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.
8
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.