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the initiative back then to alleviate her embarrassment.
    He owed it to her to make up for that.
    His suggestion wasn’t just for his benefit—it was for her. Though it was impossible to erase the memory of that night, he could at least give her a
new
memory. One that reminded her of the fun summers they used to share, when there was no awkwardness or resentment between them.
    Beside him, Cece pursed her lips, looking around the conservatory. “How about here? I’m never more comfortable than when I’m around plants.”
    A vision of her as an adolescent, walking through the blooming meadows around Hertford Hall, teased his memory. “Yes, I know. I remember how you used to point out wildflowers and rattle off their Latin names. After your response yesterday at the recital, I can see that at least some things haven’t changed.”
    He guided her along the curving pathway, where rows upon rows of plants were arranged to create an indoor promenade. She trailed her fingers along the flat, glossy leaves of one of the tropical looking plants they passed. “You can blame my father for that. He was teaching me Latin even before I could walk. In his opinion, no horticulturist worth his salt would raise a child to call a
Rosa rugosa
a flower and a
Quercus
a tree.”
    “Now see? Already I am learning something different about you. And your father, for that matter—I thought he was a squire.”
    She nodded, the movement causing the honey curls framing her face to sway. “He is. But his passion is plants. He actually is quite respected in the field. In fact, he spent years helping Uncle Granville design this conservatory.”
    She paused to admire a large, exotic looking bloom, bending to inhale its fragrance. “
Cattleya
Aclatulice
. Isn’t it glorious? It takes near perfect conditions to get this plant to bloom, but when it does, the results are spectacular.”
    “Lovely,” he murmured, his eyes trained on her silhouette. She had changed so much—matured in both body and mind. She was still the sweet girl he remembered from summers long ago, but, somehow, she was more. More intriguing. More confident. More enticing.
    “It is said that in the jungles of South America, they are so abundant, they could almost be considered to be weeds. Can you imagine?”
    That something beautiful could be thought by some to be common? He could, actually. Even now, watching the golden fan of her lashes nearly kiss her cheeks as she looked down at the plant, he could hardly believe he used to think her rather ordinary.
    “Do you ever dream of visiting them?”
    She looked up. “Whom?”
    “The plants. Do you ever think of seeing them in their native lands, where they grow in the ground instead of in clay pots and impermanent planters?”
    She nibbled her lip as she considered the question. “It would be lovely, but it will never happen. Some dreams are never meant to be any more than that: figments of our wishful thinking.”
    “But wouldn’t your father like to see them in person? I know of a few botanist and horticulture societies in London that go on expeditions to exotic locals for just such a purpose.”
    An unexpected sadness dulled her beautiful eyes. “He’d love it more than anything, Finn. Unfortunately, such a thing will never happen.”
    He almost wished he hadn’t said anything. He certainly didn’t want to distress her. Still, he couldn’t deny he was curious to know what had caused the reaction. Did her father think her too delicate for such a journey? Was he the type to keep his thumb on her? Richard did say that she would be leaving tomorrow, after only having arrived the day before the wedding.
    For some reason, he felt oddly defensive on her behalf. “Why not? It is not unheard of for a gentleman to bring along his family on such an expedition.”
    “It’s not that. My father would take me in a heartbeat, if he could. But it’s simply not possible. Papa can no longer see.”
    Finn couldn’t help his sharp