A bit more, lads,” the stonemason instructed, leaning down to peer at the narrowing gap between the runner stone and the bed stone. “Gently now, or we’ll have to start all over again.”

As Adam let out another inch of rope, he sent yet another glance at Miss de Rossi to make certain she was well clear of any potential accident. She’d donned a dark-green riding habit that hugged her curves in a way he couldn’t help noticing. In fact, he almost preferred the night rail, which had at least been oversized and covered with a robe. Tom Reynolds the stonemason had been spending more time than necessary eyeing her, as well, and had taken it upon himself to explain every known fact about millstones, how he’d repaired this one, and which other estates he’d evidently saved from devastation by virtue of his skill.

With a ton of stone at the end of the rope and five other men helping him hold it aloft, there wasn’t a great deal Adam could do about the mason’s prattling. The worst bit was that Isabel – Miss de Rossi – seemed supremely interested in what Reynolds had to say.

Adam couldn’t decide quite what to make of her. If he owned an estate as grand as Nimway Hall he wouldn’t have been able to stay away, either. But she was young and, from her questions, didn’t have much in the way of practical world knowledge. And while he would have been willing to wager that she had some experience running a household, Nimway was much more than that.

At the same time, though, she seemed very willing to learn, and he hadn’t been able to detect an ounce of haughtiness about her. She’d walked into a room full of annoyed bees, had found a way to save the hive, and had not only known the remedy for bee stings but had applied it herself. And she had no difficulty encouraging the mundane tales of a self-important stonemason.

These men at the mill had reacted with the same relief and happiness upon seeing her that the Nimway servants had shown. They’d only just begun voluntarily speaking to him, and that had been after a month of hard work. Yet there she was, freshly arrived with nothing to recommend her but her parentage, and the locals couldn’t wait to introduce themselves.

Yes, she was pretty – stunningly so – with her long dark hair swept up beneath an impractical green hat and eyes the color of a restless sea, but Adam had the distinct feeling that she could have been a peg-legged, one-eyed gargoyle, and her tenants would have welcomed her with the same fervor. Why, though? They’d all fared well over the past ten years, even with a neglectful, fading steward and no landowner present on the property. The house itself had suffered the most, and even that – in the greater scheme of things – was fairly negligible.

As the stonemason launched into a lecture concerning imported French runner stones, the said stone settled back into place, and the rest of them let the rope go slack. Adam shook out his arms. “Before we return Mr. Reynolds to Glastonbury, we should give the millstone a turn or two. Mr. Miller?”

The miller nodded. Once they freed the runner stone from the ropes, he and his son pulled the heavy lever to reconnect the mechanism to the water wheel outside. He fed in a sackful of seed, and a moment later the ancient mill groaned into motion.

A few tense turns passed before the miller retrieved a handful of the milled seed, ground into a rough white powder. “She’ll do,” he pronounced with a pleased grin. “We’re set for the harvest, Miss Isabel.”

The owner of Nimway Hall stepped forward to sweep the grain from the miller’s hand and inspect it for herself. “Well done, all of you. And Mr. Miller, please let me know when you would be available to help me learn the mechanics of the process, and if there’s anything more you require.”

“I’d be honored, Miss Isabel.”

The stonemason opened his mouth, no doubt to offer his own expertise, and Adam stepped forward. “I need to ride into Balesborough to order new railing for the rear stairs leading into the garden. Do you wish to accompany me, Miss de Rossi? Or is there something else you’d prefer to see?” He’d meant to have most of the repairs seen to by the time anyone came to reside in the great house, but weather and circumstances had had other ideas. And if she wished to view any more – or all – of his failings, it was certainly her right to do so.

“I shall join you, Adam,” she returned, and with another smile and nod for the gathered men, she led the way outside.

“—knew she’d arrived before word came down from the Hall,” a low voice said from the mill behind him, and Adam slowed his exit.

“Aye. The owls,” Phillip Miller returned, even more quietly. “There were butterflies all over Agnes’s pen this morning, as well. Flew off and settled like a blue and red and yellow blanket on the knapweed along the stream. Never seen the like.”

From all the affirmative grunting, Adam gathered that the owls and butterflies had portended something significant. He’d heard the owls, an entire parliament of them, but he’d put it to a well-lit coach passing through Balesboro Wood to disturb their twilight hunting. And everyone knew butterflies liked knapweed. But villagers liked their superstitions, and as long as they didn’t interfere with his work, he had no objections.

As he left the mill to take in the sight beside the millstream, however, he didn’t feel quite as magnanimous. Someone had alerted the vultures in addition to the owls and butterflies. “Lord Alton,” he intoned, as his jaw clenched. “What brings you all the way up from Blackbridge?”

Alton released Isabel’s black-gloved fingers and straightened. “Driscoll,” he drawled. “Nimway Hall has a new mistress. Naturally I had to come and meet her.” He smiled down at Isabel. “Introduce us properly, will you?”

Adam would rather have flattened the man, but punching the Viscount Alton today would only get him sacked. “Alton, Miss de Rossi. Isabel, Geoffrey Bell-Spratt, Viscount Alton. He owns Blackbridge Abbey, just south of Wells.”

“And Alton Park, in the Lake District,” Alton added, sketching a bow. “I much prefer Blackbridge, though. The views here are much more fine.”

Isabel’s already tanned cheeks darkened. “Finer than the views of the Lake District? You flatter me, my lord.”

“That was my aim, Isabel. I may call you Isabel, I hope? And you must call me Geoffrey. We are neighbors, after all.”

And I live in the damned house with her, Adam pointed out silently, but they seemed to have forgotten he stood there. He watched as she inclined her head. “You may, Geoffrey. I’m glad to meet one of my neighbors.”

Someone must have sent word to Blackbridge of Miss de Rossi’s arrival very early this morning in order for Alton to have ridden the two hours it would take to reach Nimway Hall by luncheon. Adam drew a breath. Isabel was young, unmarried, and with a large property in her name. It made sense she would have gentlemen callers. It was certainly no business of his if she did. No doubt Alton was only the first; the other neighbors would be flocking to Nimway Hall, as well. And Alton had never passed up an opportunity to make an advantageous acquaintance.

Adam found himself gazing at Alton’s spine as the viscount turned his back. Geoffrey Bell-Spratt could pretend they were barely acquainted if he wished, but Adam damned well remembered the last time they’d met. He was tempted to mention it. Only two things stopped him. First, he had been raised to follow the tenets of gentlemanly behavior, and a gentleman didn’t intentionally embarrass anyone. Second, even he had to concede that character could change a great deal in six years. His had.

And if for a moment he wished the ladies didn’t find Geoffrey Bell-Spratt quite so pretty, that could be excused. Miss de Rossi had said she’d spent very little time in London. She wouldn’t have much experience, then, with the likes of Alton. On principle he didn’t approve of rakes in general. From experience he didn’t like Bell-Spratt in particular.

Alton turned half around, and those blue eyes that ladies sighed over slanted in Adam’s direction. “Off to Balesborough, are you?” the viscount drawled. “I’m certain Driscoll doesn’t mind me tagging along.”

Driscoll did mind, but he would tolerate it if Isabel agreed to it. “There are people you should meet in the village, Miss de Rossi. We can of course make your introductions later, if you wish.”

“Would these people be alarmed to have Lord Alton included in these introductions?”

He stifled a sigh. “No. I have no reason to think so.”

She smiled. “Balesborough it is, then.”

Adam nodded. “We’d best be off. Billy, bring the horses around, would you?”

“Aye, Mr. Driscoll,” the groom said, hurrying back around the side of the mill where they’d left his chestnut and the black filly Miss de Rossi had claimed. When he came back around, Adam stepped forward to boost Isabel into the saddle before Alton could do so.

“You look like you swallowed a bee,” she murmured, shifting her skirt to step into his cupped hands. “I’m to be wary of Lord Alton, I presume?”

Surprised at her perceptiveness, Adam looked up at her as she settled into the side saddle. “I…” He swallowed back the comment he’d been about to make. “You’ll have to form your own opinion, Miss de Rossi. I will only say that he is known to have expensive tastes, and you have a prosperous estate.”

It didn’t feel gentlemanly to say that last bit, but if Isabel had grown up here or in London, she would have been aware of Alton’s wildly fluctuating finances and his reputation. She shouldn’t be at a disadvantage; nor would she be, while he remained as her steward.

She thanked him with a slight nod before he turned to claim the chestnut. Isabel understood his warning; Lord Alton was seeking a way to increase his finances. Thanks to a very insightful ancestor she would never have to worry about losing Nimway Hall to a husband or a son, but a reckless guardian or spouse could do a great deal of damage to the property’s finances, regardless. Not that Lord Alton had done anything more than appear and invite himself along to the nearest village, but both her mother and her grandmother had warned her that the moment a man learned she had wealth and property, he would be interested.

The trick, she supposed, would be to find one of those interested men who interested her, in turn. And for that she could certainly use the orb – wherever it might be. She bore a birthmark in its shape on the back of her left shoulder, but she couldn’t very well go about baring her skin to say, “look for this somewhere on the property”. But the mark had significance even if she couldn’t show it to anyone else – it told her that she belonged here. And today, that nearly felt like enough.

They headed along the rutted road toward Balesborough, and she found herself between Adam and the viscount. Lord Alton was on his third amusing tale about someone he knew from London, while her steward seemed content to look handsome as he rode silently at her side. While the two men were of similar size and build, in everything else she didn’t think they could have appeared more different. The viscount sported high collars and a precisely-tied cravat, and his light-blue coat and matching blue beaver hat, gray trousers, and brown waistcoat embroidered with tiny yellow flowers looked well fitted and supremely expensive. She could see her distorted reflection in his tassled Hessian boots.

Adam, on the other hand, had donned worn buckskins with scuffed boots, his coat and waistcoat of an unremarkable brown that fit, but would barely be passable at a tavern, much less at a proper gathering. His cravat was clean if simply tied, and he’d neglected to wear a hat at all. From his tanned face, this wasn’t the first time he’d forgone headwear.

Isabel shook herself. It didn’t signify what her steward wore. He was her employee, a man clearly accustomed to hauling on ropes and running from angry bees. While she wasn’t a titled lady, titles had come and gone in her family tree, and she’d grown up knowing that she was a part of the aristocracy. And yes, she anticipated finding her true love and marrying. That didn’t necessarily mean Lord Alton. It certainly didn’t mean Adam Driscoll. The orb would know, if she found a blasted minute to go look for it.

In her daydreams of her first day at Nimway Hall, the orb had appeared in her bedchamber, as it had been wont to do with her predecessors over the decades. It would somehow point her in the direction of her future husband, then she would know how to proceed. Instead of an orb, though, she’d had bees and a millstone. She took a deep breath. Both had been important, and both had been dealt with. This afternoon, after she returned from Balesborough, she would set aside the time to make a much more in-depth tour of the house. Because that was important, too – just on a much more personal level.

As Lord Alton opened his mouth to begin a fourth tale of London misadventures, she leaned forward to pat the pretty black filly on the withers. “I’ve decided to name my mare Fiore. That’s Italian for—”

“For flower, if I remember my Italian,” the viscount interrupted. “Very appropriate. A flower for a lovely flower.”

She smiled. “Thank you. “What’s your mount’s name?”

“Staffordshire in the Morning Light,” he replied promptly. “Stafford for short.”

“Ah. Very regal sounding.”

“He’s a cousin to Master Jackey, winner of the first Royal Ascot Gold Cup.”

The Royal Ascot. That was a prestigious race here in England, if she recalled correctly. Lord Alton seemed to think very highly of it, anyway. “Marvelous,” she said. That sounded appropriate.

On her other side Adam made a low sound in his chest. Derision? She looked at him. “And what is your horse’s name? He’s very handsome.”

He lifted an eyebrow, his expression equal parts amused and baffled. “Boy, I suppose,” he returned. “Or Horse.”

“He doesn’t have a name?” Now she felt baffled. Goodness, she named everything, including Tinker, the little mouse that lived behind the stove in Florence; Fluff and Squawk, the chickens; and Bach, the bluebird, who’d made a nest outside her old bedchamber window.

“You, sir,” Lord Alton commented, “suffer from a singular lack of imagination.”

“I received the offer of a position, I purchased a mount as I had been using one of the horses from my uncle’s property, and I rode here. He’s a steady, deep-chested animal, but I’ve had other concerns.”

“How very single-minded of you,” the viscount complimented, in the least complimentary-sounding tone ever.

That was mean. “In all honesty, my lord,” she noted, “you didn’t name your mount, either, did you?”

The viscount smiled, attractive and amused. “True enough. I did select one with a bloodline and a name, however. Heritage matters.”

Behind her, Adam snorted. “Now you’ve insulted Miss de Rossi, who has just selected a mare and named her without knowing her bloodline. Well done, Alton.”

“I don’t believe you’re permitted to speak to me that way, Driscoll.”

Adam opened his mouth, no doubt about to challenge Lord Alton’s view of himself. “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Isabel said, before either could question the other’s masculinity, “you” – and she pointed at the steward – “work for me. And you” – and she pointed at the viscount – “are, I assume, attempting to charm me or something of the like. Behave, and show me the sights of my property, or leave and I’ll see to it myself.”

Lord Alton inclined his head. “Speak with me later if you’d like a recommendation for a proper steward. I believe I could suggest several who would never consider speaking out of turn.”

Isabel didn’t reply to that. How could she? Firstly, she meant to choose her own man. And secondly, any affirmation would serve to notify Adam Driscoll that he was on the verge of being removed. And at this moment, she needed him. Over the past few hours observing his precise expertise at the mill and his obvious knowledge of Nimway Hall, she’d realized that she couldn’t allow her own sense of…destiny, she supposed it was, to blind her to the fact that she didn’t know how to do a great deal of this. Repairing a vital mill wasn’t the same as organizing and scheduling the household’s meals for the week.

That realization only strengthened as she stood close enough to the blacksmith’s forge to feel its heat and listened to Adam and Joseph Coopering discuss iron content and base depth for the replacement railing. In fact, the entire discussion left her rather light-headed and short of breath. What if her grandmother hadn’t hired Mr. Driscoll to replace old Prentiss? She’d been a naïve fool to think she could arrive at Nimway and magically everything would sort itself out. Smithing wasn’t magic. It was mathematics and hard work. The same with the millstone.

“…meet me for luncheon on Wednesday?” Lord Alton was saying, and she shook herself.

“I’ve only just arrived, my lord,” she returned, trying not to squeak in surprise. “I would greatly appreciate a week or two to sort myself out before I ride off to luncheon.” For heaven’s sake, she wanted a moment to breathe before men began flinging themselves at her – if that was what this was. It felt like it. Abruptly she wished she’d taken her grandmother’s advice and attended at least one party in London. Or that she’d gone to finishing school. Anything to help her not to feel like a halfwit when a gentleman asked her to luncheon.

Geoffrey’s engaging smile returned. “If it takes a fortnight for your steward to catch you up on the state of Nimway Hall, at the risk of repeating myself I’d venture to say you need a new steward.”

She sent a quick glance at Adam’s broad back, but he gave no indication that he’d heard a word of the viscount’s assessment. It was an unkind thing to say aloud, regardless. She certainly had no idea yet whether Adam Driscoll knew what he was doing or not, but “incompetent” was not the first – or the second or the third – word she conjured when she looked at him. Whatever else he was, though, he was her employee, and therefore under her protection.

“If you continue to insult my steward, my lord, I will have to assume you are also insulting me.” No, she hadn’t hired Adam Driscoll, but Grandmama Olivia had.

“I wouldn’t dream of insulting you, Isabel. I see, though, that I’ve put a foot off the path. I therefore apologize. And I’ll take my leave while you’re impressed with my humility.” Geoffrey swept a bow that she imagined would have been judged spectacular even by the members of the royal court, then exited the barn-like blacksmith’s shop.

Isabel looked at the door through which he’d exited. Yes, he was charming. Yes, his…self-assurance left her a little unsettled. She’d instantly rebuffed any potential suitors since her fifteenth birthday, because she’d known since she could remember that she would be leaving Florence for Somerset as soon as she could do so, and she doubted any Italian count would wish to abide at an estate owned and managed by his wife.

But this was Somerset, and Lord Alton clearly knew who she was and what she owned. It all felt horribly confusing. In that sense, she’d meant what she said; she required more than twenty-four hours to find her footing here. And she’d been silly to expect an instant recognition and affinity.

The conversation behind her had ceased, she realized, and Isabel turned around to see Adam gazing at her, a quizzical expression on his lean face. Wonderful. Now she was daydreaming through conversations to which she should be paying attention. Isabel grimaced. “I beg your pardon?”

“We seem to have lost a viscount,” he observed.

“I think he was bored. And I declined an invitation to luncheon with him on Wednesday.” Why she added that last bit she wasn’t certain, but as Adam nodded and gestured her toward the door, she had the feeling that he approved.

“I have several other things to see to, but it occurs to me that you haven’t had much of an opportunity to walk your own floors at Nimway. Shall we return?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, following him out the door. She certainly had dozens more people to meet, but as she kept reminding herself, she meant to be there for a very long time. Aside from that, hopefully learning the layout of her own home would help settle her thoughts and give her a chance to find her feet again. She was in over her head, and she disliked the sensation of drowning.

Before she could settle into self-pity, Adam put his hands around her waist and lifted her onto Fiore. Thank heavens her grandmother had hired someone to replace Prentiss. Because if the only magic Nimway Hall could provide was pretty sunrises, she definitely needed him here. And if she’d begun to feel a bit…thankful that Mr. Driscoll was lean and fit and handsome, well, she would simply appreciate the view until she found the orb and the man with whom she would share her life.