Dawn’s hands shook as she closed the cottage door on the earl’s broad back. What had she agreed to do? She drew a deep breath. She was going to find out if the impossible were possible. The fact she stood stronger each day when doctors said she was not long for the world made her believe some magic of Ravenswing healed her and prolonged the lifespans of the family.

After her parents died, Dawn had decided to grasp whatever opportunities life presented. She thought to find contentment tending a large garden; she never expected life to dangle a handsome lord before her like ripe fruit. That had never entered even her wildest dreams.

She touched her lips where they still tingled from the kiss. Her skin seemed heated. She needed a distraction and so busied herself making a cup of tea while she waited for her racing pulse to calm. It wouldn’t do to go running after the earl. She would take her time to walk over to the big house. When she did, an hour later, Mouse was at her side. She let herself in through the serene drawing room and walked through to the entranceway.

No one seemed to be about. Should she just walk upstairs and assume the same room was laid out for her? Somehow it seemed wrong to break the silence by shouting hello to see if anyone answered. She waved a hand at Mouse, who sat and waited for her to make a decision.

“I think you stay here, boy, and I will explore upstairs.”

The wolfhound blew out a sigh and padded over to his accustomed spot in front of the hearth.

Dawn approached the stairs and stopped. She reached out and stroked a hideous gargoyle newel post. The wood was smooth, as though hundreds of hands had caressed the creature on their way up or down. What thought passed through the carpenter’s mind that he chose such an ugly construction for the grand staircase? Perhaps everyone lost their right mind at the Ravenswing estate.

She took slow, measured steps up the sweep of the stairs. She expected to see a familiar face like that of Marjory, Hector, or Elijah. Even the staff seemed to have disappeared. Not even a whisper gave away the presence of anyone else in the large house. Perhaps the entire estate was a figment of her bereaved mind, and in reality she languished in a laudanum stupor in the Whetstone hospital.

At the top of the main stairs she took the smaller left-hand stairwell and ventured down the hall to the room she’d used previously. Dawn reached out for the knob and turned. Within, the drawn bath sat before the fire and fragrant steam curled off the water.

She let out a held breath. Things were prepared for her. Either the maid had been in and disappeared back below stairs, or she was having a particularly lucid hallucination. As she stepped into the room, she caught sight of the dress on the bed and gasped. It was beautiful, a cascade of dark purple silk with stars embroidered over it. The gown was cut to sit off the shoulder, had an empire waistline, and would fall straight to the ground with a small train. Gone were the tight waist and bustles of current fashion; this harked back to the Regency era. Dawn traced a star picked out in silver thread. She had never worn a dress so fine.

Before the bath cooled, she stripped off her plain dress, corset, and undergarments. She tossed the clothing over the screen and then dropped naked into the water. Excitement built inside her, and she didn’t linger. There were questions her mind itched to have answered.

A clean chemise was laid out next to the dress, and soon Dawn was clad in the heavenly gown. Gathering her hair into a ponytail at the back of her head, she twisted it up and tucked the end in. There were several pins on the dresser that she used to secure the twist and hoped it would do. Her hair would have to do, for she had no skill to create an effect worthy of the dress. On a whim, she pulled a few strands free so they curled softly around her face.

Descending the stairs, she felt like a princess about to dance with a prince at the ball. Or an imposter trying to pass herself off as a noblewoman to steal a dance with the prince. The deep purple of the gown reminded her of half mourning, but instead of overwhelming grief, happy memories of her parents flooded back. If only her parents stood at the bottom of the stairs to see her.

Instead, Lord Seton waited at the bottom of the stairs wearing formal attire of inky black with a creamy cravat that reminded her of a perfect pale rose bloom.

He held out his arm to her. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, the dress is far too splendid for me.” She picked at the skirt, wishing it were a plain wool or sturdy cotton instead.

“We have much to discuss tonight, and I wanted it to be special for you.” His eyes held a serious light.

Dawn looked away, unable to meet his intense stare. “Where is everyone? I thought I had entered a dream and that perhaps none of this is real.”

“I gave the staff the evening off, Elijah is studying in his room, and Hatton is with Lettie in her tower. I wanted us to have privacy while we discussed certain matters.” He led her down from the last step and toward the drawing room.

The invisible vine appeared and wriggled around their hands as Dawn’s rested on his sleeve. It seemed stymied by the fabric of his jacket, and a shoot pecked at it like a chicken after corn. She stole a glance at the earl, and a smile simmered in his eyes.

“The vine doesn’t like clothing. It prefers skin-to-skin,” he murmured.

Dawn’s eyes widened as she thought through the implications. Then she swallowed. Despite the loose dress that floated around her legs, she suddenly seemed rather heated. She needed a change of topic before she asked how much bare skin the vine required. “The dress is divine. I’ve not seen a style like this except in paintings.”

“Lettie chose the dress. It is one of hers, and she does love the freedom of Regency fashion. She thought it the most appropriate colour. I will admit I did not want to see you clothed in black, even if you are still in full mourning for your parents.”

The lump in her throat dropped down to her stomach. “My parents were practical. They would know I carry them in my heart, and I don’t need a gown of a particular colour to pay my respects to them.”

Lord Seton paused at the open door and gestured for her to enter first. Dawn was grateful for the choice of venue. In this parlour she sat on the autumnal chaise after being shut in the pineapple pit. The earthy colour scheme soothed her soul and allowed her to imagine she sat in her beloved garden at Whetstone.

Still, her heart galloped one moment and then slid to a dawdle the next. They needed to come to a resolution of the tension between them before her faulty organ gave up completely. They separated as Dawn sat, and he moved to stand by the fireplace. Lord Seton leaned against the mantel, but a stiffness remained in his shoulders. Firelight flickered over half his face, both shadow and light embodied there.

Worry simmered in his grey gaze as he watched her. “I apologise for my behaviour earlier. To know that you might feel the same way and that you also see the vine was a momentous revelation, and I acted impulsively.”

Dawn’s fingertips brushed her lips. She liked the impulsive and passionate side to the earl, but she wasn’t sure if her constitution was up to it. Nevertheless, she could die happy, having been so thoroughly kissed. “So much has happened in the space of just a few days. I feel as though all I know about the world has been turned upside down and shaken.”

The frown lines deepened on his brow. “I will confess I am in unfamiliar territory having to explain these things, and I suspect you have many questions. How would you best like to proceed?”

Dawn’s mind filled with a million questions, each jockeying for position. For the first time in her life, energy fizzled under her skin and demanded she walk, climb, or run to burn it off. Instead she traced a star that sat over her knee. “Tell me about the vine. You said it is significant – what does it mean?”

He stared at his hand for a moment and then crossed his arms over his chest. “It is called the Cor-vitis, and among our kind we say ‘hearts it entwines’. Some say it is a symbol of protection, others that it is an outward sign of a deep internal connection between a couple. That it has chosen us is significant because the vine believes we are meant to be together. That does not strip you of free will though. I do not want you to feel coerced or as though your employment depends on allowing my advances.”

“Vitis is Latin for the grapevine. Is it a type of grape?” Dawn clasped her hands in her lap. Rampant nerves were squirrels chasing up and down her arms, and she needed to keep her fingers still. Lord Seton abandoned his spot by the fire to pace the carpet, and Dawn suspected he wrangled his own bunch of nervous squirrels. She wanted to bombard him with questions about the tiny magical plant that reminded her of a sweet pea. How did it choose people to draw together? Hearts it entwines.

“Its name roughly translates as the heart grape. Some say the feelings its inspires for your chosen partner are intoxicating and that you become drunk on love. Although I believe the name more likely refers to the shape of the leaf and its twining habit.”

Drunk on love? Dawn had never imagined a future with love and romantic passion. Nurturing a garden had always been her only passion. How incredible that a tiny plant revealed itself as love’s seed. Before she yielded to such fanciful thoughts, there were more practical matters to discuss.

“Well, as fascinating as that sounds, we must resolve the matter of my employment. Do you intend to send me back to Whetstone when the train arrives tomorrow, or may I continue my work here?” In that instant Dawn knew that even if he terminated her employment, she could never leave Alysblud. She would take a cottage in the village so that she might remain close to the sickly garden and this family.

Lord Seton halted his pacing and his hands disappeared to clasp behind his back. “You are gently bred and a young woman of quality – I cannot consider you an employee, yet I cannot let you go. I do not want to bring dishonour to your name, but neither can I deny the attraction between us. I am torn as to what to do.”

Dawn wished she hadn’t sat opposite the fire. Her face heated, and she longed for cool shade or a fan. If he wouldn’t employ her as a gardener, then how could she stay here? She racked her brain and thought of the books about the work of Capability Brown. There was certainly capability for improvement (as Mr Brown used to say) at the Ravenswing estate. “Could you instead consider me a professional engaged for a limited term contract? Like a painter commissioned for a portrait or a sculptor who crafts a bust. Or perhaps like Dr Day, who is both a doctor who renders you a service but also a friend to the family.”

One dark eyebrow arched as he considered her offer. At least the frown didn’t deepen. “Yes, that would be acceptable. You are no longer employed as a gardener but engaged as a landscape architect on the project of revitalising the grounds.”

One squirrel in her stomach sat down quietly. “We could evaluate progress at the end of each month, and naturally I will remain in the cottage.”

He nodded. “Very well. With that settled, does that mean you are open to my advances?”

Heat flared in his eyes as his nostrils widened on an inhale.

Dawn swallowed, trying to return moisture to her dry throat. If she replied yes, would he leap across the room and press her to the chaise? She wasn’t entirely sure she would object if that were his plan. However, polite young women were expected to at least put up token resistance to advances, however much they wanted to capitulate. “I have known you for only a week. I require time, my lord. Time to become better acquainted and to know if we are compatible. But yes, I am open to learning more about you and establishing if we have some commonality.”

She couldn’t say open to your advances without remembering how he’d pressed her to the wall. The feel of his naked chest under her fingers. His tongue exploring her mouth. She had never discussed men with her mother except as an abstract idea, and now she wondered what exactly she had just agreed to. Then she remembered her vow to grasp whatever life sent. It appeared she would have the chance to grasp Lord Seton.

He ground his jaw as though her answer was not the one he anticipated. “Mouse knew you were the person for him the first time he saw you. Can you not entertain the notion that we can likewise know in an instant who we are destined to love?”

Denial leapt to her tongue. He made it sound too easy. She stared at her hands in case her eyes gave too much away. “I rather think dogs live much simpler lives and therefore find it easier to give their hearts. Unlike Mouse, I require conversation and to know a person’s mind and character before I lie down at their feet.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, drawing her focus to his chiselled face. “Very well. I can give you time to learn all you wish to know. What questions about Ravenswing would you have me answer?”

She wanted to know all of it, even if it sounded impossible, outrageous, and completely mad. “Your family is not like others.”

He became a statue. “No. We are not.”

Dawn licked her lips. Now the questions became harder and the stomach squirrels more diabolical.

“My mother used to tell me stories of other types of creatures who walked this earth and lived among us. Not just angels and demons, but other beings that dwell in the night and shadows. Are you one of those?” Dear God, was she living among a family of demons? Fear snaked cold fingers around her heart. She didn’t want to believe that she had agreed to the advances of an agent of Satan, but he seemed too morose at times to be a winged angel.

His chest heaved in a sigh and he spread his hands. “Yes and no. Life is not black and white, good or evil. Do you remember when Elijah spoke of a clock and balance? Imagine an old grandfather clock, and underneath hangs a pendulum that swings one way and then another, constantly trying to find a balance. My family is one side, but there is another side too.”

“Are you children of God?” If he was neither angel nor demon, what did that leave? She tried to remember the stories her mother told in hushed whispers at night because her father dismissed them as nonsense. Her mind seized on stone masters, winged creatures, and others that scuttled in the dark ferreting out a person’s deepest secrets. Which one fitted his countenance? A stone master.

A faint laugh huffed his chest, and he smiled briefly. “I’ll give you another analogy. Imagine a grand palace and consider all those who live under its roof. You have the king and queen, surrounded by their royal children. Then there are courtiers and nobles. Under them are ordinary folk trying to make a living and carrying on down to the servants who labour in the kitchens.”

Here was a concept she could understand, a kingly Creator and creatures arrayed in descending order beneath him. “And which character in the palace more accurately portrays your family?”

His lips twitched. “We are the servants sweeping the halls and cleaning the privy.”

A short laugh burst from Dawn’s throat, and she slapped a hand over her mouth. “That doesn’t sound very…celestial.”

His face remained passive but humour sparkled in his eyes. “We do what is necessary, not always what is pleasant.”

“But I still don’t understand who or what you are? How old are you exactly?” The vital question could no longer be contained. She had to know.

“My parents established Ravenswing Manor. Julian was born a decade after the house was built. I was born a decade after that, and Lettie was a joyous surprise twenty years after me.”

The map of the estate was dated 1580. Simple math made the siblings’ birthdates 1590, 1600 and 1620. “You’re two hundred and eighty years old?”

He nodded. “As you have surmised, we age far slower, but we do age and we can die. As happened to Julian.”

She drew a short breath and her muscles tensed for flight while her mind exclaimed no, impossible. She should have leapt to her feet, called him a liar, and dashed from the room. But the pieces she had discovered over the week fitted together and created a net that kept her from fleeing. “And Elijah is older than the seventeen or so he appears to be, I presume?”

His face remained still, only his eyes reflecting his concern. “Elijah was born in 1840, three months after Julian died.”

It was as she suspected, even though part of her couldn’t believe it. Would she awaken from an opium-induced haze and find this all a make-believe world? “What are you – angels or demons?”

He let out a sigh and took the chaise opposite her. “In Greek history, we are named as Elementals. It is an all-encompassing label, just as all people who walk this earth are called humans. We then have divisions as you have Englishmen or Americans.”

“Or you have a genus and then subspecies?” She wondered if she should have grabbed her notebook to write all this down.

A brief smile flashed over his face. “Yes, if you will. Ours is a story as old as creation, a tale of mother earth and father sky. Various cultures and religions all have similar origin stories and give them many different names. The Greeks called them Gaia and Ouranos.”

She knew that mythology. “Their children were the Titans, and each generation of gods was supplanted by their offspring.”

He leaned his forearms on his thighs. “We were created as their servants from the four forces that make up this world: water, earth, air, and fire. Gaia crafted her servants from water and earth, Ouranos used fire and air. We are the two sides that the pendulum swings between as we each serve our creators.”

Her conversation with Hector sprang into her mind and she whispered a name. “The Hamiltons. They are the other side to your family.”

Lord Seton arched an eyebrow. “Yes. They are servants of Ouranos.”

“They killed your brother.” When she answered an advertisement for a gardener she had no idea she would stumble into an ancient battle between mythical creatures. He should have made that clear in the fine print.

His hands turned into fists and his body went rigid. His grey gaze turned to granite. “And they nearly took Lettie from me as well. I will not rest until I deliver justice upon them, however long it takes.”

Dawn’s desire to catalogue and describe emerged and took control of her overwhelmed mind. “If Elemental is your genus, what is your subspecies? Are you earth or water?”

He released his fist and leaned back. “I am earth, as is Elijah. Lettie is a water element. We have had many names over the millennia. In the seventeenth century, Paracelsus wrote of the four elements and named us undine, gnome, sylph, and salamander.”

“Gnome?” Dawn bit her lip to keep her face impassive. The last word she would use to describe the well-built earl was gnome.

His brows pulled together and he pursed his lips. “Earth Elementals prefer to be called gargoyles. As families or clans, we refer to ourselves as Warders, for we are the guardians of this earth. We have our own servants – the watchers.”

“The ravens.” Snatches of nonsense her mother whispered made a new sort of sense, and she began to understand the unseen world that had ensnared her. Was the bird that used to watch her every day in Whetstone attached to a Warder family? Had Lord Seton watched as she tended her backyard and grew from girl to woman?

“You know of them?”

“Yes. We had a raven in our garden at home in Whetstone that my mother called the watcher.” She had thought it a mere coincidence, but what if her mother knew of this world?

“The ravens are our eyes. I knew as soon as you stepped off the train that you were…not what I expected. We also have others that are stationary, like the gargoyles on the gate.”

She had joked to Mouse that the large black birds watched her every movement and reported them back to a stone master. How else did someone know to leave her breakfast when she roused?

“You’ve been watching me all this time. Spying on me.” She wiped her hands on the embroidered silk skirt. The squirrels in her stomach began turning somersaults like tiny circus performers. Dawn rose and walked to the French doors.

“The bird doesn’t see you undress or bathe, if that concerns you. It is more like the tug on the bell in a parlour when tea is required,” his voice came from behind her.

Did that make it easier or harder to reconcile that he watched her? For how long had other eyes observed her? “Did you send the raven to our garden?”

“No. There are a handful of Warder families in England. That raven would belong to those who have a care for Leicestershire. But that it took up residence in your garden is significant. I shall enquire with the Lord Warder of that district.”

She laid a hand on the cool glass and stared out the window. Beyond, night fell over the estate and the moon rose in a cloudless sky. The only sounds the rustle of birds fighting for a position in the surrounding trees. The serenity outside was at odds with her inner turmoil and she drew on it, letting it wash over her.

She should have laughed at his preposterous story, but she found a calm acceptance within her. He told a story she already knew, contained in the tales her mother used to whisper at night. Unless Dawn had died of grief, followed her parents to the grave, and woke in some strange afterlife plucked from her wildest dreams, which would be why parts of it seemed so familiar.

Thoughts tumbled through her mind, but they arranged themselves in a certain order. The earl’s people were crafted by Mother Earth, or Gaia, from water and earth. That was significant. Understanding how and why was so close, yet she couldn’t quite grab it. She turned back to face him as she pondered her next question.

A quick smile flashed across his face, but the worry lines remained etched in his forehead. “I am reassured that you have not yet run screaming from the room.”

“That would go unremarked upon here.” It was a weak joke, but so many things screamed in the dark, from Lady Letitia in her tower to the owls and ravens on the hunt at night.

Lord Seton’s frown deepened. He really did worry too much. She wondered what would bring him joy and make the lines smooth away. She had glimpsed moments of levity and humour from him, and she longed to see his full smile again.

“It is not just Julian’s passing that troubles Lettie, but her condition is tied to the state of the grounds.”

“Did Lady Letitia have a love for the garden?” If she were a keen gardener, it would explain her distress at the neglect and disrepair. But it didn’t explain why she didn’t do something to remedy it herself. Why did she watch it fall into ruin from her tower and not take up trowel and secateurs in its defence?

His hand tightened into a fist again and he stared at it as he stretched out his fingers. “Parts of the grounds, like the lake, are very dear to Lettie. But her situation is…complicated. In all these years neither I, nor the doctors, have been able to ascertain its exact cause.” He struggled with what to say about his sister.

“Oh.” So much ran unspoken in the room, like the whirls and eddies in deep water. But Dawn couldn’t swim, and she was hesitant to venture further.

The garden here was like none other that Dawn had ever explored. From the strange vibrations that ran up through her feet when she first touched the soil of the estate to the horrible pressure in her mind that sent her running blind through the forest walk. Nothing was as it seemed, and there was no botany textbook to explain it all to her.

“If Warders are crafted from water and earth, does that give you an affinity to nature? Is that why the grounds here are unlike any other? It is as though the very air and soil is imbued with magic.” Dark magic, with the creeping black vine that slithered through every part and destroyed as it went. Her wrist ached and she rubbed it. What if the vine sought to destroy her from within? But Hector said none of the men who were scratched by it were unduly affected.

“The estate is special to our Warder family, and there are forces here that only an Elemental can feel. The grounds are the source of our power, but as you have observed, it has sickened.”

There was one thing that didn’t make sense in all of this. “But why do I feel it and see the Cor-vitis? I am not one of you.”

“There is a fifth type of element, often called aether or quintessence by scholars. In Latin they are called animus. Their power is drawn from the intangible that comprises the soul, intellect, and spirit of man. They are both chaos and balance and can either align to a side or remain impartial. We call them the Meidh, and you are one.”

This time Dawn did laugh and shake her head, even though a tremble shook her hand. What would it be like, to be part of something special? “I am ordinary.”

The lines on his brow eased as he smiled and leaned back on the sofa. “No, you are extraordinary. You just haven’t realised it yet.”