beyond her window. She slid the cold iron latch, the scul ery door opened a crack, and a slice of sunshine appeared.
“I hope you’re not going beyond Bridesbridge propery unchaperoned!” Cook’s voice boomed out behind her.
Chloe held a hand to her pounding chest. Cook’s blue eyes emerged from behind the copper pot rack. Four dead, skinned rabbits were hanging from a rafter above her, cabbage heads were lined up next to a cleaver as if for execution, and she was swatting a fly away with sprigs of mint leaves.
“Cook! You scared me. Of course I’m staying within bounds.”
Cook smiled and offered her a few mint leaves to chew on. She stripped the rest of the leaves from the stems and piled them next to a half-dozen cabbages that sat on a wooden table in front of the fireplace.
The mint freshened Chloe’s mouth and the taste reminded her of Henry, but she didn’t want to go there. “I need to get some air.”
Cook pul ed a large knife from a drawer and set about chopping the mint leaves methodical y, quickly, and thoroughly. Within seconds she’d quartered al six cabbages. “Wel then, you had best hurry along. I’l cover for you for an hour—no more! Be back by twelve-thirty luncheon.”
That would al be fine if Chloe carried a little watch on her chatelaine like Grace did.
Cook stabbed the knife right into the wooden table, where it gleamed like the sword in the stone, and Chloe chose to get out while the getting was good.
Cook shut the scul ery door behind her, and Chloe heard the latch click closed. Cutting through the kitchen garden, where the aroma of basil swirled in the summer sun, she lifted her gown and overdress and hopped the lavender border. She fol owed the footpath to the deer park, on the lookout for a house without wal s, something with a face in a garden—maybe a statue? Julia’s energy might’ve rubbed off on her, but Chloe just wanted to trounce around and figure out this riddle. Julia was continual y seeking out creative ways to replace the daily jog she had taken in her real life, but somehow Chloe couldn’t move fast enough in her bonnet, parasol, shoes without any support, and stockings that kept sliding down.
The path twisted to the edge of the deer park, where nothing matched the cryptic description in the poem. As much as Chloe had looked forward to slowing down her fast-paced life, even she had to admit her impatience with Regency-era pursuits such as this one, for people with too much time on their hands. Snail-mail letters had gotten to her, too. The immediate gratification that computers and cel phones brought couldn’t be denied. No matter how gorgeous and physical a letter was, it never arrived soon enough and never communicated enough.
She heard some kind of bird cry high in one of the trees. It sounded as if it were laughing at her, and the mocking sound echoed in her chest. She shaded her eyes, looked up at the cotton-candy-blue sky, and her bonnet fel to her shoulders. Stil looking up, she hoisted her dress and overdress, and wandered into the grove. From here, she could hear the bird better. The sunlight through tree canopy, so high and dense, created a dark, dappled effect on the forest floor even on this bright day. She looked up, and there was the bird she had heard, a bright green- and-yel ow bird with red plumage on the top of his head, and as it flitted among the branches, it laughed at her again.
Horse hooves were pounding nearby, she caught a blur of black threading through the trees, and the gal oping stopped just as the bird, which had grown silent, started up again. Chloe moved toward where she heard the horse. Twigs crunched under her walking boots, and then, in a clearing just ahead, she saw Henry sitting astride a black horse.
Why always Henry? Why didn’t she run into Sebastian more often? Henry was holding binoculars in his hands, and was focusing on the bird. She thought Sebastian was the bird-watcher—but then again they were brothers, and brothers that seemed to share the same pursuits. Perhaps they even shared the same taste in women? Another twig crunched underneath her boot. Henry heard it, put the binoculars down, and saw her. His horse stepped backward, as if even he sensed the surprise and awkwardness. They shouldn’t be together unchaperoned.
“Miss Parker.” His horse advanced. “I didn’t expect—”
The bird laughed again and they both looked up. Chloe didn’t want to risk being caught alone with Henry; she needed time alone with Sebastian.
Even the damn bird was laughing at her hard luck.
“It’s a green woodpecker,” Henry said. “They love this grove. The trees here are more than three hundred years old. This one is six.” He pointed to a tree with his riding crop. “Green woodpecker cal s always sound like laughter. It’s unnerving.”
Chloe’s father used to take her bird-watching when she was little, and the quirky hobby had stuck. She admired men who appreciated nature, but there would always be something special for her about an ornithologist.
Henry dismounted, tied his horse to a younger tree, and walked toward her, offering the bronze binoculars.
“I—I real y need to go back,” Chloe said.
The woodpecker started cal ing again. “Have a look.” He handed her the binoculars. “I was just on my way to check up on you, but considering you’re out scrambling in the woods without a chaperone, I trust you’re feeling better.”
She stepped backward without taking the binoculars. “I’m feeling fine. But I never did get those ‘spirits’ you prescribed.”
Henry laughed. “Then I’l prescribe some more.”
“And I didn’t sleep very wel because there are mice in my bedchamber.”
Henry rubbed his chin thoughtful y.
Chloe curtsied. “If you’l excuse me, I’l see you—at the archery meet?”
“You’re going to walk away from a green woodpecker? To my knowledge, you don’t have them in America.” He offered her the binoculars again.
The woodpecker stopped cal ing.
