When Hyacinth could think of nothing more to say without resorting to listing his charms, she decided to invite a change of scenery. After all, would Mr. Harding be interested in hearing that she thought him witty and handsome and attentive?
She asked, “Mr. Harding, would you show me about the grounds? I have seen very little beyond what I pass when I walk from the kitchen door to this hothouse. I would love to see the property through the lens of your experiences here.”
Was that far too forward a suggestion? It seemed not, as Lucas Harding moved quickly from his seat and held out his hand to her, his eyes never leaving hers.
“I’m rather an expert on the shoreline, if you’d agree to a walk along the beach.” When he smiled at her like that, wide and welcoming, she was confident she’d follow him anywhere.
“Is there a beach, then?” she asked, putting her hand in his. “I hear waves crashing upon rocks from my window at night, but when I looked, it was only water and cliff.”
She was surprised that his touch did not carry her away from reality completely, the way some of her friends spoke of losing their senses at the touch of a handsome and charming man. Instead, Hyacinth felt more firmly aware of her fingers where they touched him, of her thoughts, of her surroundings. It was as though this small connection to Lucas Harding made the entire world more clear.
“There is a line of sand which appears only at low tide.”
“Then the pirates must plan their attacks by the tides,” she said.
“Pirates?” he asked. “Do you know something I don’t?”
Possibly a great many things, she thought, that I would be happy to share. But instead of answering, she shook her head. “Do you know Mr. Gardner in the village?” At his nod, she continued. “He warned me about all sorts of things that go on up this way. Pirates are only the beginning. Ghosts, too. Possibly ghosts of pirates.”
He laughed and led her out of the hothouse. “And his tales have not scared you away yet?”
She grinned. “Perhaps in time. Given enough pirates and specters, even the strongest of us might begin to shudder and faint.”
“I don’t believe you are the fainting type,” he said. The way he watched her, with an open expression of delight in her conversation and a sparkle in his deep brown eyes, gave her a thrill.
As they turned along a gravel walk leading behind the house, she asked him, “Did your family always live here at Ashthorne?”
When he shook his head, his hair curved over his brow, giving him at once an air of heroism and childlike innocence. She resisted the urge to reach up and sweep the unruly lock back into place.
“I spent my childhood years in Suttonsbury village, before my parents passed. My father owned and farmed a small plot of land, and after he died, I sold it off to pay for schooling. I came to Ashthorne after my aunt Ellen—that is, Mrs. Carter—learned that Mr. Whitbeck would be leaving the manor.”
“Oh,” Hyacinth said. She schooled her features so her expression wouldn’t give away her surprise. “Mrs. Carter is your aunt?” She felt glad she had not begun this conversation by asking if the housekeeper was always in a foul mood.
Lucas nodded and gave a gentler, calmer version of his smile, one that curled up on the left and showed only a few of his strong, straight teeth.
He continued. “She did not want to stay here alone, and so she secured this position for me. I live in the caretaker’s cottage just over the path.” He gestured back along the footpath that Hyacinth had walked many times, though she had never noticed a building that appeared to be a dwelling.
She wondered if it lay beyond her traveled track or perhaps deeper in the trees. But now that she knew such an interesting person lived nearby, she thought it worth the effort to be a good neighbor. Not that she would be so bold as to drop in on him uninvited or alone. But the idea of sitting with him in a cozy cottage did have its charms.
“And your sister?” she asked.
“She lived in Suttonsbury for a time,” he said, but he offered no more about her. The sound of the surf grew louder, and his voice rose with it. “And you? Brothers? Sisters?”
She would show him the proper way to answer such a question. “I have an elder brother and an elder sister, both of whom have married and settled in homes far from our family estate. My brother and his wife have two pernicious children, wicked enough to convince anyone that the only logical solution is to lock them up in an attic until they reach their majority. I adore them both beyond measure and visit as often as they will have me.”
She was delighted at his laugh. Oh, she dearly hoped she could make him laugh again.
Lucas gestured with his arm as they rounded a curve, and the sea came suddenly into view. A half-moon cove sparkled beneath them in the afternoon sunlight. As they approached the edge of the cliff, Hyacinth looked down and drew in her breath. It was thirty feet or more from this spot to the water and the line of sand bordering it. They stood for a moment staring at the sea, and Hyacinth’s heart pounded. Whether from the majesty of the shoreline or the nearness of Mr. Harding, she was not willing to guess.
She went on, circling back to his question about her family. “My sister is a beauty and a wit. She never had much use for me, which might be a result of the many times I’d let myself into her locked room with the help of stolen keys and dozens of ruined hairpins. It’s possible some of her good drawing pencils and bottles of perfume went missing.”
Lucas delighted her with a look of shock. “You were a robber?” he asked, a hand to his chest in mock horror.
She tilted her head. “There is debate about that. Did I rob? Or did I merely steal? It hardly matters now, since we both refuse to think of it anymore. She, because I rarely cross her mind. Me, because I refuse to dwell on my childhood evils. She was a great success in her season and continues to charm and delight London society each summer. She and her husband host dinners and card parties.” Hyacinth gave Lucas a pointed look, hoping he would understand her position on both dinners and card parties.
He seemed to sense the change in her tone.
“Do they not include you?” he asked, his voice gentle. He adjusted his arm around hers to cup her elbow in support as they descended the path cut into the stone along the cliffside.
“I am sure they would welcome me, but London society does not agree with me. I prefer gardens to balls. Perhaps I can convince my sister and her husband to build a hothouse like Mr. Whitbeck’s on their estate in Herefordshire, and then I could tend the flowers she uses to decorate her dinner table.” Hyacinth couldn’t hide the hint of longing in her voice that her sister would value her, even though Hyacinth was quite pleased with how her own life was turning out.
“And your parents?” he asked.
“My father and my mother found great comfort at home. My brother and sister were already grown and gone when my mother passed, so my father made me his companion. I worked next to him as he studied, and I learned by watching him. When I wanted to study botany in my own right, he arranged for me to train with some of England’s preeminent scholars. He is completely supportive. He misses me when I am gone; he is visiting Provence this autumn to avoid the loneliness.”
“I cannot imagine anything filling the void when you leave,” he said, his voice soft and low and deeply penetrating to Hyacinth’s heart. His warm smile gentled to a soft look, one that spoke comfort and certainty.
The gaze they shared sank deep into Hyacinth’s heart, and she wondered at the turn of events that had brought her to this day, this manor, and this position. Her whole life seemed to be blessed, and she felt her fortune.
She did not know the proper way to reply to such a comment and the serious feeling that followed, so she made it a jest. “You, sir, have known me for less than an hour. I assure you, years of association tarnishes some of my immediate charms.”
Smiling, he shook his head. “I rather doubt it.”
His conversation tended so readily to the gentle compliment. She had never spoken with a man who flirted with such ease and sincerity.
Wanting to avoid gaping at him, she turned the topic to his work. “What is it you do as caretaker of Ashthorne Hall?”
He answered very slowly, with a distinct pause between each word. “I take care.”
She laughed. “Surely the stones in the walls would crumble without your superintendence. What precisely do you care for? Have you had to chase away bandits?”
“No bandits as of yet,” he said. “But I assure you, I am prepared to give chase.”
He gestured at the path, and she nimbly stepped over a stone in their way.
She nodded. “I feel more confident knowing of your readiness. What else?”
“In the summer, I found hedgehogs in the chicken roost.”
“Imagine mistaking one for an egg,” she said.
Lucas rubbed his fingers. “I don’t have to imagine,” he said, his face mock-mournful. “I remember it clearly.”
“And aside from displacing hedgehogs and preparing to pursue highwaymen?”
He shook his head. “Nothing terribly interesting. If a tree falls, I cut it up. If a neighbor’s cow moves into our fields, I move it back out again. When Ellen needs supplies, I drive a wagon to the village for her.”
She understood he was downplaying his role at the estate, but she did not press. She was beginning to recognize his humility, and it only added to his other more visible charms. She decided to wait for him to answer more fully, and if he chose to say no more, she would simply watch him as they walked down the narrow cliffside path. And given his broad shoulders and narrow waist, she did not mind that option.
“The real work will begin when the family decides to come back,” he said, turning the subject away from himself. Perhaps he had grown uncomfortable under her gaze. “Until then, I simply maintain.”
Hyacinth did not have any interest in discussing the return of the Whitbeck family, for when they left the tea plantation, they would bring their current orchid specialist back with them, along with all the new specimens he gathered while in India. There would be no place for her here then.
“I imagine there is always something that needs starting or finishing or replacing or repairing.” She knew she was speaking too much, but the way Lucas locked his eyes on her, that look of delighted wonder upon his face—as though he were the most fortunate man in the world—rather took her breath and stole her concentration.
He pointed to the right, and they stepped off the stone path onto a stretch of sand. The tall cliff walls formed a crescent, and toward the horizon, the sea sighed and breathed. Hyacinth took in the beautiful view, knowing that the inherent dangers of the landscape and the water added to its wonder. She felt the surface of the sand shift beneath her shoes.
“How high does the water go?” she asked, looking up at the cliffs beside them.
He pointed. “Tides are highest at this time of year. Especially during autumn’s full moons. See these holes in the stone? If you stand up there at the tip of the crescent, you’ll see many of the holes are covered by water at high tide. Now, and most often during a storm, the water is treacherous. I hope you won’t come down here and walk this way alone.”
She looked up at him. “I’d much rather come with you,” she said, and felt her cheeks warm at his returning smile.
“Often my work consists of long walks like this upon the grounds.” He looked at his shoes and then back at Hyacinth. “I hope you can join me again on occasion. And I might be persuaded to open the ancient, crumbling chapel if you promise only to go there with the protection of my company.”
“Am I so easy to read? Is it obvious that I’m a person who would adore a crumbling chapel?” she teased.
“You seem to be ready and willing to be pleased by whatever Ashthorne shows you.”
She wanted to say that she was pleased by whatever he showed her, but she chose to keep that to herself.
“You mentioned protection. Do you fear for my safety in a church?” she asked, smiling.
“Not any more than I fear for your safety on the beach at low tide. No, not fear, exactly, but your welfare is a concern of mine now.”
Did she imagine his gaze grew more intense?
He seemed to recollect himself and hurried to explain. “Because you are a member of Ashthorne’s staff and a resident of the house, I mean. I am tasked to prevent trouble here, so your safety is paramount. I would go to great lengths to assure it.”
She answered him with a smile. She had never fallen into such easy intimacy with any man. He captured her in his gaze and made her feel precious and protected. What may have been several long minutes passed without a word from either of them as they contemplated each other, and she basked in the good fortune of the moment.
She looked out to sea. “It’s lovely here.”
He nodded. “Lovely and perilous.”
“Why is it that those two things so often go together?”
He did not answer. After a moment, he turned them back toward the upward path.
As she kept pace with him, she asked him another question. “You mentioned you have been traveling,” she reminded him. “Did you visit someplace pleasant?”
“London,” he said. “I was sent to visit a doctor.”
“Are you unwell?” she asked, realizing too late that her question was perhaps too familiar.
“On behalf of my sister,” he said. “Do you know London well?”
He was sidestepping her questions, but she allowed herself to be led into a different topic, happy to be in even a superficial conversation about the most common delights of the city. She would have gladly gone back to hedgehogs in the henhouse as long as they continued to speak together.
Hyacinth barely noticed the sun’s movement across the sky, so delighted was she with spending the afternoon in Mr. Harding’s company.
After climbing back to the cliff top, they explored one of the estate’s follies—buildings separate from the manor’s main structures, built for entertainment and beauty. Inessential and charming, they struck Hyacinth as delightful. She and Lucas climbed the rise to the hill to view Ashthorne Hall from partway up the rise at the back of the extensive property. Hyacinth said, “This is a remarkable estate. We might spend hours more and never see all of it.”
At her mention of hours, Mr. Harding made an apology. “Miss Bell, I fear I have kept you far too long. Surely you are famished.”
“I believe I shall survive my current hunger, but in an effort to monopolize every minute of your day, I would like to invite you to join me in the house for tea.” She straightened her dirty gardening skirt as if a tug here and there would make her presentable for a meal in shared company in any room within the manor house. “But as I have not been making preparations for any such tea, we shall be entirely at Mrs. Carter’s mercy as far as both food and drink are concerned. We can stop in the kitchen garden and filch some beets, perhaps.”
He smiled and brought Hyacinth closer into his side. “I believe Ellen can improve upon the beet plan. Her position as housekeeper does not stop her from stepping into any other role in the household, particularly when the household is just us.”
“She is your aunt, I believe you said?” She remembered him telling her about his connection to the housekeeper, but she would lead him into more familiar conversation any way she could. Hyacinth kept her hand in the bend of his elbow as they moved along the path to the manor.
“Yes. She’s my mother’s youngest sister. We have been close for many years, but most especially since her only daughter passed away.”
Hyacinth spoke quickly to cover her discomfort at introducing a topic that might bring him pain. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. This is the cousin you spoke of—Rosa? Was it an accident?”
“An illness,” he answered, in the short response that Hyacinth was learning marked the end of the topic.
“Mrs. Carter is good at her job,” Hyacinth said, eager to steer the conversation to a less tender topic. “But she seems rather strict. Intent about the rules.”
He seemed not to hear the second part, but he nodded and agreed to the first. “She always has been very kind,” he said, and then, with a smile of renewed brightness, “and she is always happy to cook for me.”
“Which is reason enough to love someone,” Hyacinth teased.
As they approached the manor, she was delighted that Lucas kept her hand on his arm. Entering the house through the kitchen door, they discovered Mrs. Carter slicing cold beef and placing it on a platter beside a pewter dish full of late-season strawberries.
She looked up from her work, and then glanced at their entwined arms. Hyacinth stiffened in readiness for a reprimand for being in such a familiar posture.
She had no need for such worry.
“Ah, Lucas. You’ve met our guest,” Mrs. Carter said with a smile. “If you two could see your way to the blue drawing room, I will bring a platter of food in directly.”
Hyacinth was half confused by the closeness of Lucas Harding and half afraid Mrs. Carter might change her mind and shout at her.
“As I am not truly a guest, there is no need for any kind of formality,” Hyacinth said. “I am sure we would be perfectly happy to stay in the kitchen.”
Mrs. Carter glanced at Lucas and said, “What is the use of having the run of a place like this if we do not use it? I shall join you momentarily.”
Her voice, her looks, and her actions were so much kinder now that Lucas was present. Perhaps Mrs. Carter was afraid to be alone in the manor when he was away. Surely she had seen the ghostly flickers in the night. Ashthorne’s halls and passages were so dark and could feel quite confining, and with only a strange botanist in residence, she must have been feeling a very natural gloom. Hyacinth recognized that gloom, and she knew that to someone without her adventurous outlook, such a thing might appear frightening indeed.
In any case, she was glad to see Lucas made Mrs. Carter smile.
She understood the reaction perfectly. She was fighting a constant smile herself.
Lucas led Hyacinth into the blue drawing room, named, she had to assume, for the damask draperies and the painted ceiling. He led her to a chair, which she took, carefully arranging her skirts so as not to dirty the furniture. She debated excusing herself to change her clothes, but Mrs. Carter would arrive soon, and Hyacinth did not want to ask the housekeeper to wait.
She noticed a painting hanging between two windows. “Is this a view from the house? It looks somewhat like the hill we climbed this afternoon.”
“I assume you mean the mountain,” Lucas said with a grin. “The Whitbeck family is excessively fond of their mountain, and there are images of it throughout the manor.”
“Are there? Perhaps you could show them to me,” she said.
As though a fog blew in, his countenance clouded. Just as quickly, his smile returned. “We can make a study through the open rooms of the south wing in search of reproductions of the hill.”
“The mountain,” Hyacinth said, a false sternness in her voice.
“Naturally,” he replied. “In the meantime, you ought to examine some of the paintings that give this room its name.”
Hyacinth pointed to the blue draperies with eyebrows raised in silent question.
“Common misconception,” he said, nodding. “But the window coverings came after the name. This room is called the blue drawing room because, with the exception of the mountain there, each painting on these walls is a study in sadness. Not a cheerful expression to be found. Only gloom and dismay and disappointment.”
“You are teasing,” she said, standing up and moving toward the near wall.
He placed a hand to his heart. “I give you my word, my lady. The room is even more blue in mood than in color.”
They circled the drawing room, stopping before each painting.
“You may be right,” Hyacinth said, pointing out the boy and girl standing by a small stone bench. “Those are the sullenest children ever painted.”
“I warned you,” he said with a smile.
“This one is rather pretty,” Hyacinth said, pointing to a landscape.
He shook his head. “Weeping willow,” he said. “Tragic.”
“Are you a specialist in the blue drawing room only, or do you have this level of expertise throughout Ashthorne?”
“I would not like to brag,” he said with a wink, suggesting he would, in fact, love to brag, “but a good caretaker must know his property inside and out.”
“And you are a good caretaker?” she prompted.
“Have you ever met a better one?” he asked in return.
At what point did she again take his arm? When did he lean closer so their heads nearly touched? For how long had the length of his leg been hidden by a fold of her skirt? When Hyacinth felt a pang of hunger, she realized that Mrs. Carter was still not in the room. Had she looked in, seen them in this familiar attitude, and turned away, unwilling to intrude?
Hyacinth wondered if she ought to ask Lucas. Would he be shocked or offended at the suggestion that their attentions to each other were too bold, particularly so early in their acquaintance?
Before Hyacinth could formulate a question, Mrs. Carter stepped into the drawing room. She looked ruffled and upset, her cheeks flushed and hair mussed. She had a streak of something upon her face as well as on her apron.
Hyacinth dropped Lucas’s arm and went to the housekeeper. “Are you hurt?”
Mrs. Carter forced a laugh. “Hurt? Of course not, Miss Bell. I am perfectly well. Do sit down and take your tea,” she said, attempting a tone of unconcern.
Hyacinth did not believe the tone for a second. But, unwilling to press the housekeeper, she seated herself. Lucas took the tray from Mrs. Carter, leaning close and whispering something Hyacinth could not hear. She tried to hide her surprise at this blatant act of secrecy in her presence.
After a whispered reply, Mrs. Carter chuckled again, this time with a touch more assurance. “A chicken got into the kitchen,” she said. “Goodness, try to say that quickly. A chicken in the kitchen. I had to chase it out again before it caused a tremendous mess.”
Whatever Mrs. Carter had been doing, Hyacinth doubted it involved poultry. But the woman was clearly flustered, so Hyacinth chose to play the part of the gracious guest as Mrs. Carter and Lucas moved awkwardly around each other in their efforts to serve tea.
A slice of cold beef and a savory scone helped take the edge off Hyacinth’s fierce hunger, but she eyed the tray, hoping for a bowl of the lovely strawberries she had seen in the kitchen.
Mrs. Carter saw her glance. “Can I offer you more, Miss Bell?”
“This is delicious, thank you. I only wondered if you had brought in the berries from the kitchen.”
Another look passed between Lucas and Mrs. Carter, his questioning, hers flustered. Lucas barely shook his head, and Mrs. Carter smiled falteringly at Hyacinth. “Isn’t that the mess of it? That was the very thing the rogue chicken wanted. Came in and pecked through the lot of them. Had to throw them all out, and they were the last of the ripe strawberries in the garden. I shall look for some more later in the week.” She looked around the room as she spoke, as if Hyacinth was making her nervous.
“Meantime, this scone is delicious,” Lucas said, helping himself to a second and then offering the tray to Hyacinth. “Aunt Ellen has always made the best scones.”
Mrs. Carter sat in front of the window and tucked her chin demurely, murmuring in reply.
Hyacinth swallowed a bite of her scone. “Mr. Harding tells me that the two of you are good friends as well as relations,” she said, hoping to help Mrs. Carter regain her composure. “And that you have been very kind to him.”
“Any kindness on my part is amply repaid by himself,” Mrs. Carter said, patting Lucas on the knee. “We all do our best to care for each other,” she said with a smile that finally approached her former one.
“All?” Hyacinth echoed.
“We two,” Mrs. Carter said, furrowing her brow and exchanging another glance with Mr. Harding.
Something had changed. The mood of the room had moved from light to secretive. Mrs. Carter, who fluctuated between cold and welcoming, held a secret she did not want Hyacinth to know. And Lucas Harding knew that secret. He laughed with Hyacinth, and then he murmured with Mrs. Carter. They kept her out of their conversation. Perhaps this was a hint that Hyacinth ought to keep to herself at Ashthorne, to tend the orchids and join the others for tea and take herself to her bedroom.
But she could not deny the attraction she felt toward Lucas, the immediate comfort she experienced when she was with him. His smile lit her up like a flare. No, it was too late for her to decide to have nothing to do with Lucas Harding.
Hyacinth wondered what in the world was being masked behind those smiles. What did the two of them discuss that could only be said in whispered voices?
After a few more minutes, tea drew to a close, and Mrs. Carter began to clear the food away.
Lucas stood and said, “Please let me.”
She patted his arm. “Oh, I think your time would be better served showing Miss Bell some of the principal rooms. Off with you, now.”