“You’re to be searching for your own treasures, not mine.” Gillie placed bottled water in front of Clara and shook her head. “But I see how you are. I recognized it from the start. You’re a caretaker. And your mother confirms it, which is why I’ve been tasked with ensuring that you have a little fun while you search for that deed.”
“I suppose my mother sent specific instructions?” Clara took a drink of the water. How much did Mom share? Did she tell Gillie that Clara hadn’t traveled in years? That her last “girls’ night” was during college? That she preferred quiet evenings with a good book and chocolate? That her last date was—Clara cringed. Who could remember?
“Enough for me to sort you out a bit.” Gillie’s grin twitched and she gave a lengthy study of Clara from head to toe. “And, of course, there is your excellent style.”
Clara looked down at her wool plaid skirt, white button-up, and cinched burgundy vest, complete with a pair of lace-up ankle boots, and chuckled. “Old-fashioned, you mean.”
“There’s nothing wrong with enjoying old-fashioned style or old-fashioned ways. Taking good care of your parents never goes out of fashion either, dear girl.” She patted Clara’s cheek, holding her gaze as if she understood something she didn’t voice. She stepped back with another appreciative glance. “If I could wear vintage as wonderfully as you, I’d do it every day. As it is, the only vintage I don on a regular basis is jewelry. And my husband had excellent taste, so I can don it quite often.”
The usual uncertainty in meeting new people held no power in the presence of Gillie Weston. Her personality fit “hostess” perfectly, from the glitter in her warm eyes to the curl of her ready smile. And even though she wore elegant slacks with a ruffled blouse covered by an apron, her vintage jewelry worked with her hostess ensemble.
“You make it so easy to feel comfortable here. And I’m looking forward to whatever you have cooking in that pot.”
“Soup and fresh bread.” Dora turned, her round face wreathed in dimples. “The perfect combination for a chilly afternoon. We’ll have it done in a trite.”
Trite?
“The sky has cleared for now.” Gillie waved toward the back door with her spoon. “After being cooped up in the attic the entire morning, I shouldn’t wonder if a bit of fresh air would do you good. You could take a stroll in the garden.”
The plants just outside the nearest window glistened with fresh rain, and the winding, gray walls hiding some of the foliage teased Clara’s curiosity. An English garden?
As she stepped from the house, a cool breeze dampened her cheeks and awakened her senses to an onslaught of scents. Flowers. Plants. Earth. Clara followed the stone path from the back door as it wound through a matching archway into a world of brilliant colors and winter birdsong.
She felt as though she’d stepped from black-and-white to color in Oz. Purples and shades of pinks, reds, and blues. Tall draping trees and rainbowlike ground cover with a stone walkway snaked through the center. With rain still clinging to the plants, the entire space carried an added vibrancy, shimmering as if dusted with diamonds.
Her smile stretched wide, a childlike wonder teasing her forward. As she rounded an inactive fountain in the center of the garden, she nearly stumbled over someone kneeling there.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
Max paused before standing, turning his body so that his right side was more visible than his left. Her smile fell. Did he always feel he had to adjust to his audience?
Free of his cap, his curls flew in all directions, thick and full, the blond color highlighting the gold rim around his eyes.
There was an earthiness about him, from the loose flap of his brown jacket to the smudge of dirt on his cheek just above his red scarf. They made quite the pair. For an instant, Clara wondered if a passing onlooker would think a grown-up Mary Lennox and Dickon had stepped from their book and reclaimed their secret garden.
“Your mother suggested I take a walk around the gardens before lunch.” His unsettling quiet forced her into unnecessary explanations that she couldn’t seem to stop. “Soup and fresh bread certainly sound good for a brisk day like today.”
He glanced back at the house as he dusted his gloves against his brown pants.
“I’ve always wanted to visit a walled garden, and yours is stunning.”
His gaze met hers again before his attention rose to her hat. He stared at it long enough that heat began creeping into her face.
She raised a hand to her head. “My uncle says I dress like an old woman.”
He cleared his throat and reached to pick up his spade from the planter at his feet. “It suits you.”
Was that a compliment or…did she really look like an old woman? Robbie wouldn’t have let the opportunity pass. She wrestled with her smile and finally lost the battle. Max must have caught her expression, because he shook his head and gestured toward her with his gloves. “Not that you look like an old woman by any stretch of the imagination.”
“Well, that’s a relief, though my dad used to say that I stayed cold like one.”
He squinted up at the sky and then leveled his creamy gaze back on her, his mouth pinched tight as if reining in a smile. “Then you should have a good week for your visit, because we’re experiencing unseasonably warm weather.”
Clara bit her bottom lip to tame her smile and tucked her coat more tightly around her body. “Unseasonably warm?”
He held her gaze for a moment longer and then dipped his head before returning to the planter. “Milder weather is expected the rest of the week. Good for exploring the area.”
She studied
