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smiled—another spontaneous expression, this time one of amused appreciation. Gerrard found himself smiling back.
    “Yes, of course. The gardens are extensive.” She glanced down at her plate. “It’s easy to get lost.”
    Lost in the gardens, or in the web of her distracting personality? Gerrard knew which for him posed the greater danger; he had an excellent sense of direction.
    An hour later, after he’d inspected and approved the attic nursery as his studio and explained how he wished things set out, the four of them met on the terrace.
    “It’s easiest if we start at a spot that has some meaning.” With her furled parasol, Jacqueline pointed at the ridge to the immediate right of the house. “The Garden of Hercules is the most northerly of the gardens, and is also the way to the stables, a fact most gentlemen can be relied upon to remember.” She turned to them. “Shall we?”
    Barnaby flourishingly waved her on. “Lead on, fair damsel—we’ll follow.”
    She laughed and set out. Barnaby fell in beside her.
    Gerrard accompanied Millicent. He’d asked Barnaby to initially escort Jacqueline, giving him an opportunity to square matters with her aunt. They strolled the length of the terrace; by then Barnaby and Jacqueline were far enough ahead to permit private conversation.
    “Thank you for agreeing to this outing,” Gerrard said. “It can’t be all that exciting for you—you must know the gardens like the back of your hand.”
    Millicent smiled. “Actually, I don’t. I’m quite glad to have the opportunity to refresh my memory.”
    Gerrard blinked. “I thought…that is, I assumed this was your home.”
    “It was when I was very young, but our mother vastly preferred life in Bath, and I was the youngest, so I most often went with her. And then Papa died, and she and I stayed in Bath permanently. Over the years, I’ve only visited briefly. Mama became an invalid years ago, and, truth be told, I agreed with her—life at Hellebore Hall is terribly quiet. But then Miribelle, Jacqueline’s mother, died so tragically…My older sisters have families of their own, so of course I came to stay.”
    They’d reached the end of the terrace; Gerrard gave Millicent his arm down a short flight of steps to a gravel path that led to the ridge.
    Once they were strolling again, he asked, “How long ago did Jacqueline’s mother die?” And how?
    “Just fourteen months ago. We’ve only been out of mourning for two months.”
    Gerrard fought to hide his astonishment. Tregonning had been after him to paint Jacqueline for more than two months. Because he was paranoid he’d lose her, too, and wanted the portrait done before he did? That seemed…distinctly odd.
    Before he could frame a useful question, Millicent spoke again.
    “My brother has explained to me, Mr. Debbington, that your work on Jacqueline’s portrait will necessitate your spending considerable time in her company, that you will need to learn about her to lend your work authority. My brother is very keen that the portrait be accurate. I can see that that will inevitably require you to spend time alone with Jacqueline.” Millicent turned a severe, rather dauntingly level gaze on him. “You appear to be an estimable gentleman, sir, and your reputation is spotless. Yes, indeed”—she nodded—“I checked.”
    She looked ahead as they continued strolling. “Consequently, as far as your association with Jacqueline goes, I believe I can trust in your honor. If you will give me your word you will preserve the proprieties to the extent no harm will come to Jacqueline’s good name, then I believe that, in these circumstances, I can relax my vigilance regarding the appropriate distance that should be preserved between gentlemen and young ladies such as my niece.”
    Gerrard blinked. Direct speaking was clearly a family trait; it was distinctly refreshing. “Thank you, ma’am. I give you my word that no harm will come to your niece’s good name