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.”