Free Outrageously Yours by Allison Chase

and marigolds, bold red cockscomb and camellias, and roses of every color, dotting every twist and turn along the graveled paths.
    Though on a far more modest scale, there had been a rose garden at Thorn Grove, lovingly tended by Uncle Edward himself. It had been there, eight years ago, that Ivy and her sisters had first learned their dear little friend Victoria would one day be their queen; it was there they had pledged to be her secret friends and servants.
    The vista before Ivy blurred beneath a bout of home-sickness unlike any she had experienced so far. Until now, she had been too intent on fitting in at the university and ensuring that no one guessed her secret. And there had been Lord Harrow’s challenge, and the discouraging prospect of letting Victoria down.
    But Ivy had played her hand and won the gamble—so far. Now here she was, all alone in this secluded old house where a woman who had died might be here still, her preserved body hidden away by a mad scientist and his beastly housekeeper. . . .
    Trousers or no, Ivy’s legs brought her downstairs quicker than she could say Frankenstein’s Monster . A startled footman ran to open the front door for her. Once outside, she gulped cool air, still damp with morning mist, and circled the house at a run. Into the gardens she hurried, desperate to surround herself with the beauty and freshness of—thank heavens— living things.
     
    From a window high up in his circular laboratory, Simon gazed down in puzzlement at his new assistant. Where was the lad running? Had Mrs. Walsh frightened him off already?
    Perhaps he should have warned the boy, but then again anyone so readily put off by the housekeeper’s moods would be equally ill suited to the regimen of Simon’s experimentation. With a grin he acknowledged that, like his challenge, the dear woman presented yet another obstacle that must be breached. It disappointed him to think that Ned Ivers had broken and run so soon.
    Then again, perhaps not, for the lad gradually slowed and came to a halt in front of the Chorus of Angels fountain. Hands on his hips, Ned leaned back and opened his mouth wide, apparently sucking in drafts of air. When he had caught his breath, he straightened and looked around, taking in the singular beauty of the garden—Aurelia’s garden, designed by her and meticulously maintained down to the smallest leaf and blossom, ever since her death.
    Simon’s heart contracted around the ache that had become a familiar companion this past year and a half. If spirits indeed walked the earth, as some people claimed and he often hoped, he liked to believe that Aurelia continued to inhabit the garden she had loved so much and taken such pride in.
    His smile was both bitter and sweet. At times he’d wondered if she had been prouder of her creation than of him, but she had never given him cause to doubt that she had loved him more. In almost the same spot Ned now stood, only without the fountain and magnificent surroundings, Simon had asked for Aurelia’s hand and she had bestowed it. . . .
    Gripping the stone lintel, he shut his eyes and shook away the memories, but not the pain. Never the pain. It was a grip he couldn’t break, no matter how hard he tried, no matter how deeply he immersed himself in work.
    He opened his eyes. Ned was now ambling along a winding path that led down the tiered levels to the base of the gardens. Stopping along the way, he stepped over a border of scarlet and white gladiolus to cup a rose in his palm and lean his nose close to the crimson petals.
    A vague uneasiness prompted Simon to prop his arms on the sill and lean out. He studied the odd sway of Ned’s hips and how when the lad paused again for a deep breath, he propped one hand at his waist and arched his back. When he straightened, he raised both hands and patted his hair into place. . . .
    The fussy nature of that gesture held Simon immobile while a fantastical notion formed and bubbled, only to burst with a