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... e another of Delia’s private sanctuary. She found a simple, quiet peace in the feel of the cool earth and the scent of blooming flowers. Dressed in a simple work dress with her sleeves rolled up, she was on her knees, carefully planting a row of new lavender seedlings.

"Your Grace," a familiar, respectful voice greeted her.

Delia looked up from her work. It was Mr. Rye. "There is a letter for you," he said, holding out a single, folded envelope on a small silver tray.

See ...

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