said. “If I could, I would put all that energy in to growing things. Using those plants to create beautiful things.”
“Like what?”
Even in the pale light, he could see she was blushing. “You’ll think it’s silly.”
“Madeline Murray, there is nothing you could say that I would consider silly.”
“I would like to make things that let people feel pretty—nice soap, for example,” she said. “Gemma brought me home some lovely French milled soap from Montreal when she was there. I’ve made rose oil before. And then maybe I’d put it in a shop and try to sell it. Or give it away, to women—or men for that matter—who need a little something. When women come to Everwell, sometimes they come with only the clothes on their back. They’ve been beaten down by life. They are scared. And maybe they’ve never felt as if they deserved something nice.”
Beau’s heart twisted a little when he considered her words. How many times had Madeline felt like she hadn’t deserved something beautiful?
“It seems like such a simple thing—a bath, fresh clothes, a safe place to sleep,” she continued. “I always make sure there are fresh flowers in the room, and we sometimes make soap and scent it with the rose petals from my garden. Or other things.”
“That’s not silly at all,” he said. “Providing someone a little dignity, a little bit of joy is never silly.”
The moonlight hinted at the smile on her face as they continued on in companionable silence. Soon they were through the path, where the house stood waiting for them, its slate roof glistening in the silvery glow from the heavens.
“What if you had the ability to pursue that,” he said, an idea gripping hold of him so tightly he stopped in his tracks. “To have your garden and your books and make your soap. Would you want it?”