Lord Seton led her across the entranceway and toward a set of doors next to the grand fireplace. They went through the door toward the front of the house, the one that he had slammed earlier in the rush to attend his sister. The room within occupied a double-height corner of the mansion. Two adjoining walls were given over entirely to books that stretched far above her head. The room was cast in a pattern of muted colours from the covers of thousands of books. The odd glint of gold or silver sparkled where lights caught the lettering on spines.

A narrow catwalk encircled the middle of the wall of books to enable a curious reader to reach more titles. Ladders with brass wheels could be slid along a rail to a new position on the ground floor. A third wall held large windows that faced the driveway. On sunny days, light would spill into the room and illuminate the enormous desk positioned near the windows. Dark red drapes were hooked back on either side with tasselled cords.

But it was the fourth wall that drew Dawn as surely as the kitchen wall in the cottage. A framed map stretched from nearly one side of the room to the other, a larger twin of the map in her new home. The drawing was of such a size she could almost step into it and explore the estate at the height of the garden’s grandeur.

She ignored the books and gravitated to the painting. As she neared the map, Dawn gasped at the vibrant colours and hues of this version. It was as fresh as though the artist had just left the room, and she expected the paint to still be wet. The entire estate stretched before her as it was meant to be, not in the scribbled and obscured form shown in her cottage.

She reached out a hand but stopped short of the surface, as though it were an object of reverence. “It’s so beautiful.”

“That plan has hung here for three hundred years. I know the one in the cottage is obscured by years of gardeners drawing over the top. This one reveals the original colour schemes. Given you are only here for one week, I thought it might help illuminate where you want to start.” Lord Seton gestured to the intricate drawing.

Dawn sighed at the reminder that she had limited time for the enormous task before her. She took a visual journey over hundreds of acres without her feet having to move an inch. To see the original design in colour and in such minute detail revealed the designer’s intent. The maze was the centre, and the grounds spiralled out around it. A rich red and orange design dominated the very middle of the maze, but in the cottage this particular feature had been whitewashed over. Feathered lines radiated out from a central trunk, and it was notated as a Ravensblood tree. Was the estate name a reference to the tree?

“I have never heard of such a tree,” she whispered as she peered closer, in case she misread the tiny scrawl.

“The estate was named for it, but there are numerous botanical books here, if you require more research material.” His deep voice approached her from behind.

The drawing brought to mind the odd leaf she found by the entrance to the maze, the one that resembled a feather and was black on one side, red on the other. She thought it had come from the thorny vine, but could it have fallen from the unusual tree instead? Perhaps a gust of wind allowed it to escape the vine holding the maze prisoner? The tree might be something found only in Cumberland, but she would need to consult the books for sure. There was only one way to satisfy her curiosity. She needed to find a way through the overgrown hedges.

She laid a hand over the tree in the clearing. “Here, this is the heart of the estate.”

Lord Seton stood at her back, and warmth radiated along Dawn’s spine. Then he reached past her and covered her hand with his large and warm one. A tingle of energy ran from their connected hands, along her arm and down her back. It was as though the painting pulsed under their hands and resonated through her entire body.

She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, savouring the feel of the earl, no longer cool like at the lake, but now a heated stone left out under a summer sky. When she opened her eyes, she stared at her hand, concealed by his. An itch started in her palm and then a wriggle, as though she shielded a furry caterpillar. A tiny green tendril peeked out from under the earl’s fingers and patted his hand, as though scenting his skin.

Before she could gasp or ask if he also saw it, he whispered from by her ear, “How can you be so sure that is the estate’s heart?”

She tried to ignore the phantom seedling that was surely a figment of her imagination and concentrated on the rich detail of the map. She didn’t know why, but seeing the tree at the centre of the maze, it simply felt right deep inside her. As though her soul sighed to think of one day sitting under the tree’s feather-leafed branches and listening to birdsong in the garden.

She should have given him a logical answer, pointing out the symmetry of the overall design and that with the use of geometry, lines drawn from each corner of the estate would intersect the middle of the maze. But in the moment, touching the map and with their hands still interlinked, she gave him a different answer.

“Looking at this map is like hearing a song I heard long ago and forgot. I simply know it deep inside me. To restore the estate, I must restore the heart, but first I need to find a way into the maze.”

He leaned closer. Paths radiated out from under their joined hands. The tendril of vine wiggled and grew longer to creep up onto his hand. He must see it too, surely? Lord Seton’s breath feathered over her neck and then something grazed her skin.

Dawn bit back a moan at the rush of heat that flowed through her body.

His hand tightened around her fingers for a moment and then dropped away. Cool air washed over her back as he moved. Dawn stared at her hand, now alone in the middle of the map. The phantom vine had vanished. She lifted her hand and pressed it to her temple. The tiny plant was simply the figment of a tired mind that was fixated on the state of the garden.

She glanced sideways to where the earl now stared at the water-coloured rose garden painted further along the wall.

“No one has been in the maze for a long time. It could be dangerous in there, assuming the original paths can even be found again,” he said.

“Given the thickness of the vines, it would appear they have guarded the maze for many years. Perhaps it is time to unravel the secrets it holds.” Dawn considered the annual growth rate of a fast vine, but it would still have taken decades for the plant to encompass so much of the estate. There would also need to be a way for it to seed itself without any visible flowers or suckers.

Dawn screwed up her eyes and then opened them. A headache threatened and she was going mad, imagining ghostly plants and the graze against her neck. The earl wouldn’t take such liberties with an employee. It must have been an accident.

“Do you not think it would be better to start somewhere else? The herbaceous borders, perhaps?” Lord Seton crossed to the adjoining wall and leaned his shoulder against the library ladder as he watched her.

She should agree with him and start with a simple task. Reclaiming the maze would be arduous and complicated given the sheer scope of the issue. The herbaceous borders needed cleaning out, the soil addressed, and the bordering hedge cleared of the invasive vine. So why did her mind baulk like a stubborn mule at the idea of beginning her work elsewhere?

Dawn stared at the original map and mentally overlaid it with the one from the cottage. Just as the maze was the mathematical centre of the estate, so was the unknown black vine originating from there. “You cannot restore a garden until you first clear all the weeds. The large vine is strangling so much of the estate. If it is spreading by runners, we need to tackle the source, which is somewhere in the maze.”

Lord Seton did his statue impersonation. Only the rise and fall of his chest reassured her that he hadn’t frozen solid. At last he made that odd grunt in the back of his throat. Her father used to do something similar when a column of numbers in his ledger didn’t return the expected result. “If you will not be dissuaded, I’ll have Hector go into town tomorrow and employ a couple of local lads to help clear the entranceway. I only ask that you do not go into the maze unaccompanied, in case you become lost.”

“Thank you, my lord, the extra hands would be most valuable.” Dawn cast him a sidelong glance from under lowered lashes, still trying to figure out what had grazed her neck. When she used to kiss her father goodnight, his cheek had always been rough because of the day’s stubble that had regrown. Lord Seton’s cheek looked freshly shaven with no hint of shadow. If not stubble, what accounted for the rasp against her skin?

She needed a distraction before she dwelt too long on the attributes of her employer. Identifying flora was a harmless place to start. “I would much appreciate it if I could access your botanical volumes to help me better understand what plants are unique to this area, such as the vine and Ravensblood tree.” Did a book about invisible plants that sprouted from people exist? Her mother used to warn her not to swallow apple pips or one would grow inside her.

“Of course.” Lord Seton turned and surveyed the rows of books. Then he moved to one particular segment and stretched his arms wide. “This area contains numerous books on plants, landscaping, and garden design.”

She walked over the bookcases but kept the library ladder between them.

“Thank you.” She ran a fingertip along the edge of the row. A slim volume caught her eye. The red leather cover had worn dull over time and once gold lettering had muted to a dark yellow. The Flora of Alysblud. She pulled the book free and held it in both hands. “I will start locally and work my way outward. I would like to accompany Hector tomorrow, if that is permissible.”

His grey gaze regarded her for a long moment. He really was very good at impersonating a statue. “Very well, I have no objections. If you go to the village, you will not distract Elijah from his studies. He can show you the hermitage in the afternoon.”

“Thank you. I think I will retire now. It’s been quite an eventful day.” Her physical resources were depleted and exhaustion nibbled at her mind.

Lord Seton reached out one hand toward her, stared at it, and then placed them both behind his back. “I’ll walk you back to the cottage.”

“That’s not necessary, I have Mouse for company,” Dawn whispered, unable to meet his stormy regard.

He ground his jaw and fixed his stare. “I think it is necessary. There are many things hiding in the night in rural areas, and you are not yet familiar with the lie of the land.”

Dawn swallowed. Her vivid imagination cast Lord Seton as a nocturnal creature, waiting to pounce on the unsuspecting. She longed to retire to bed and pull the blankets over her head to blot out such fanciful ideas.

They walked back across the entrance way and into the peaceful parlour. He opened the French doors to reveal a full moon outside. Mouse was a silent guard in the night, pacing at Dawn’s side with Lord Seton on the other. The moon illuminated their way across the courtyard and along the pale path to the cottage.

At the cottage door, Dawn paused with one hand on the cool iron latch. “Good night, Lord Seton.”

“Good night, Miss Uxbridge.” He took her free hand and placed a kiss on the back of her knuckles, then he vanished back along the path.

Dawn stared at her hand. Her skin tingled from the brief contact, but the tendril of imaginary vine did not appear. Then she glanced at the waiting wolfhound. “I’m tired, that is all, and unused to such company. My mind is playing tricks upon me.”

Inside, she padded across the floor by moonlight to her bedroom. Dawn lit the lamp by the bed and disrobed with a slow weariness. Mouse emitted a sigh and settled on the rug. She climbed up into the large bed, blew out the light, and nestled into the blankets. Her dreams explored the twists and turns of the maze, and she imagined Lord Seton waiting to steal kisses in the dark.

Odd cries and screams punctuated Dawn’s sleep. She pulled the blankets over her head. Then she tried to identify whether she heard Lady Letitia howling from her tower room or the cries of ravens and owls on the hunt. Strange half-waking dreams swirled in her mind, stirred up by the screeching.

The watcher from her garden in Whetstone set up an answering caw. Or was he warning her of seekers scuttling in the undergrowth? The raven spread its wings and took flight toward the night time sky. As he rose over the city, the bird’s feathers fell away, and it transformed and enlarged into a version of Lord Seton, who flew over the darkened landscape looking for prey to capture in his clawed feet.

Nothing disturbed Mouse. The wolfhound snored softly from his spot, and she endeavoured to follow his example. But even when sleep claimed her, it wasn’t a restful slumber.

Her mind dwelt on the moment in the library when Lord Seton stood at her back, his hand clasping hers over the heart of the garden. What was the tiny plant that appeared when he touched her and then vanished again? And did he graze her neck accidentally or deliberately? She pushed the blankets away as she heated up, only to rouse when the chill of night brushed her skin and she needed to pull the quilt back over her shoulders again.

When morning arrived, her body and mind were troubled and her heart pulsed weakly in her chest. How would she make it through another day? She took a spoonful of tonic before eating the breakfast that once again waited her on the doorstep. By the time she sought out Hector, she felt able to face the day.

In the courtyard, she encountered Dr Day dismounting from a chestnut horse. Its coat shimmered red gold in the sunlight.

“Good morning, Miss Uxbridge. Are you settling into life at Ravenswing?” He tossed the reins to the waiting groom and unbuckled a black bag attached to the side of his saddle.

“Yes, thank you. Are you here to see Lady Letitia?” Mouse sat at her side, and it had already become a habit to place a hand on his head, as though he were a touchstone that lent her strength.

Dr Day swung the bag in his hand. “Yes. Lord Seton sent word that Lettie had a turn last night. I’m sure Nurse Hatton has things under control, but I like to check for myself.”

Dawn’s fingers curled into Mouse’s shaggy fur. “Lady Letitia seemed most upset at my presence here.”

Dr Day placed a hand on her arm and squeezed gently. A warm smile curled his lips under the tidy moustache. “Please do not take her words to heart. Her mind is troubled and she does not always know what she says.”

“I would not want to cause her any distress.” Why did she demand Dawn leave the estate? Lady Letitia might cry out at night because of a fear of strangers or something else that lingered in the dark.

“I rather think your presence could be beneficial to her. We all try to make her life as peaceful as possible, but I suspect she could use a little female companionship closer to her own age.” Concern that appeared more than that of a doctor for a patient simmered behind his hazel eyes when he spoke of the other woman.

“I would like that. Do you think that when she is recovered we could take a turn in the garden together? Under your supervision, perhaps?” Assuming the earl allowed Dawn to keep her position as gardener, she could be at the estate for some time. The prospect of a friend was too alluring to reject, even if the other woman was mad.

The doctor’s smile widened. “I think that is a grand idea. I will suggest it to Lettie.” He touched the brim of his hat and whistled as he walked toward the house.

Hector emerged from the stables, leading a solidly built cob with a harness about its shoulders.

“Is it far to the village?” she asked as he hitched the horse to the traces of the cart.

“Not very. It’s only just past the station where I picked you up the other day.” He did up the last buckle.

Mouse jumped into the back of the cart and took up his position behind the seat. Hector took Dawn’s hand and helped her climb up. As the horse trotted down the driveway, a raven circled overhead and then spun off toward the taller trees. Dawn had never seen so many of the large black birds. In Whetstone she’d only seen the one, as the built up houses and activity drove larger animals to quieter parts of the countryside.

Through the tree foliage, Cumberland’s high peaks dotted the horizon. The horse trotted past the railway station and the yellow and red office. The village lay not much farther along the road from the station. Houses were clustered closer together and a multitude of voices rose in the distance. One building painted bright white appeared to be a schoolhouse, with numerous children playing and laughing on the surrounding grass.

Houses were made of local stone, most two storeys high, and people walked and chatted along the road. Some gardens spilled from front lawns onto the edge of the road. Many villagers recognised Hector and called out and waved as he passed. It seemed a picturesque place, but there were unkempt hedges and spent flower heads that made Dawn itch for secateurs.

“Is there much industry out here to keep people employed?” she asked.

“Enough for us. Alysblud has the textile factory, started by the Seton family as soon as those fangled machines came along fifty years or so ago. It employs most of the locals and gives the area a better return than sending our fleeces to another town.” He eased back on the reins, and the cob slowed to a steady walk.

They passed a house set well back off the road with a low cast iron fence out front. Hector gestured up the cobbled pathway. “That’s Dr Day’s house. He sees patients there, even does some surgery in one of the back rooms.”

Dawn peered at the house, trying to discern something about the doctor in the plain garden visible from the road. The path was edged with lavender and lady’s mantle, the two intertwined in a soft display of grey, lavender, and palest yellow. A spreading cherry was the sole tree in the front lawn. Given its lack of any set fruit, it was probably an ornamental specimen, planted for its showy display of spring flowers. The lawn needed to be mowed, and the cherry could do with a prune to open up its branches and stop some rubbing against each other.

“Is he married?” The question slipped out, not because she had any interest in the doctor, but she always imagined a country doctor needed a pragmatic wife to handle calls when he wasn’t home.

Hector barked a short laugh and Mouse seemed to snigger. “No, not him. He gave his heart to a lass long ago, but I doubt she even realises.”

“How sad.” She wondered what woman held the good doctor’s heart and what was wrong with him that she never reciprocated his feelings.

“He lives in hope, that one, because the heart wants what it wants. Nothing we can do about it.” The horse plodded on down the lane and Hector pulled him to a halt at a large open square.

The middle of the square was marked by a large fountain. The plinth stone in the middle of the water held aloft a young woman. A bird sat on her shoulder, and she poured water from a tipped urn back into the basin at her feet. Around the base of the fountain gathered a number of young men. Some played chess or backgammon. Others indulged in a round of cards.

“The lads wanting work all wait here. They’ll all want to lend a hand at Ravenswing. You’ll be spoiled for choice.” Hector winked as he helped her down.

A blush crept up Dawn’s neck. So many young men, how would she ever choose just four?