things set out, the four of them met on the terrace.
“It’s easiest if we start at a spot that has some meaning.” With her furled parasol, Jacqueline pointed at the ridge to the immediate right of the house. “The Garden of Hercules is the most northerly of the gardens, and is also the way to the stables, a fact most gentlemen can be relied upon to remember.” She turned to them. “Shall we?”
Barnaby flourishingly waved her on. “Lead on, fair damsel-we’ll follow.”
She laughed and set out. Barnaby fell in beside her.
Gerrard accompanied Millicent. He’d asked Barnaby to initially escort Jacqueline, giving him an opportunity to square matters with her aunt. They strolled the length of the terrace; by then Barnaby and Jacqueline were far enough ahead to permit private conversation.
“Thank you for agreeing to this outing,” Gerrard said. “It can’t be all that exciting for you-you must know the gardens like the back of your hand.”
Millicent smiled. “Actually, I don’t. I’m quite glad to have the opportunity to refresh my memory.”
Gerrard blinked. “I thought…that is, I assumed this was your home.”
“It was when I was very young, but our mother vastly preferred life in Bath, and I was the youngest, so I most often went with her. And then Papa died, and she and I stayed in Bath permanently. Over the years, I’ve only visited briefly. Mama became an invalid years ago, and, truth be told, I agreed with her-life at Hellebore Hall is terribly quiet. But then Miribelle, Jacqueline’s mother, died so tragically…My older sisters have families of their own, so of course I came to stay.”
They’d reached the end of the terrace; Gerrard gave Millicent his arm down a short flight of steps to a gravel path that led to the ridge.
Once they were strolling again, he asked, “How long ago did Jacqueline’s mother die?”
“Just fourteen months ago. We’ve only been out of mourning for two months.”
Gerrard fought to hide his astonishment. Tregonning had been after him to paint Jacqueline for more than two months. Because he was paranoid he’d lose her, too, and wanted the portrait done before he did? That seemed… distinctly odd.
Before he could frame a useful question, Millicent spoke again.
“My brother has explained to me, Mr. Debbington, that your work on Jacqueline’s portrait will necessitate your spending considerable time in her company, that you will need to learn about her to lend your work authority. My brother is very keen that the portrait be accurate. I can see that that will inevitably require you to spend time alone with Jacqueline.” Millicent turned a severe, rather dauntingly level gaze on him. “You appear to be an estimable gentleman, sir, and your reputation is spotless. Yes, indeed”-she nodded-“I checked.”
She looked ahead as they continued strolling. “Consequently, as far as your association with Jacqueline goes, I believe I can trust in your honor. If you will give me your word you will preserve the proprieties to the extent no harm will come to Jacqueline’s good name, then I believe that, in these circumstances, I can relax my vigilance regarding the appropriate distance that should be preserved between gentlemen and young ladies such as my niece.”
Gerrard blinked. Direct speaking was clearly a family trait; it was distinctly refreshing. “Thank you, ma’am. I give you my word that no harm will come to your niece’s good name through any action of mine.”
“Very good.” Millicent nodded ahead to where Barnaby was regaling Jacqueline with some story, the two bright heads close. “In that case, I suggest you send Mr. Adair back to me. I would dearly love to hear what that scoundrel Monteith has been up to now. I knew his father, and a bigger blackguard I never did meet.”
Gerrard couldn’t suppress his grin. Bowing, he left Millicent and quickly overtook the pair ahead.
Barnaby was intrigued by Millicent’s request; he happily fell back to walk with her, leaving Jacqueline strolling with Gerrard.
A small forest of tall conifers, all shades of dark green, some carrying their canopies high above long boles, others more like thick bushes, appeared before them. The path wound on between the trees, through the still shade; they followed it, their feet crunching on dry needles.
“The stables lie beyond the ridge.” Jacqueline waved ahead. “This path takes you to them, but we’ll turn off it soon. Each segment of the gardens was designed to represent one of the ancient gods, Roman or Greek, or one of the mythical creatures associated with them.” In the cool beneath the trees, her voice carried easily to Millicent and Barnaby behind them. “This”-she gestured about them-“is the Garden of Hercules, the massively strong trunks representing his fabled strength.
“He was, of course, a demigod, but an obvious one to include.” She smiled briefly at Gerrard. “My ancestors weren’t dogmatic over their choice of subjects, and in that time, there was great interest in the ancient myths.”
Gerrard nodded. They reached the ridge line and paused; ahead lay the usual stable buildings, separated from the gardens by a strip of open field through which the path continued. To the left of the path was a fenced paddock in which horses grazed; to the right, out of the center of a ring of tall corn rose an old, worn but still recognizable statue.
“Pegasus.” Gerrard smiled.
“They had him shipped from somewhere in Greece.” Jacqueline studied the winged horse for a moment. “He’s one of my favorites. To get to the stables, you have to pass beneath his eye.”
She turned left onto a connecting path that led along the ridge a little way before curving back down into the gardens; brows rising, Gerrard followed. Barnaby and Millicent had paused to exchange comments on Pegasus; they eventually followed some yards behind.
“This next garden,” Jacqueline said as the conifers thinned and the path led on into the sunshine, “is the Garden of Demeter. Among other things, she was the goddess of crops and the fruitful earth, so…”
They walked out into a large and varied orchard. Some of the trees still held a few blossoms; the scent of growing fruit was tangy and sharp on the air. Bees lazily buzzed as they strolled down the gravel path, descending deeper into the valley. Jacqueline and Millicent unfurled their parasols; the sun was high enough to flood the valley with warmth and light.
The house now lay to their left, rising above them as they descended into the valley. Directly ahead at the junction of four paths-theirs and three others that spread like an open fan into the gardens before them-stood a small wooden pergola, painted white. Roses rambled over it in lazy profusion, spilling yellow blooms over the roof and down the carved pillars.
Jacqueline pointed left to a long strip of garden that ran from the pergola back to the terrace. “The kitchen gardens, otherwise known as the Garden of Vesta, goddess of the hearth.”
It didn’t look like any kitchen garden Gerrard had ever seen. As if reading his thoughts, Jacqueline said, “What you can see are mostly herbs. There are vegetables planted between, but the rampant growth of the herbs screens them.”
“ ‘Rampant’ being a very apt word,” Barnaby returned. “Everything seems”-he glanced around them-“extraordinarily healthy.”
Pausing under the pergola, Jacqueline nodded. “It’s the situation, the shelter, and the soil.” She waited while they all looked around, then waved to the three paths diverging before them. “This path”-she pointed to the one to the left, angling back to the house-“leads to the Garden of Poseidon.”
“There?” Barnaby blinked. “I thought he would be down by the shore, god of the sea that he is.”
“Ah, but Poseidon was the god of
“Aha! Very neat.” Barnaby squinted down the valley toward the distant cove, but it was too far away, and there were too many intervening trees, shrubs, and rises and dips in the land to get any real view.
Gerrard decided he’d waited long enough; the Garden of Poseidon seemed to lie just below the area of thick, dark vegetation he’d noted the previous evening. “Where’s the famous Garden of Night?”
He was standing beside Jacqueline; she didn’t move, yet he was aware she stiffened. Nothing showed in her face, but it had suddenly become a mask. However, when she spoke, her tone was even, albeit devoid of
