Alex asked as he and Georgina strolled about the overgrown garden after supper. Georgina turned to look back at the house, serene in the pale moonlight. The doors to the terrace were open, spilling out firelight, and Dorothy and Emily were seated there with their embroidery. It all looked so comfortable and cozy, and in the darkness there was no sign of overgrown ivy or peeling paint. “I think it is lovely,” she answered truthfully. “I do believe it is the first English country house I have ever visited that feels like a true home. Not just a showcase for country weekends, or a place to come shooting.” “It is a home,” Alex agreed. “My parents came here soon after they were wed, and seldom lived anyplace else. They only went to their London house for a few weeks every Season, then hurried back. My mother adored the country, where she could be near her horses and her dogs. And her children, of course, though we were a distant third!” Georgina laughed. “Oh, yes!” They had come to a small summerhouse, and she went inside to sit down on one of the benches.
