That night, Dawn pled a headache and took dinner at the cottage. She needed time to sort through her week at the estate and to write down all she had achieved. Soon the earl would decide whether she stayed or was deposited at the train station, and she had woefully little to report. At least the walled garden would soon be back to full production, and that gave her immense satisfaction.

The maze might yet yield, or at least the first few feet of it. She had expected more of a fight from the vine and hoped it wasn’t plotting something in the dark. If she worked long into the dark hours, she might be able to draw up planting plans for the herbaceous border, as long as the earl overlooked the fact it would take a year to bring to fruition.

Apart from the practical issue of the grounds, more fanciful concepts took root in her mind. As much as she wanted to dismiss the idea of the family being older than they appeared, it seemed the simplest explanation. But what of Ava? It would appear she was still alive, even though no one mentioned her. Was she living in the hermitage and tending the vine, urging it to take over all the trees and shrubs until she strangled the life from the other plants?

Hector had hushed her when she said the other woman’s name aloud.

Not here, he had said. She is always listening.

Quite apart from the vine that reacted to her name, did Elijah’s mother still prowl the grounds? Did she spy on her son to watch him grow into a man, or did she linger to see the estate ruined? If she were alive and watching, Dawn had a suspicion that Ava now stared up at the sky through a hole in the hermitage’s hillock. What Dawn needed was sufficient free time to watch the hermitage and find Elijah’s mother.

She scratched at her wrist. The cut hadn’t got any worse, but neither had it healed. She had dissolved a teaspoon of salt in some hot water and scrubbed at the cut with a cloth. The salt water stung, but some of the redness diminished and the black line heading up her arm had halted. Eventually Dawn managed to still her mind long enough to fall asleep.

The next morning a small group of men were given the task under Hector’s watchful eye of continuing to burn through strategic limbs of the monstrous vine. They would also trim the long-neglected hedges as they worked, and foot by foot, the maze would yield to them. It would be some time before they cleared the way, so Dawn decided to copy the layout of the maze onto a sheet of paper. That would give them a reference as they worked, and she could also map out the quickest way to the centre. Then the other passages could be cleared as time allowed.

A rummage in the cottage’s kitchen drawers revealed several pieces of paper, a ruler, and a few pencils. Dawn chose the largest sheet of paper and pinned it on the wall, next to the painted maze. That was when she noticed an odd occurrence. The walled garden was no longer an indistinct mass of green and brown. The beds were clearly drawn with sharp edges. They were coloured shades of brown, like freshly tilled soil waiting to be planted.

“Incredible,” Dawn whispered as she ran a finger over the one area she had managed to restore. She glanced at her fingertip, expecting to see fresh paint, but the drawing was dry and didn’t smudge. Either someone snuck in while she was asleep and updated the drawing, or it somehow altered itself to reflect the small amount of work she had achieved so far.

“There’s magic here. You were right, Mother. Some stories are true.” Dawn swallowed a sob as she remembered the tales of mythical creatures that her mother used to whisper. What if they weren’t make-believe at all?

Over the next two hours she painstakingly copied the layout of the maze onto the paper. Then she stretched muscles that ached from holding the same position for so long.

“Come on, Mouse. Let’s go for a quick walk.” With the wolfhound at her side, Dawn headed across the path to the walled garden.

There was immense satisfaction in seeing the beds weed free, the soil tilled and harrowed and ready for planting. The fruit trees would be brought under control more slowly. The men now worked to clear the pineapple pits and prepare the trenches for a new layer of fresh manure.

Dawn decided to explore the shelves in the glasshouse to see what seeds the previous gardeners had collected or to see if there were any indications where they ordered new seed. If Hector had undertaken some basic tasks in the absence of a head gardener, he might also have spirited away seed, tubers, or more recent catalogues.

Mouse baulked at entering the glasshouse, and Dawn suspected it was too warm for those wearing fur. He dropped to a shady spot by the wall and rested his large head on his paws. Inside the humid building, she pulled out a wicker basket on one shelf. She rifled through sheets of paper and notes but didn’t find any trace of seeds or catalogues.

“Blast.” She wondered if the locals might come to their rescue. Most people let a few plants go to seed so they could collect and save for the next season. Like the person who sent her the black aquilegia seed. If she asked, there might be plants to spare in the village. Thinking of the aquilegia seed reminded her, and she found a seed-raising tray and a watering can. The weather was warm enough to germinate the seed, and she could raise them through winter in the greenhouse to plant out next spring.

Dawn turned to contemplate the thick jungle pressing against the glasshouse’s murky sides. At some point she would ask the men to help her bring the lush growth under control before the palms burst through the sides. She might even remove enough of the verdant growth to allow space to grow oranges, lemons, and grapefruit.

While she imagined the sweet scent of orange blossom instead of the earthy humid odour, the door opened behind her. She turned to find the earl once again lacking a jacket in a waistcoat and shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows. At times he dressed more like a workman than a peer, and coupled with his broad shoulders and knotted arms, she could imagine him wielding a scythe to cut the hay.

“I thought I would find you in here. Mouse is guarding the entrance.” Lord Seton stepped in the glasshouse and let the door snick shut behind him.

“He doesn’t like it in here. I suspect it is too hot for him.” Dawn wiped her hand across her brow. Today it was too hot for her also, and sweat ran down the back of her neck. The presence of Lord Seton also raised her temperature. She wanted to label it a foolish infatuation, but her response to him was so deep that even the marrow in her bones swayed toward him.

“It seems like another world in here. The greenery has quite taken over.” He stopped near her and stared up at the palms flattened against the glass.

“I was wondering about removing many of these ferns in favour of growing citrus. They would survive winter nicely tucked up in here. I will also need to go into the village and see if anyone can spare vegetable seed, as we need to start the seedlings for winter. We still have time to make the potager fully functional before the cold weather descends.” There was so much to do and decades of neglect to clear away before the estate’s heart would beat strong and true again. If only the earl allowed her to stay so she could see the project through. Some areas, like the forest walk, would take years to restore.

A smile pulled at Lord Seton’s lips. “I thought you would impress me with more fanciful endeavours, like pruning the roses.”

“Given I might have limited time here, I wanted to be practical. Roses are pretty, but a well-planned vegetable patch will feed the entire household all year round. That is a far better legacy if you decide to fire me tomorrow.” Tomorrow her week came to an end, and her limbs were heavy with sadness. Would he order Hector to deposit her at the train station, or would he allow her to continue the rejuvenation of the estate?

“Why would I do that? I find you are bringing new life to everything you touch.” His voice was a low murmur that raised goosebumps over her flesh, despite the humidity.

She looked up and found his grey regard steady and serious. Hope flared inside her. Did that mean she could keep her position as gardener? The question flew to her lips, but before she could voice it, movement above drew her eye. A large bird, perhaps? But it was pale, like a lost albatross. At the same time the shape flickered above, heat bloomed over her wrist. Before she could rub her thumb over skin, an odd grinding noise shuddered through the glasshouse frame. Then Lord Seton leapt at her.

He ploughed into her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and flung them both to the ground. Dawn emitted an oomph as they hit the path. Pain flared over her bottom as she landed hard on the brickwork at the edge of the garden bed. Lord Seton lay over her, his large body pressing her into the ground. Before she could protest his assault, there was a deafening crash, as though thunder cracked from right above them. Something thudded into the ground with a vibration that ran through the floor.

Tinkling rained down around them, a high-pitched note to accompany the thumping in Dawn’s chest. “What just happened?”

Lord Seton slowly let her go to rise up on one elbow and put a hand’s breadth between them. There was enough room that Dawn could place both her hands on his chest, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him back down on top of her. There was a comfort in his weight against her, like closing a solid oak door against a raging storm.

He winced, and the frown returned. “A panel fell from above. We should move before another one goes.”

He rose to his feet and held out a hand to Dawn. Only as she stood did she see the pieces of glass strewn everywhere, including finger-sized pieces jutting out of the earl’s back.

“You’re hurt! Come through to the cottage.” Dawn pulled him toward the door to the cottage, watching where she placed her feet and careful to step over the larger pieces of glass. One remnant, shaped like a spear and waist high, was wedged in the soft earth exactly where she had stood. If the earl hadn’t jumped at her, it could have pierced her skull and split her in two. A shudder ran through her and she looked away.

He closed the door between greenhouse and cottage and raised a stern look to her face. “Promise me you won’t go back in there until I have the lads check out all the glass segments. It will be an opportunity for them to clean the glass while they are up there.”

Dawn pulled out a chair at the small pine table and gestured for him to sit.

“Of course,” she murmured, her attention on the sparkling shards decorating the back of his waistcoat. It would have looked like he sported a dragon’s spines or was sprinkled with fairy dust if not for the fact it could have killed him. She peered closer, looking for tears and holes in the fabric of the waistcoat. “Most of this doesn’t look like they have gone too deep. But you’ll have to hold still while I remove them.”

She set the kettle to boil, and then fetched a pair of tweezers and a bowl to hold the small pieces. Bit by bit, she pulled milky glass shards free of the tweed fabric and dropped them into the bowl. “There are two larger ones. This might sting.”

She squeezed the end with the metal pincers and eased the three-inch-long shard free. Lord Seton drew in a sharp breath but remained still. His hand played with the corner of the map she had drawn.

Dawn glanced at the splinters as she dropped them into the bowl; the ends were stained red. Then she peered at his shirt and waistcoat, searching for any stray pieces. “I think I have all of them, but you need to remove your waistcoat. I am worried the cuts from the deeper pieces might require stitches.”

He pushed the chair back as he undid the buttons and then shrugged the waistcoat off his shoulders. Sure enough, as he removed the waistcoat, bloody patches were revealed on his pale shirt.

“Do I need to remove the shirt as well?” he asked, a trace of humour in his voice.

“Yes, there is blood,” she whispered.

At least she would be staring at his back and he wouldn’t know how red her cheeks were. The kettle whistled. She poured off hot water into a clean bowl and then fetched a cloth while he stripped off the shirt. She also found a rolled-up bandage and some squares of muslin to press against the two wounds.

When she returned to the table, he leaned over his forearms and presented a naked back. A lightly tanned and very well-muscled back. Or so she thought, based on stolen glances at an anatomy book she found in her father’s study. The paintings and drawings had satisfied a certain curiosity in her young mind. This, however, was a corporeal man of flesh and blood. The sight made her throat go dry and her heart give an erratic thud.

She dropped the cloth into the water and wrung it out, but found her hand paused above his skin.

“I promise you won’t hurt me.” Again the trace of humour, so at odds with his often stern appearance.

Perhaps she’d judged him too harshly for his exterior frown and serious demeanour. Each day revealed humour and a gentle, caring side lurking underneath. If he had taken up the role of head of the family at a young age, it might have suppressed the lighter side of his personality, buried it under responsibility and grief.

“If you are sure, I shall clean these up.” She dabbed at the wounds, and inch-by-inch, she cleared the blood from the two slices. “I am no doctor, but these don’t seem terribly life-threatening and are deep rather than wide. I doubt stitches will be required.”

“I am glad to hear I will live to protect you from glasshouses for another day. And relieved to know you were not harmed.” With one finger he traced a route through the maze on the drawing as though he knew it by heart.

She wasn’t harmed, but it wasn’t her first accident on the estate. She had fallen through the hermitage roof, then she was shut in the pineapple pit, and now a piece of glass was dislodged right above her head. “This is the third such accident in my short time here. Almost as if something doesn’t want me here.”

His hand froze and then he lifted it off the map. “A mere coincidence, I am sure. Much of the estate is run-down and neglected and unfortunately, things are prone to giving way under such conditions.”

Dawn pressed two squares of muslin over the deepest cuts and then wrapped a crepe bandage around his torso. Her hands grazed his chest with each pass around his body as she ensured the slices were covered and protected. Both of them fell silent, and she became aware of each breath they took. Her heartbeat slowed and grew steadier until her breaths matched his long, deep ones.

She pulled a safety pin from her apron and pinned the bandage in place.

“All done,” she whispered.

Lord Seton reached out and took her hand in his. “Do you feel it, Dawn? Do you see the tendrils that seek to bind us?”

“I—” She didn’t know what to say. She thought the vine was all in her imagination. The plant that germinated at their first touch and sought to lace them together surely came from spending too long reading botany textbooks with a dollop of romantic novels. What did it mean if he saw it too, apart from them both being mad or desperately lonely?

His eyes half closed and he let her hand go on an exhale. “I’m sorry. I have been alone for so long and presume too much.”

Dawn took a step backward until the old map of the estate was at her back. “No. You don’t understand. I feel…everything. From the garden’s pleas for help to the pulse of energy that runs through my feet from deep below this estate.”

She placed a hand on her temple as though to slow the words that wanted to rush over her tongue. She could hold her silence and keep the appropriate distance between them, or pursue the mystery that had perplexed her since the first day and seek to understand what it meant.

“Each time you touch me, I see a delicate green tendril that wraps around our hands and tries to draw us closer—”

The chair screeched a protest as it was pushed along the floor. The earl crossed the distance between them in one easy stride, folded her into his arms, and kissed her.

Her initial surprise disappeared as a riot erupted within her. Her arms went around his neck and she leaned into his warm chest. With the pass of his lips against hers and the gentle swipe from his tongue, a new and ferocious hunger took hold of her. The vine erupted from her palm and grew at pace with her need. Tight spirals entwined both their bodies and pulled them closer and closer.

A soft moan broke from her throat as she pressed herself to his bare skin. Heat burned through her many layers of clothing to reach her beneath. Dawn didn’t want to do anything else except return his kiss. To learn his touch and taste. The world around vanished and only that moment existed. His arms around her were as strong as any oak, and his body as sheltering as an ancient tree.

Here was the garden where she belonged. With this man.

At length he pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. His heart pounded against her chest. “You see the vine that connects us? You never mentioned it, so I thought I was the only one, or that I had tricked myself into thinking I saw it.”

She tried to laugh, but it rasped over her throat. “It would appear we have both suffered the same delusion. Are you sure we did not knock heads together when you flung us to the ground?”

He shook his head and raised one hand to stroke the side of her face. “It is a very rare thing to see.”

“I will need to consult the books to identify the invisible plant.” Everyone at the Ravenswing estate must be deranged, for the impossible happened on a regular basis.

He paused to cup her face, his thumb resting against her cheek. The frown was back on his forehead. “You will not find it in any book. There are things that occur here that cannot be easily explained.”

“Like maps that redraw themselves or people being far older than they appear?” she asked from under lowered lashes.

“Yes.” Lord Seton moved his arms to cage her body. One hand rested on the lake, the other covered the ornamental rose beds.

“What does the tiny vine mean?” Her mind struggled to make sense of it. A plant that was invisible except when he touched her. A vine that grew out of thin air and connected two bodies. It could only be a type of insanity. Or magic, her mother whispered.

“It means we are connected. There is much you don’t know about this family.” He pushed off the map and turned to the table. Picking up the discarded shirt, he pulled it over his head.

Dawn brushed her hands up and down her arms, partly to dispel the chills and partly to remind herself she was awake and not dreaming. “Will you tell me, please? I have many questions.”

He held the waistcoat in his hands, his fingers fisting in the fabric. “Yes. It would appear we have much to discuss. Over dinner if you will join me. I will have the maids draw you a bath, and if I may be so bold, I will lay out a dress for you to wear.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. A tiny voice whispered a warning from the back of her mind. What was she doing, kissing an earl and speaking of impossible things? She merely nodded in agreement.

If this was insanity, then she would embrace it, for it was marvellous.