More magic slipping through the cracks? She decided she wouldmention it to Thornwood as soon as she caught up to him, but the idea fluttered away as she stepped into the sun and gasped.
Overnight, everything in the garden came to life. Bushes grew to their full breadth, flowers flourished, and the patched-over scars left by Mouse and Mr.Hobb’s work healed over with lush swatches of grass. Hiking her skirts up to her knees, she dashed across the lawn to Thornwood. He fought back a smile.
“Did you use magic on this?” she panted.
“Just a bit. The greens were dull.”
“I did not deal for this.”
“No, I’ve already taken my payment.”
Mouse frowned. “I do not like the sound of that.”
“Please, it’s nothing. Think of it as a gift.”
“I…I’m not sure what to say.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She desperately blinked it away, fishing in her dress pockets for a handkerchief. “What’s wrong with me? I’m sorry, this should be a happy day, and here I am sniveling.”
“You are not sniveling. I am sure I would feel the same if I were in your position. But there is nothing else we can do.”
“You’re right, of course.”
He laid his hand across his jacket lapel, mock shock painting his features. “I never thought I’d see the day Lady Dewhurst would admit I was right.”
“Oh, hush,” Mouse said, swatting at him. He smiled down at her, his mouth and eyes soft. Wind played with the ends of his hair, and Mouse had the urge to brush her fingers through it.
“She always was rather difficult, even as a child,” a nasal voice sniped from across the lawn.
Mouse froze, her heart sinking to her stomach. She turned toward the driveway. Thornwood squinted into the sun.
Beckett teetered nervously toward them, swinging his briefcaselike a pendulum counting down the minutes until he could return to London. Beside him, dressed in a sleek navy suit and with his pencil-thin mustache, was Carlyle.
Beckett bowed shallowly to Mouse when he reached them and then turned his attention to Thornwood. She could not tear her eyes away from Carlyle, who followed lazily behind. His smile was all oil.
“I am sorry for the surprise, Lady Dewhurst,” said Beckett, “but the phone at the Tithe post office broke, the operator could not get through on yours, and I only thought to send a telegraph when I was already at the train station. We’ve beaten it. The later train from London was canceled, and Mr.Carlyle met me at the office this morning, requesting to join me. I am aware that you’ve already met Mr.Carlyle”—he turned from Mouse to her companion—“but I believe you must be Mr.Thornwood. I heard about you in town.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Thornwood said, bowing to Beckett.
“The same to you. I do not think you are acquainted with Mr.Carlyle,” Beckett said.
“No, I am not,” Thornwood replied, his voice overly friendly and his eyes bright. “Although I have heard much.”
“All good things, I’m sure,” Carlyle said, his eyes flicking over Mouse with distaste, although his smile stayed fixed. “I went to school with Bertie and Miss Dunne’s brother. Oh, forgive me. It’s Lady Dewhurst for now, isn’t it?”
“For now?” Mouse questioned, mimicking Thornwood’s sweetness as best as she could, although she knew her eyes betrayed her.
“I meant ‘now,’ of course,” Carlyle said with a slight bow.
Beckett checked his watch. “We best get moving. There is much of the house to see and only so many hours in the day.”
“What would you like to see first?” Mouse asked.
Opening his briefcase with an authoritative click, Beckett pulled out a piece of paper with an extensive list scribbled down it and onto the back. He pulled out a pen as well before straightening himself. He looked across the grounds, smiling when his eyes landed on the rose garden and a repaired fountain. Droplets of water shimmered in the light like stars.
“The grounds are in excellent shape, Lady Dewhurst. I should have expected that, given your father’s talent as an estate manager.”
Some of the ice in her heart melted before Carlyle’s dreaded voice cut in.
“Yes,” Carlyle said. “I remember you digging in the yard with him, Lady Dewhurst, covered from head to toe in mud. Your education was very hands-on. I suppose your uncle did not mind.”