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her ideas, but it was her only idea. “May I take a shot?”
    â€œYou can shoot? When did pistol practice eclipse singing as a feminine accomplishment?”
    â€œWhen my father didn’t have a son. With no son to teach manly pursuits, he taught me instead. Unfortunately, there are unpleasant consequences of my unique upbringing. I’m very poor at needlework, you see.”
    â€œRegrettable tragedy.” He rubbed his chin. “Explains your fondness for coarse fishing. Although you must possess some of the requisite accomplishments.” He lazily surveyed her. “Can you sing?”
    â€œAh, a common question.” She flashed him a sly smile. “When you squeeze a frog, I can sing the exact tune.”
    He chuckled. “Sounds harmonious. Can you play?”
    â€œAfter you squeeze the frog, his arms stiffly shoot out—”
    â€œYour technique?”
    â€œPrecisely.”
    He laughed freely, a happy, rumbling sound.
    She laughed too, and they started back to the terrace. The day was warm, calm, and a bird chattered somewhere close. Gazing up at the rear of Blackwell Hall, she delighted in the house’s situation. All it needed was a garden to complement the scenery. “I find it strange the back of the house has just a lawn and lacks a garden. Imagine how beautiful a formal rose garden would look. In the evening, you could sit on a willow bench while enjoying the perfume of China roses warmed by the day’s sun. Do you know why no formal gardens were planted?”
    â€œNo,” he replied, his arms moving in a slight swing as they walked back uphill. “Mother has yet to mention the landscape. She is interested only in new furniture and her tasty weeds.”
    â€œPardon?” She caught the laughter playing in the corner of his eyes.
    â€œPineapples. Mother is making use of the pinery glasshouse to grow pineapples.”
    â€œOh.” Her arms swung in a rhythm matching his, so she clasped her hands behind her back. “Mr. Thornbury, I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality while Berdy recovers at Blackwell.”
    He halted too and appeared to be considering his next words.
    She faced him directly. “Also, I cannot forget your quick actions immediately after the accident.” She unclasped her hands. “When you rescued Berdy and brought him here, I mean. I’d hate to think of the outcome had I found him by myself.”
    â€œI’m glad he’s feeling better. No thanks are necessary.” He paused. “I understand you are rearing your nephew.”
    â€œYes, ever since my sister’s death. She had hopes of him entering the clergy, rather than following in his father’s footsteps and becoming a gamester.”
    â€œHis father is Mr. Ralph Deane?”
    â€œYes, are you acquainted with him?”
    He stared at his boots. “Not well. A passing acquaintance. I’ve seen him gaming at Brook’s. Still, I’m surprised he’s not raising his son.”
    â€œMy sister married for love and discovered later that her fortune had more to do with Mr. Deane’s reasons to wed. Once she was with child, he abandoned her on a small estate in Yorkshire and returned to his life in London. Before she died, she asked me to care for Berdy. I cannot tell you how surprised I was when Mr. Deane appeared delighted to be spared the trouble of a child about his house. He even called Berdy baggage once.”
    She leaned over to restore the dandelion she had just trampled to its upright position. “Recently, I rather foolishly agreed Berdy could attend the Season in Town before he settles upon a profession. I hope his notion of being a dandy will tire when he discovers he is not the center of attention. I also fear his father leading him into the ways of a gamester, but thankfully Mr. Deane has shown no interest in him.”
    â€œWhat does young Deane hope to accomplish in Town?”
    â€œWhat do all