“Oh,” I say, stupidly. I’ve never had to worry about money, not for a minute. I’ve always taken it for granted that our good name is all the currency I need.

“You must have wondered why I never came home at holidays.” He gives me a funny little smile, as though he hopes I did wonder.

“Your mother told everyone you were with your cousins in Providence.” I’d assumed he’d made fine new friends in the city and forgotten me.

“We couldn’t afford even that. I would have been sunk if Jones hadn’t offered me lodging. I owe him a great debt.”

Oh. I feel guilty now, for all my uncharitable thoughts. “You should have told me. You could have written.”

“I wanted to.” Paul smiles. “I wanted to tell you everything. But to have your father reading it all first—that made it less appealing.”

“As if I couldn’t get around Father,” I huff, affronted.

Paul chuckles and steps closer—far closer than is appropriate. There are only inches separating us; I can feel the warmth of his body almost touching mine. “I’ve missed you.”

I’ve missed him, too. But it was inevitable that our friendship would change as we got older, and perhaps the forcible separation was for the best. After Mother died, when Maura ran wild, keeping the magic a secret was hard. Keeping it from Paul would have been nearly impossible.

“Can you forgive me? I know you must have been angry.”

I duck my head. “No, I—”

“I know you better than that. Come now. Mad as a hornet?”

I grin, sheepish. “A whole nest of them. It—hurt. A bit. That you weren’t here.”

Paul takes my hand. The smile fades from my face. “I’m sorry for it. Truly,” he says.

“Paul!” Mrs. McLeod’s querulous voice calls. “Let Miss Cahill go inside before she catches a chill!”

“Indeed, Miss Cahill, we know what a delicate flower you are,” Paul teases.

I roll my eyes and give a very unladylike snort. “Indeed.”

“So you forgive me, then?” His hand grips mine, burning warm even through the kid gloves that separate our skin.

“Of course.”

Paul’s eyes search mine. “May I call on you tomorrow afternoon?”

My heart beats faster. As an old friend? Or as a potential suitor?

When I asked whether he was back to stay, and he saidwe’ll see—what did that mean? Does he intend to court me in earnest? The sense of panic that’s been battering at me for the last few months eases just a little.

I’m suddenly very aware that he is still holding my hand.

“Yes. Only”—I wrinkle my nose—“the house may be in a bit of an uproar. Our new governess is arriving in the morning.”

“Governess?” Paul’s eyes go wide. “Lord help her. How many have you gone through?”

“This is the first, thank you. Father’s been tutoring us, but he’s going to be away most of the fall. And how do you know we haven’t become exceedingly polite young ladies while you were gone?”

Paul brings my hand to his lips, turns it over, and presses a kiss to the bare bit of skin at my wrist. He’s held my hand dozens of times over the years, boosted me up onto horses and into trees. This is entirely different. It leaves me gaping at him, mouth open like a ninny.

He winks at me and doffs his hat. “Because I knowyou. See you tomorrow, Cate.”

Chapter 4

“SHE’S HERE!” TESS CALLS. “SHE’S here!” She and Maura scamper out the front door before I can stop them. Father and I follow, with more decorum but just as much curiosity. Our carriage is rattling slowly up the potholed drive with the new governess inside. I’m not optimistic. After all, Mrs. Corbett recommended her, didn’t she? I’d wager she’s some sheltered convent girl, brought up by the Sisters to earn her livelihood teaching dull, demure young ladies to become dull, demure wives. I’m expecting a prim miss given to sprouting platitudes.

So I’m quite surprised when the carriage door is flung open and Sister Elena hops out without even waiting for John to hand her down. She swishes up to the porch, taffeta petticoats rustling, moving as though she owns the place.

Maura was right. Sister Elena is pretty—no, beautiful—with smooth brown skin and black ringlets peeking out from beneath her hood. And she’s fashionable—as fashionable as the Brothers’ strictures will allow. Her dress has a wide bell skirt in a soft pink that reminds me of Mother’s peonies. A pleated black silk cummerbund draws attention to her small waist, and black velvet slippers adorn her feet.

“Sister Elena, welcome,” Father says, stepping forward. “We’re glad to have you. These are my daughters, Catherine, Maura, and Teresa.”

“Cate, please,” I correct.

“And Tess.” Tess is half hiding behind me, her blond head resting against my shoulder.

“Certainly. If we’re to dispense with the formalities, you must call me Elena. I’m so glad to meet you all.” Elena smiles, her chocolate eyes tilting up at the corners. “I’m certain we’ll get along famously. I’ve always been fast friends with my pupils.”

Father looks relieved, but I bristle at her boldness. She doesn’t know a thing about us, and Regina Corbett’s bosom friendship hardly recommends her tome. Father inquires after her journey, whether the inn she stayed at last night was satisfactory, whether she might like to see her room and freshen up before they discuss our curriculum, while my temper commences a slow boil.

Elena can’t be more than a few years older than me. She’s a member of the Sisters, which means she spends much of her time walled up in their cloisters in New London. What can she teach us about the world or about catching a husband?

I remember Paul’s words from yesterday—Lord help her—and grin.

“Cate?” Father says, and I startle, the mad smile slipping from my face. “Would you show Sister Elena to her room?”

“I’ll do it,” Maura volunteers, grabbing Elena’s leather valise and leaving John to bring her trunk. “You’ll be in the room directly across from mine. It’s got a beautiful view of the gardens.”

“Ah, yes. Mrs. Corbett mentioned you’ve got the magic touch with flowers, Miss Cate.”

Her tongue trips over the word lightly, but I look at Elena hard. She’s giving me a bland smile. Perhaps it’s just a figure of speech, albeit a dangerous one.

“Thank you,” I say uncertainly. “I do enjoy being outdoors.”

“My late wife—” Father begins, then coughs. “She spent a great deal of time in the gardens. Cate inherited her mother’s talent for growing things.”

I give Father a startled look. I wasn’t aware he thought I had any talent; this is the first I’ve heard of it. Maura leads Elena inside, pointing out the sitting room, Father’s study, and the dining room before leading her upstairs. Maura bounces like a child, whereas Elena walks sedately, back straight, trailing a gloved hand along the curved wooden balustrade like a queen. I scurry after them.

“You’ve a lovely home,” Elena says, pausing at the top of the stairs to admire the painting of Great-Grandmother. She was a petite woman with pale blond curls like Tess’s. She wasn’t pretty, though—she had a cadaverous face, with a complexion like old milk. But she was strong. She raised four children, buried two, and kept the farm running even after a fever took her husband.