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CHAPTER TWO

WHEN Kate left the château she was feeling more battle-shocked than she could ever remember but confident too that she had achieved at least a partial victory; in business that was usually enough for her to lay the foundations for something far more conclusive on the next occasion. The buzz of excitement that always accompanied a hard-won deal was thrumming through every nerve in her body. But was it the deal or something else? Even if her mind was awash with ideas for her new venture now that she had bought herself some time, she couldn’t ignore the fact that seeing Guy de Villeneuve again had really shaken her up.

She paused with her hand on the door of her rented Jeep. The meeting had gone better than she might have expected. Guy had agreed to send his men to tear down the last of the wooden boards covering her windows and clear the worst of the weeds and brambles from the garden. He was also going to see about having the mains services reconnected for her, although the vagaries of local bureaucracy meant this might take some time. The fact that he appeared to have accepted she would not be selling the lease of the cottage back to him, but intended to live in it instead, should have been enough for her. But the part of her mind that handled less tangible matters was very badly shaken indeed. She had never come out of a business meeting with nipples so tight they burned. And the very last thing she needed was erotic fantasies taking her eye off the ball when she had no electricity, only a mobile phone and candles, and her first guests arrived in—she pulled a face as she glanced at her wristwatch—a little under three weeks’ time!

No. She hadn’t been totally straight with Monsieur le Comte. But Guy’s discovery that she intended to live in the cottage had been enough of a shock for him for one day. If he knew she intended to turn the picturesque dwelling into a holiday retreat for exhausted executives… Kate closed her eyes briefly against the image of sheer fury that was conjured up and then firmed her lips determinedly. For now as far as Guy de Villeneuve was concerned, ignorance was bliss.

The customary pin-neat state of Aunt Alice’s charming home had lulled her into a false sense of security, Kate realised as she drew to a halt outside the rose-festooned archway marking the cinder path to the front door. Accepting the first bookings had been such a thrill for her she had not even stopped to consider the possibility that everything could deteriorate so quickly. But here in the Garden of France, easily a thousand miles further south than where she lived in England, everything grew so much faster. Even the weeds seemed to possess a special vigour, she noticed as she made her way down the overgrown path. And that was just outside the cottage, she thought ruefully as she slipped the heavy iron key into its impressive lock. Thanks to the boarded-over windows, the hot, airless interior had provided an ideal breeding ground for just about every species of insect she could think of.

Yet even now as the door swung open on its well-oiled hinges she half-expected to find everything unchanged since her last visit. Could that day of laughter and relaxation really have been just six short months ago? There had been no hint of the storm clouds to come…and no Count Guy de Villeneuve to muddy the water. He had yet to return home and claim his inheritance. But everything had changed since the terrible car accident that had killed her aunt and Guy’s father, Kate realised, and the sooner she accepted that fact, the better.

As the door shut with a decisive thud she gave in to a great wave of loss, pausing for a moment with her back pressed against the dark polished oak and both her eyes and mind closed against the alteration. The desecration of the cottage was nothing in comparison to the hollow in her heart that used to be filled by a bubbly old lady with sharp, periwinkle-blue eyes. But just thinking about Aunt Alice was enough to invoke her indomitable spirit and, dashing the tears from her face, Kate feasted her eyes on what did remain at La Petite Maison.

Deciding to make a note of every repair that could possibly be needed once the immediate damage was made good, she stepped outside again and stood hands on hips surveying her new domain. Quirky described it to perfection, she decided. Even the higgledy-piggledy roof tiles shaded from deepest coral to palest sand formed a hat several sizes too large for the half-timbered frame. And, since she had torn down the offending boards from two of the front windows, they winked benignly at her like friendly eyes set in whitewashed walls which billowed out in places like plump chalky cheeks. She felt a rush of pride and affection, as if La Petite Maison was a child about to embark upon a new stage in its life, and she the bow from which this arrow would be launched.

She headed off round the side of the building where she had left all the tools she needed to tear down the rest of the wooden panels. Monsieur le Comte might be sending his men over to help tomorrow, but she couldn’t wait that long. Entry to the rear of the cottage was gained through a stable-style door and to one side of this stood a tall wooden boot box secured with a black iron bolt. Inside the box she had placed a claw hammer for wrenching free nails and a screwdriver for wiggling inside the panels to loosen them until she could manage to heave them off.

Once she had the tools, Kate set about dislodging a really stubborn strip of wood some vandal from the Villeneuve estate office had seen fit to nail across her kitchen window. She exclaimed with angry surprise as the screwdriver skidded off the smooth surface to land, point down, in the heel of her palm. She was still hopping around cursing loudly when she heard the sound of a horse’s hooves crunching briskly along the cinder path that skirted the front garden. ‘Oh, no, not visitors!’ she grumbled, sucking hard on her damaged hand. Then, shooting upright, she thrust the same hand behind her back as both horse and rider came into view. ‘Guy!’ she exclaimed, affecting an expression somewhere between righteous surprise and modest unpreparedness for greeting the Lord of the Manor. ‘What brings you here?’

‘I wanted to see the cottage for myself,’ he said springing down from an edgy looking bay. ‘What have you done?’ he demanded, not fooled by her play-acting for a minute.

Kate looked on warily as he snatched off a pair of well-worn riding gloves and slipped them into the back pocket of his breeches. Then, pausing only to throw the reins over the horse’s neck, he strode over to her, seized her arm and examined her hand.

‘I’m fine. It’s nothing—nothing,’ Kate insisted as she tried to free herself.

‘Hold still,’ he insisted irritably. ‘You’ve punctured the skin. Is your tetanus shot up to date?’

‘Yes,’ she said, wincing as he subjected the tender spot to some more probing.

‘Antiseptic inside?’

Aunt Alice had scored A star in practicalities. There was everything that could possibly be needed to deal with any home emergency inside the locked cupboard in the bathroom.

‘No,’ Kate said, as visions of Le Comte in knee-length black leather boots striding around the bedroom area swam into her mind.

‘No first aid kit?’ he demanded impatiently.

‘I’ve been far too busy trying to undo all the damage here to be concerned about—’

‘Your safety?’

‘Guy, I—’

‘What?’ he said fiercely, keeping a firm hold of her when she struggled to pull away. ‘What would you like to say to me, Kate?’

His voice was demanding and full of an intensity she hadn’t heard before. Her hand hurt like hell. And the fact that it was he who sounded furious when it was she who had every right to be angry, filled her with a heat so profound that for that moment she lost all hold on reason.

‘Don’t you dare shout at me!’ she raged, thumping his chest with her free hand. But, instead of shouting back, he only laughed as he grabbed her flailing arm and held her close. So close she was rammed against his chest where the steady rhythm of his heart throbbed in her ears and the comfortingly fresh scent of clean brushed cotton and warm hard man worked some sort of magic on her agitated mind.

‘Better?’ he murmured, stroking her head.

Confused, distressed, but spent, she moved her head slightly in agreement. ‘It hurts,’ she admitted. And if he thought she meant her hand then that was for the best. But when Guy held her in his arms the same longings that had made her teenage years such misery rose up again to taunt her with the unbridgeable gap between them.

It wasn’t just the twelve years or so that separated them by age, but the wealth of experience possessed by a man like the Count. And the years of separation only seemed to have given that impression strength, as if it had been resting dormant like some forgotten seed. They were as far apart as ever…perhaps more so, because now they were adults with their own lives to lead and sooner rather than later, Guy, Comte de Villenueve was going to discover that she had misled him badly.

He released her after a couple of minutes, but only to arm’s length. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing in the cottage we can treat your hand with?’

Kate missed a beat as she considered how to stop him going inside without being downright rude. She wasn’t ready for visitors yet, especially not Guy. Until every single detail inside the cottage had been returned to the way that she wanted it…remembered it, no one was going to get past that door.

‘No. I cleared everything out. Past the sell-by date.’ She held her arms open in a gesture of helpless regret. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll go to the pharmacie in the village.’

He still looked unconvinced. ‘I’ll take you.’

‘No. Don’t be silly, I—’ But he wouldn’t let go of her wrist, and they were already halfway across the yard before she realised what was happening. Lifting her up, he swung her on to his horse’s back, and moments later, he was seated behind her with his free arm banded around her waist.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll take it easy,’ he promised, nudging the horse into a gentle walk.

The fact that she hadn’t ridden since childhood was nothing to fear in comparison to the touch of Guy’s warm arm about her. And it was no good trying to keep a safe distance from him when he only yanked her back again.

‘Relax,’ he murmured so close to her ear that she shivered involuntarily. ‘You’re making him nervous.’

The horse’s sensibilities were the last thing on Kate’s mind, but the relaxed clip-clop was certainly going some way to soothing her shattered nerves. Soon she was swaying easily in time to the rhythm of the stallion’s hooves and the earlier rigidity gave way to what she managed to convince herself was a far more natural posture—resting close up to Guy.

‘Where are we going?’ As she turned to ask the question her cheek encountered the rugged planes of his beard-roughened face. It felt good. Scratchy, but good. And the heat that collected instantly in her cheeks moved quickly on to more erogenous zones so that she savoured the effect of Guy’s muscle-corded forearm against her sensitive nipples and even relished the movement of the horse as he held her firmly in place on the saddle.

‘Does it hurt?’

His murmured question trespassed on these sensual indulgences so that she felt vulnerable and guilty, as if she was a child again and he had caught her out doing something naughty. ‘It’s not too bad now,’ she said huskily. ‘Why?’

‘I heard you sigh. I just wondered—’

He let the sentence hang as he waited for her explanation. ‘Where are we going, Guy?’ she said, forcing some focus back into her voice.

‘Château…pharmacie,’ he said casually. ‘Your choice.’

‘Pharmacie,’ Kate said quickly.

‘As you wish,’ he agreed evenly, turning the horse on to a right-hand fork in the road.

‘At least there Monsieur Dupont, the pharmacien can take a look at it,’ Kate pointed out, trying to excuse her reluctance to place herself on Guy’s territory—under his control. She shook her head in an effort to banish all wayward thoughts concerning Guy once and for all.

He made a sound of agreement low down in his chest and tightened his arm a fraction. ‘Are you ready to go faster?’

Any faster than this and she would not be held responsible for the consequences, Kate thought.

Taking her silence for assent, Guy shortened the reins and took the wilful stallion in a firmer grip between his thighs. With barely an aid, as far as Kate could detect, he brought the horse from a brisk walk to a steady canter, holding her all the while, easily, but firmly, so that she never felt in danger once—from falling off, at least.

The Count de Villeneuve’s status in the village was never clearer than when he put in a personal appearance, Kate realised as people turned to wave and call out greetings. But rather than the type of sycophantic attention she might have expected a member of the aristocracy to attract, he was accorded the most genuine warmth and respect. On top of this she soon realised that he possessed an encyclopaedic knowledge of village life. There didn’t appear to be one family with which he was not acquainted, one difficulty of which he was not aware, or one successful enterprise in which he did not have at least a passing interest.

‘How do you know so much about so many people?’ Kate asked after one particularly dynamic encounter that had involved arranging a match between a neighbouring village and the Villeneuve pétanque team.

His faintly bemused eyes clashed with hers. ‘I make it my business to know,’ he explained. ‘This isn’t a hobby for me, Kate. This village…these people are my life.’

How she envied them.

Like most of the shops in the village, the same family had run the pharmacie for generations. Monsieur Dupont, le pharmacien, a short wiry man with a mischievous smile hidden behind his pebble glasses, was all bristling moustache and plastered down hair. When he saw his latest customers he made a little jump in order to attract their attention over the phalanx of waiting customers who took up several rows in front of the mahogany framed glass-topped counter where he was holding court. Silence fell like a blanket as everyone turned to stare.

‘Monsieur le Comte,’ the pharmacist exclaimed. ‘Quel honneur! What can I do for you?’

‘See to everyone else first,’ Guy insisted. ‘I think the emergency has passed.’ He looked at Kate for confirmation.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ she insisted in a self-conscious whisper. ‘I could probably pick up some antiseptic and a bandage at the supermarché.

‘Supermarché!’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed, throwing up his hands in horror. ‘The very idea! Clear the way, everyone!’ he insisted, conducting his crowd of customers with the finesse of a maestro. ‘Let the young lady come forward.’

‘No, really, there’s no need for this,’ Kate protested as Guy led her to the front of the counter.

‘Humour him,’ Guy whispered, unaware that his warm breath was all it took to raise the fine hairs on the back of her neck. ‘He’s only trying to help.’

Conscious that now she was the centre of attention, Kate put a brave face on it and walked up to the counter.

‘Now then, let me see, mademoiselle,’ Monsieur Dupont said as he paid her the ultimate compliment of leaving his post to come around the counter into the main body of the shop.

Before she could stop him, Guy had taken hold of her arm and was holding out her hand for the dapper older man to examine. The rest of the customers formed an arc around them as they waited in breathless anticipation for Monsieur Dupont’s diagnosis.

‘Nasty,’ he began as he peered myopically at Kate’s hand. ‘Slight abrasion.’ He turned her hand carefully in front of him, pulling his spectacles down on to the very end of his nose to take a closer look. ‘Bruising…painful no doubt…but fortunately no deep wound,’ he proclaimed to sighs all round. ‘Not a horse-riding accident, I hope, mademoiselle?’ he teased, winking at Guy and then glancing at the stallion tethered to the rail outside his shop. Every head in the place turned to follow his gaze and one by one some of the older women broke into delighted laughter embroidered by a round of eloquent nudges.

‘Not a horse-riding accident,’ Kate confirmed, feeling her face flush as she realised what people must be thinking.

‘Hold her steady while I bathe the wound, if you please, Monsieur le Comte,’ the pharmacist instructed Guy. ‘This may sting a little, mademoiselle,’ he confided in Kate. ‘And I wouldn’t like her to pull away,’ he added in a dramatic stage whisper.

‘Don’t worry, monsieur,’ Guy assured the jaunty pharmacist. ‘I won’t let her get away.’

Kate’s heart started beating to its own crazy rhythm. And it was a rhythm that had nothing to do with stinging wounds or the unselfconscious scrutiny of anyone in the shop.

Monsieur Dupont was determined to draw out the drama to its fullest extent and was brandishing a length of bandage that could have easily bound her up like an Egyptian mummy from top to toe. ‘Now you may release her,’ he informed Guy. ‘The unpleasant part is over—’

This time he was wrong, Kate thought as Guy let her go. As far as she was concerned, the pleasant part was over. She was conscious of Guy watching her, leaning back casually against the wall with his arms loosely folded and one tightly clad leg crossed nonchalantly over the other.

‘There!’ Monsieur Dupont declared with a flourish. ‘A neat job, if I say so myself.’

‘A very neat job,’ Guy confirmed as he eased himself away from the wall. ‘What do I owe you, Monsieur Dupont?’

‘Owe me!’

Kate felt sure that all the women in the shop tensed and leaned forward a little to catch him, so great was Monsieur Dupont’s affront.

‘I want nothing from you, monsieur, except your assurances that you will escort this young lady home. She’s had quite a shock today.’

Understatement of the year! Kate thought wryly as Guy accepted the gesture with his customary charm.

‘I’m sure there must be something I can do in return for you,’ he insisted.

‘Monsieur le Comte,’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed bashfully with a very low bow indeed, ‘I assure you, there is no need whatever—’

‘I have a better idea,’ Kate broke in impulsively. ‘In about three weeks’ time I intend to have a housewarming—’ Well, that was one way of describing the opening of her guest house and the safest option whilst Guy was around. ‘I’d like to invite you…all—’ She caught sight of Guy’s face and stopped.

‘I hope that includes me,’ he said.

Her mouth dried.

‘Mademoiselle could not possibly leave you out, Monsieur le Comte,’ Monsieur Dupont exclaimed as he turned from one to the other like a spectator at a tennis match. ‘Well, could you, mademoiselle?’

‘No, of course not. You’re very welcome, Guy.’

‘You don’t sound too sure,’ he murmured so that only she could hear. ‘Don’t forget to send that invitation.’

‘I won’t,’ Kate promised, backing her way towards the entrance. ‘Well, thank you, Monsieur Dupont…everyone… Guy.’

‘Not so fast,’ Guy drawled, coming after her. ‘I have to see you home, remember?’

‘I can manage…honestly,’ she protested when he insisted on guiding her out by the elbow. ‘I can walk.’

‘So can I,’ he pointed out. ‘Or we can ride back. It’s entirely up to you.’

‘You don’t have to treat me like a child. I hurt my hand, that’s all. It’s been attended to. Thank you very much for your assistance—’

‘Et au revoir?’ he suggested sardonically.

‘Yes. No,’ Kate amended quickly, realising how ungrateful he must think her.

‘Walk, or ride?’ he demanded.

The day had mellowed into a hazy, lazy afternoon and in spite of all the warning klaxons sounding in her head, Kate chose to walk. She waited outside under the green and white striped awning of the pharmacie until Guy found one of the young village lads to ride his horse back to the stables at the château.

‘You’re very trusting,’ she said, seeing the young boy’s face light up with excited anticipation as he urged the magnificent animal into a brisk trot.

‘Yes, aren’t I?’ Guy agreed dryly. ‘But since I’ve known Leon since birth, as I have all the youngsters in the village, I’d say it was a calculated risk. I didn’t pick him out at random. He is one of the best young riders we have around here. Letting him ride Fireflash is my way of showing my appreciation for the hours he puts into his training.’

‘I’m sorry. That was clumsy of me. I should have realised—’

‘Forget it,’ Guy said, steering her in the direction of the shops.

‘Where are we going now?’ she demanded when he paused to stare into the window of the patisserie.

‘Cake? No,’ he said, reading her face. ‘I take you for a bread, cheese and salad woman right now.’

‘And what’s that supposed to mean?’ Kate asked suspiciously.

‘Cake signals self-indulgence to me. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but, right now, you strike me as being in a rolling up your sleeves kind of a mood.’

‘Hardly,’ Kate said, struggling to rein in her wayward senses as she raised her bandaged hand to make the point.

‘Well, as I suppose I’m indirectly responsible for that, how about I do the labouring and you give the orders?’

‘Count Guy de Villeneuve labouring?’ Kate exclaimed as she threw him a look.

‘I am quite a capable individual,’ he confided, moving in close. ‘Believe it or not, I can even put jam on my own croissant in the morning.’

As his breath warmed her ear, Kate backed away. ‘Please stop teasing me, Guy.’

‘Why?’ he murmured. ‘You used to love it when you were a little girl.’

Her heart thundered at the reminder. Once any attention from the handsome young aristocrat had been bliss, but now it only spelled trouble.

‘What do we need food for anyway?’ she said, trying to keep her mind from straying on to dangerous territory.

‘I get very hungry when I work.’

‘You’re not going to be doing any work,’ Kate insisted firmly. Her original resolution still held firm. No one was setting foot inside the cottage until she was completely satisfied that the interior had been returned to its original pristine condition—and that included Guy. No, especially Guy, she thought, shooting a glance at him. ‘So, you don’t need to eat.’

‘Nonsense!’ he said, steering her into the fromagerie. ‘I’m hungry. We’ll have a picnic.’

Kate sighed with frustration. And she’d thought she was self-willed! She hadn’t known the meaning of that state until now!

At least she succeeded in getting her own way over one thing. Pleading a muddle at the cottage, she set out the food Guy insisted on buying for them on the grassy bank above the narrow stream that meandered through the garden. And somehow the years seemed to peel away until it was almost like being back in the time when groups of holidaymakers, villagers, estate workers and even members of Guy’s own family had congregated on the banks of the main river that ran through the town to loll away the sunny afternoons eating and chatting. But then Guy wouldn’t always have chosen to sit with her…or, more precisely, lie by her side, Kate realised as she took the greaseproof wrapping paper off the cheese. The bread shop had furnished her with a red gingham cloth and a wicker basket in which to put the mountain of food Guy had acquired on his trawl round the village square. There was chilled wine, a fragrant crusty loaf, some fat green olives and a selection of cheeses to arrange on top of the makeshift table she had adapted from a tree stump.

Removing a graceful strand of meadow grass from his mouth, Guy rolled over on to his side. Resting his head on the heel of his hand, he gazed up at her. ‘Ready yet?’ he murmured. ‘I’m starving.’

‘Ready,’ Kate confirmed, feeling her face growing hot beneath his scrutiny. He looked gorgeous, she realised, trying to find comfort in the fact that he seemed so at ease…deceptively so, she warned herself, and not a moment too soon.

‘Feed me,’ he called across to her in a softly seductive voice.

‘Get it yourself,’ Kate blurted, too shaken to realise she had reverted to the way she might have spoken to him when she was a cheeky teenager.

Picking up on her mood, Guy countered by falling back into the role he had once played in her life…and it was a dangerously provocative role that carried far more risk than the sophisticated manner that had marked his behaviour towards her since her return.

‘It’s a no to that, Katie Foster,’ he drawled lazily. ‘You feed me, or you pay the penalty. You owe me a favour. And now I’m calling it in.’

Guy’s apparent languor didn’t fool Kate for a moment. He was just as likely to launch himself on her at any moment and tickle her to death, she remembered, trying not to let her disappointment at the likely outcome become too apparent.

‘I need to build up my strength for the hard work to come,’ he reasoned, tossing a languid glance towards the cottage.

Kate doubted that, judging by the muscles bulging beneath the pewter-coloured polo shirt he was wearing…and his thighs. She dragged her eyes up again, conscious that he was still watching her. ‘Don’t worry about that now, Guy,’ she said, forcing her attention back to more mundane problems. ‘There’s really no need if your men are coming tomorrow—’

‘I can’t allow you to go another day with boards across the windows,’ he insisted. ‘It’s intolerable.’ His voice grew harsh, as if they had both returned at the same time from their brief visit to the past. ‘If I’d had any idea at all that you were trying to live here—’

‘I haven’t been here all that long.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said firmly. ‘It must have been a shock for you finding the cottage in this condition.’ He sat up abruptly and levelled a penetrating stare straight into her eyes. ‘And on top of everything else—’ He pressed his beautifully shaped lips together as he shook his head. ‘Please accept my apologies.’

‘Accepted,’ Kate said as she broke the bread into chunks. She wasn’t sure which was safer—Guy playful or Guy serious.

‘So now you can feed me,’ he murmured, rolling on to his back again.

Kate’s hands remained suspended in mid-air. For a moment it seemed as if the bees stopped humming and the soft breeze rustling through the leaves died away. Then Guy’s laugh splintered her trance.

‘Hurry up, Kate. Or I’ll just have to come over there and make you,’ he warned.

Kate’s eyes cleared and the soundscape burst into life again. ‘You wouldn’t,’ she said confidently.

‘Vraiment?’ he countered softly.

Before his intentions could be put to the test, she switched to a subject that was both important to her and safe. ‘Guy, I know I’ve only just arrived. But, if it’s possible, I would like to make arrangements to see your mother.’

His mood altered in an instant. ‘She isn’t seeing anyone.’

‘Are you quite sure she wouldn’t see me?’

‘Anything that reminds her of the accident— And in particular anything that reminds her of her dearest friend, your aunt—’

‘I understand,’ Kate broke in softly. ‘I’d just like her to know that I was asking after her, that I’m thinking about her. You will tell her that?’

‘Naturellement,’ he said. ‘And thank you, Kate. It’s very good of you to be so concerned. I think she gets very lonely up at the château. As soon as she feels up to it I’ll suggest that you pay her a visit.’

‘Or she’s always welcome here at La Petite Maison,’ Kate said quickly. ‘At least when everything’s back to normal,’ she qualified. ‘I’d hate her to see the cottage as it is right now.’

A muscle worked in Guy’s jaw as he sprang to his feet. ‘Now you’re making me feel guilty,’ he said, coming over to help her with the food. ‘If I had even suspected you meant to come back—’

‘Don’t,’ Kate said firmly. ‘It’s not all your fault.’

‘Well, I’ll just have to keep a closer eye on my estate manager in future,’ he said. ‘It seems my request to dispose of the holiday cottages was handled with more rigour than I had bargained for.’

‘I’m sure that’s the way business is usually conducted,’ Kate said wryly. ‘I know I won’t brook any time-wasting once I set my sights on achieving a certain goal.’

‘But this isn’t business,’ Guy pointed out as he cut a slab of creamy Brie and pressed it into the soft heart of the fresh bread for her. ‘It’s you.’

His eyes were dancing with laughter. At her? With her? Kate had no idea as she took the bread from him and sucked her thumb appreciatively. ‘This is delicious.’

‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Guy murmured as he poured them both a glass of chilled white wine.

After the picnic Guy insisted on staying on until he had removed every single board from her windows. And he promised that his workmen would bring tubs of plastic wood with them to repair any holes made by the nails. Then the decorators would arrive.

Waving him off, Kate decided that the cottage would be back to normal in no time. Except that it never would be completely back to normal, she thought wistfully, taking the wicker trug laden with flowers they had collected inside with her. Her intention was to keep everything just as it had been during Aunt Alice’s lifetime. A memorial? No, a tribute, she corrected herself as she dropped the bunch of garden blooms into a vase of water. And when Guy found out what she really planned to do with La Petite Maison? She would have found the opportunity to explain her plans to him long before that became a problem, she told herself confidently.