Time drifted with the slow whirls and eddies of the water. Dawn could have sat by the lake for hours or years. The peaceful location fed her soul and revived her body. But there was much to do and she wanted to give the earl a full accounting at dinner time.

She stared at her hand, wondering what had happened when their skin touched and where the seed had come from that glowed and shook as though trying to break free of its confines. Another search of the surrounding grass failed to find the magical seed. She must have imagined it. Her mind was galloping in all sorts of wild directions after her run through the forest.

One thought had been shaken free. She needed to apologise to the earl for the way she spoke and acted on her arrival. Her parents raised her to be a polite and respectful child, and from weariness and fear for her immediate future, she had not heeded her upbringing. She would make amends over dinner. With these things sorted in her mind, Dawn rose. Mouse shook himself and waited for her instructions.

“Let’s see if we can find the hermitage or if the landscape has reclaimed it,” she said.

Woman and wolfhound explored until two in the afternoon with no sighting of the hermitage. Giving up for the day, Dawn returned to the cottage. A cold luncheon waited her inside, and she decided to search the books left by previous gardeners, to learn their thoughts and intentions toward the rambling grounds. Or to find some clue as to what led to its downfall and neglected state.

First, Dawn swallowed a tablespoon of the heart tonic and hoped she had not over-exerted herself. Then she took a pile of dusty books and sat at the table. To her delight, one tome was the history of the potager and a detailed planting and rotation guide. With its well laid out and simple instructions, she could easily make the vegetable garden highly productive once more.

She pulled the leaf that looked like a feather from her pocket and laid it on the table. She flicked through a botany book but couldn’t find any matches. Even the colour was unusual. Nature did not normally produce black foliage, especially with a rich red backing. Perhaps it was simply a one off mutation. Or it could be a pin oak leaf that grew in a strange way, and the black the result of mould.

Soon the light began to fade, and it was time to consider dinner ahead and what to wear. Dawn’s entertaining repertoire was sadly limited to the associates her father had brought home for dinner. They were usually old, stuffy, and talked about bookkeeping. The earl was young, titled, and rather handsome to gaze upon, if somewhat sombre in his moods. Perhaps he might want to discuss gothic novels. If only she’d read any.

Remembering his cool touch made her fingers tingle as though the nerve was pinched. Foolish. This was what happened when parents were overprotective of their children; it left them with no defences against normal everyday interactions. Like offering someone a helping hand to stand or dining together. At least his nephew would be in attendance as chaperone, but that left her wondering about the youngster’s parents. Where were they, or was he holidaying at the estate?

She bit her tongue to stop herself from mentally castigating her parents for leaving her so woefully unprepared to face the world or the charms of handsome men. They did what they thought was best given her delicate health. No one could have foreseen the tragedy that would strike. At least she had an education that covered a broad range of subjects and etiquette to fall back upon.

Dawn decided on the least plain of her practical dresses. She chose the dark grey with the lavender stripe since she was still in mourning for her parents. She had left the black gown behind in her larger trunk, considering it unsuitable for gardening. The striped dress was the closest she had to show her loss. A tinge of guilt also drove her decision. She had spent the day exploring the grounds and had barely thought about the loss of her parents. Only now, in the quietness of the cottage, did her grief return to roost like the raven taking up his favourite perch in the elm.

Dawn washed as well as she could in the kitchen sink and scraped her hair off her face into a tidy bun. With Mouse at her heel, she headed back along the lime path to the big house. The narrow walkway opened out to the large courtyard that stretched between stables and main dwelling. She walked to the edge of the lawn and then took a moment to stare back at the imposing structure. Its wings extended on either side and reached up. High in the right tower, closest to the thicket that was once a maze, light glowed a soft yellow through thick glass. Who sat up there?

“Where do we go, Mouse? Through the kitchens, I suppose, since we are staff.” Why did she agree to this? Dinner alone in the cottage, where she could scatter books about the table, was far preferable.

Mouse answered her question by heading toward a set of French doors that opened out onto a red brick patio. He turned once as if to ensure she followed. Just as she reached the house, the doors swung open to a grinning Hector.

“Evening, Miss Uxbridge. How are you getting along with Mouse?” He gestured for her to enter.

“Hello, Hector. Mouse has been a most valuable companion.” She stepped into a private drawing room decorated in muted greens and browns. The warm natural colours reminded her of the garden. An open book lay on a side table as though someone had recently stood up from their reading. It was a quiet, cosy space within the large manor.

Hector crossed the patterned rug and opened the door beyond. They emerged underneath a staircase in the main entranceway. Enormous double-height front doors were closed against the world. Tiles in shades of green and brown were laid on the floor in a herringbone pattern. A sweeping staircase curved around one side of the space and rose to meet on a landing that looked down on tiled floor. Smaller staircases disappeared on either side, swallowed by the enclosing walls as they ran sideways to the house’s wings.

One side of the entranceway was dominated by an enormous fireplace, easily large enough for a man to stand inside. A knotted silk rug in the same soothing colours was laid in front of the hearth, and two worn leather armchairs sat on the rug. Dawn wondered if it was where a lord would sit waiting for his lady to descend the stairs.

Dark panelled double doors on either side of the fireplace were closed, keeping the secret of what lay beyond to themselves. Above their heads, a large glass dome allowed moonlight to spill down below. Vines played over the glass and ravens hid among the leaves.

“Oh,” Dawn murmured as the moon cast raven shadows about her feet to play among the earthy tiles.

The quiet was torn apart by a high-pitched scream, much like the one that disturbed Dawn’s sleep. She jumped and nearly grabbed for Hector’s hand. Mouse let out a single woof and then sat down.

On and on the scream sounded, moving closer and increasing in pitch. The hairs rose along the back of Dawn’s neck and she cast a worried look at Hector. He muttered something under his breath but held his spot by the right-hand staircase.

A spectre rushed down the stairs from the west tower wing. The woman screamed as she ran, her hands pulling at her hair. “Get her out! Get her out!”

Dawn took a step closer to Hector, partially hiding behind him as a finger was pointed at her form. She dropped a hand and sought the reassuring presence of Mouse’s large head.

The hysterical woman had long, dark hair tangled around her face, made worse by the frantic hands tearing at the strands. A white nightgown brushed around her ankles and flared out on its own. The figure stopped on the landing and dropped her hands to clasp the railing. Her head swept from side to side as long hair hung over her eyes.

“OUT! OUT! OUT!”

Chaos erupted in the house with doors slamming from different directions and feet pounding tile and carpet. One of the double doors by the fireplace burst open, and the earl shot across the tiles and bounded up the stairs two at a time. Then a short, stout older woman wearing a pale grey dress with a white apron and the stark cap of a nurse ran down the smaller stairway and onto the landing. She took the screaming woman by the arms, hushing her and trying to pull her back toward the tower.

“No!” the younger woman sobbed. She wrenched free to point a finger at Dawn. “Get her away from here!”

The earl wrapped his strong arms around the distraught figure and pressed her face to his chest as the nurse extracted a vial and syringe from her pocket.

The earl’s clothing against her lips muffled the sound. Chills washed over Dawn’s skin as the young woman continued to howl and command her to leave the house.

Lord Seton turned so his back faced the watchers below. The nurse administered to her charge and the screams turned into whimpers, which made her sobs all the more pitiful.

“No, Jasper. Please, no. Take her away,” the woman whispered, but the sound fell to the ground below like stones thrown in a well.

Elijah appeared from a dim hallway, worry deep in his young face as he came to stand by Hector.

A murmured conversation took place above and then the nurse escorted the woozy patient back to the stairs. Much subdued, the younger woman slumped against the older. The earl watched them leave.

Dawn fought an urge to turn tail and run as the woman commanded. Instead she turned to Hector and mouthed, who are they? She desperately wanted to know, but at the same time didn’t want the earl or his nephew to hear her plying Hector for the family gossip.

He leaned close to whisper in her ear. “That’s Lady Letitia, the earl’s sister, and Nurse Hatton. Fine figure of a woman, that nurse. She’s been looking after wee Lettie for years now.”

Once the odd pair had disappeared, the earl descended the stairs, one hand on the balustrade. When he reached the last step he stayed there, his palm curled around the newel post. Someone had carved the wood to resemble one of the hideous creatures that guarded the front gates. On either side of the stairs sat gargoyles with bared fangs but the wings folded against their backs.

Lord Seton’s grey gaze met Dawn’s and the frown returned to his forehead. “I’m sorry about that, Miss Uxbridge. My sister is…troubled, but she does not mean anything by it.”

“Is Aunt Lettie all right? She seemed awfully upset.” Elijah glanced to the earl and then to Dawn and then back again.

Lord Seton patted the gargoyle’s head, much like Dawn did to Mouse. “She’ll be fine. We have calmed her down, and Hatton will see her tucked up in bed. Dr Day can check her in the morning.”

Elijah turned to Dawn. “I’m sorry you had to explore the estate on your own today. I wanted to join you, but Uncle Jasper insisted my studies came first.”

“What are you studying?” Dawn grasped at the change of topic from the frightening sight of the shrieking woman. She had been schooled with a tutor and was well acquainted with the boredom of staring out a window while life drifted past. She had always itched to escape to the garden, and she imagined young boys found sitting still and quiet even more difficult.

“Greek, mathematics, and world politics.” He screwed up his face.

Dawn sympathised with him. What a miserable way to spend a beautiful day. Apart from her horrid experience with the forest walk, she couldn’t think of anywhere she would rather be than by the lake.

“Shall we go through to the dining room?” The earl regained control of the situation as he walked to Dawn’s side and held out his arm.

She couldn’t refuse – that would be impolite – but she wasn’t sure she could touch him again. Instead, she rested her fingertips on his forearm as though she expected the fabric of his jacket to form a mouth and bite her fingers. Elijah fell in behind them. They made an oddly formal grouping. Apart from the sister who ran around in her nightgown and screamed. Dawn glanced back up the curved stairway, but no more ghostly sights appeared.

Lord Seton guided Dawn through a double set of doors along from the drawing room. Hector held the doors open and winked at Dawn as she passed within. The dining room was fit to host the lavish entertainments of a country noble. Two chandeliers hung above, the myriad of small lights joining together to cast a glow on those beneath. The walls were deep red and made the large room seem more intimate.

The long, polished table would have easily held twenty people, but tonight one end was set for just three. The earl walked to the far end, with his back to the large windows, and held out a chair to the right of the head. Dawn took his subtle cue, and he guided the chair in behind her.

A footman approached from a dim corner and grabbed the linen napkin. He flicked it open and draped it over her lap.

“Thank you,” Dawn murmured. She had never been waited on by staff before. In her little home in Whetstone they only had the housekeeper and the maid, and the family did for themselves at meal times.

Elijah took his seat after his uncle had sat, and the footman settled two more napkins on knees.

Dawn stared at the multitude of silverware. With a fingertip, she touched the outermost fork and silently reminded herself that dinners started at the outer edge and each course worked their way toward the cutlery closest to the plate. She just hoped she didn’t encounter an unfamiliar course or utensil, but the setting appeared normal and didn’t contain the odd contraption used to extract escargot.

Events pressed her down and she needed to relieve some pressure. “I must offer you an apology, Lord Seton.”

“Oh?” A slight frown wrinkled his brow.

“I was most rude yesterday afternoon. The journey had tired me more than I realised, and I am sorry for my short words.” Her burden eased a little with her apology, and she imagined her mother smiling approvingly.

The earl arched one dark eyebrow. “Well, I too was somewhat abrupt. I was surprised to discover my new gardener was a young woman. But you spoke the truth, and your design was the one with the most merit. Shall we put aside our beginning and start anew?”

She flashed him a brief smile at the proffered olive branch. “Yes. Thank you.”

“Tell me, what are your first impressions of Ravenswing?” Lord Seton asked as the footman walked between buffet and table to serve the first course.

She didn’t want to jeopardise their new understanding by insulting her employer and replying how the state of the grounds simultaneously upset and offended her. Better to find a polite response. “I think there is much to be done.”

The brow arched a little higher and his hand paused with the soup spoon caught between plate and mouth. “Shall we burn it all to the ground and plough the ash into the soil?”

Dawn gasped and her spoon clattered against the plate. She glanced to Elijah, to see if the youth shared his uncle’s opinion, but the lad was too busy eating. “Good heavens, no. Why would you destroy three hundred years of work like that?”

“Because it cannot be saved.” Lord Seton reached for his wine and his grey gaze regarded her over the rim of the glass as he took a sip. His expression gave away nothing as he waited to judge her response, but at least the frown had gone for now.

She shook her head. “You are wrong, my lord. The bones are solid even though its heart is weak. But I believe with hard work it can be revived and restored to its former grandeur.”

“You speak as though the garden were alive,” Elijah said, having devoured his soup and pausing for air.

“Is it not a living thing? A garden has the same cycle of life, reproduction, and death as other creatures. Is it any less alive because each plant spends its entire life in one spot? And if we accept it lives, can it not also have a heart?” With effort, Dawn reined in her enthusiasm. Father always thought it a little odd how passionate she became about plants and the earth. She contemplated the contents of her bowl. The soup was delicious, and she wondered if the pumpkin came from the walled plot.

The earl stared at her, his stone gaze unreadable. He probably thought her mad now for saying the garden had a beating heart. Few others ever saw that there was more to the world around them. No matter how hard she tried to be polite and restrained, she kept coming across as unhinged. Not that she cared, so long as he thought her suitable for the job.

The earl made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat and returned to inspecting his plate.

“Might I enquire how the grounds came to fall into such a state of disrepair?” She couldn’t imagine how anyone could live at the estate and watch the gardens dissolve back into the ground.

The earl’s hand tightened on his spoon. “The estate has lacked a Lady Seton with sufficient interest in the upkeep, and I find business keeps me occupied elsewhere.”

Elijah opened his mouth to speak, but a dark look from his uncle made his attention return to the meal. Silence fell as they ate. Dawn had always listened when her parents entertained. She replied when spoken to but never had to lead a conversation. What would her mother do? Safe topics like the weather and local economy. And Verity Uxbridge would avoid politics and religion.

Dawn placed her parents at the other end of the table and asked about the village. Conversation crept back as the earl and Elijah talked about the textile mill, the shearing of sheep for fleece, and how often it rained.

“I could show Miss Uxbridge the grounds tomorrow,” Elijah said, then directed his next comment sideways at his uncle. “If I didn’t have to tackle history and geometry.”

“I tried to find the hermitage today, but to no avail. It would be greatly appreciated if you could uncover its whereabouts for me.” If the lad had roamed the grounds, he might know where the cave was located. In the Georgian era it was fashionable to have a hermit living on the grounds to spout philosophy at passing ladies and gents.

“Please, Uncle Jasper?” His open face turned to the older man.

“Studies first, then you may show Miss Uxbridge where it is hidden,” the earl said.

The young man grinned at Dawn and attacked his main course with gusto as though he intended to finish early and get all his studies done that night.

“Are you here on holiday from college, or will you return to your parents soon?” Dawn asked, curious about the family arrangement.

“No.” A sigh escaped Elijah’s chest and he cast a quick glance to his uncle. Rather than elaborate, he filled his mouth with roast beef instead.

“Responsibility for this family and estate fell to me some years ago, when we lost my older brother before Elijah was born,” the earl replied.

Dawn bit her tongue; the earl had an infuriating way of deflecting her questions about anything deeper than a puddle. His replies raised more questions than they answered, but it was the height of rudeness to pursue more information. She knew something of how titles were conferred. As the sole heir, the earldom should have settled on Elijah, not his uncle. Which implied there was some impediment to his succession. Usually a lack of legitimacy. Also telling that the earl did not mention the youth’s mother, only his father.

She stared at her fork as she gathered her thoughts. “It would seem tragedy has touched both our families. I lost both my parents recently, which prompted me to seek this opportunity of employment.”

Two months had done little to diminish the pain of the wound. Her fingers tightened on the cutlery as a phantom knife stabbed her anew in the chest.

“I am most sorry to hear that.” A sad smile touched Elijah’s lips, and much remained unspoken at the table. At length he mustered up a question for her. “Do you believe there is a balance to life, Miss Uxbridge?”

“I’m not sure I understand.” How could there be any balance in tragedy? Every day she wished she had died instead of her parents. Nothing could compensate for their loss.

He set aside his knife and fork, drew a shape in the air with his hands, and then swung one back and forth. “A clock’s pendulum swings both ways, but it is only at peace in the middle where it has balance.”

A touching analogy that did nothing to ease the pain of losing her parents. Was he implying that life would compensate by sending her something good, or that she should remain in a neutral state of balance? “You are quite the philosopher, but I am not sure I grasp your meaning.”

Elijah drew a breath to reply, when the earl signalled for the last course to be cleared away and then dabbed at his lips with the napkin before laying it by his plate. “Elijah, you can retire for the evening. Perhaps make a head start on tomorrow’s assignments if you wish to show Miss Uxbridge the hermitage. Now I intend to discuss the grounds further in the library with our new gardener.”

The youth said his goodnights and Dawn found her pulse erratic at the prospect of time alone with the earl. Then she thought of the maze blocked by decades of wild vines. Here was her opportunity to ask about clearing a path to the middle. She just had to face the chance bravely with a machete in her hand.