“I think you may dabble in magic, Mr. Weston.” She hadn’t meant to speak the words aloud, but his response confirmed her gaff.
“Magic, is it?”
She turned to accept the fate of her overactive imagination. “To create something so beautiful and purposeful.” Her hand gestured to the vivid landscape. “Not just in looks but there’s…well, it may sound strange, but there’s a certain feeling about this place. Maybe that’s why gardens have a tendency toward enchantment in books.”
“I think it has more to do with hard work than magic.” Even as he spoke, the glint in his eyes teased a flickering kinship. “But there is a distinctive something about a well-tended garden.”
“It’s like a fairyland even in the middle of winter.” She dipped her head so her hat helped hide her face, her voice dropping lower as her imagination delved into more fiction. “Or perhaps the secret is that good gardeners are really wizards in disguise.”
“Wizards?”
She turned toward him, realizing he stood much closer than she’d anticipated. “Well, good magical stories usually need at least a wizard, a princess, or a dragon.”
“I can assure you, this garden hasn’t housed a princess in a very long time.” The other edge of his lip tipped almost enough to consider it a full smile. “But as to whether I’m a dragon or a wizard, Miss Blackwell, I shall leave it to you to decide.”
Clara’s next morning search provided nothing eventful except a lovely landscape painting which would look excellent on the walls of Clara’s guest room, which Gillie thought a splendid idea.
On her way to the garden for another walk—maybe another interesting conversation with the gardener—Clara took a detour through Camden’s library. The immediate sense of welcome and the scent of books swaddled her like a hug. Rows and rows lined the walls, with a massive window, a fireplace, and two doorways as the only breaks in the columns of hardbound spines.
What a shame to have all these dormant stories. Clara slid her fingers along the nearest row. Books without readers were like homes without people.
The sun shone as she stepped from the doorway onto the back patio, and, as Max had predicted, the early afternoon air held less bite than the day before. Everything glowed awake in the path of the sun’s touch, adding even more of a storybook feel to the wintry view. A gentle breeze permeated the air with a plethora of scents she’d experienced the day before, and she took off her newsboy hat to enjoy the gentle gusts.
She’d barely passed the threshold of the garden when she caught sight of Max. He stood on a ladder in the latticed gazebo, apparently working on installing some sort of lighting, but as he raised his gaze to hers, his ladder quaked. He grappled for the additional lantern resting on top of the ladder while trying to keep the half-installed one from crashing to the gazebo floor.
“Oh, let me help.” Clara ran forward.
Max nearly swiveled off the ladder as he turned, but Clara caught the ladder just in time for him to keep both lanterns from crashing to the floor.
“Thank you.” He steadied the lantern back onto the hook and continued to screw it in place.
“I’m just glad I came along at the right time.” Clara studied the few lanterns he’d already installed, visualizing the plan. “This will be a perfect place to sit in the evenings to enjoy the garden and the view.”
“Just putting my magic to work.”
Her smile split wide at his reference to their earlier conversation. Maybe he was warming up to dialogue after all. “Clever of you to disguise it with lanterns and a wobbly ladder to throw me off your trail.”
He leaned forward, staring down at her, his elbows leaning on the top of the ladder. “I’m afraid I must pull out all the stops when the experts are about. Mum’s wanted an outdoor dining area for several months now and finally decided on her lanterns of choice.”
The iron lanterns curved with old-fashioned detail, similar to an ornament she’d seen hanging from a historic carriage during a museum tour once.
“She could easily fit three or four small tables in here. And wouldn’t this be the most enchanting wedding venue!”
“Enchanting.” He opened his palm for the lantern she held, his lips pressed too tight to hide his amusement.
“You think I’m silly.” She pressed it into his palm.
“Quite the contrary.” He began attaching the lantern to the hooks he’d already put into place. “Few people possess the perseverance to pester me into talking.”
She folded her arms across her chest and waited for him to look at her. “So I’m a nuisance.”
His smile nearly unleashed. “How was your plundering of the attic today?”
Nice avoidance, but he’d asked her a personal question so, she’d forgive him. “The spiders were extra friendly.” She rubbed at her stiff shoulders. “But I’m glad to take a break and stretch my legs a little.”
He skimmed her from toe to head before turning his attention to something in the distance beyond her. “Out the east door of the garden, there’s a path that leads to something you may find interesting. About a mile out.”
“Trying to get rid of the nuisance already?”
He held her gaze for a moment before turning back to the lantern. “Perhaps it’s a magical path and I’m sending you on an adventure?”
She shoved her hat back on her head and chuckled. “I’m not sure whether to be terrified or intrigued.” And with that, she set off on whatever adventure or misadventure Max Weston introduced.
The gentle, relaxed rhythm of this quiet, idyllic life suited Clara. The earth and sky. Tea, books, and gardens. A vastness of rolling hills and lush countryside. Of birdsong and rain-scented air. How strange to feel a sense of
