She took Elizabeth's surprise for hesitancy. "It's really all right. They like to show it off," she said in a low and conspiratorial tone.

"Is the countess an avid gardener, then?" Elizabeth asked, and saw the young girl's face contort first in surprise and then amusement. "Or perhaps it is the Earl of Breadalbane ..."

The girl said, "Breadalbane doesn't care anything for flowers. I do, but I can't claim any part of this--" She inclined her head toward the garden. And then, perhaps because Elizabeth was looking confused, she added: "I am the Countess of Loudoun."

"Oh," said Elizabeth, quite taken aback. "Pardon me, I did not realize."

The girl flushed. "You are surprised. You must have heard those silly stories about my lungs," she said with some irritation. "Everybody thinks I'm an invalid. Well, I am not."

"Yes, I can see that," Elizabeth said. And then, "It must be very vexing to have people think you unwell when you are in good health."

The countess narrowed her eyes. "Yes. It is indeed very vexing, that is just the right word. You are very good with words."

"Thank you," Elizabeth said, amused in spite of the seriousness of this situation. "Who is it that takes credit for the garden, if it is not you, Countess?"

"It is Lady Isabel's doing," said the girl. "The wife of my curator. She spends all her time here terrorizing the gardeners, even though--" She stopped, and bit her lower lip thoughtfully. "Would you care to see the pond?"

Elizabeth wondered at herself, that she should hesitate when this opportunity came so naturally. She clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling, and she followed the girl down the flagstone path.

Even in her anxiety Elizabeth could not overlook the beauty of the gardens. Around every corner was a surprise, a bench surrounded by rose campion and clouds of white phlox, a corner where tiny bluebells cascaded over a deep green mat, an arbor thick with scarlet clematis as big as her hand. There were no gardeners at work now, on a Sunday afternoon--just the subtle hum of bees and, somewhere near, the soft splash of water on rocks. Her guide was content to let her look, and Elizabeth was very glad of it, for she had no idea what she might say if she should come upon Lady Isabel unexpectedly.

They came out onto a grassy slope that ran down to a pond, fed by a thin stream that erupted from an outcropping of rock. Three slender white birch stood at one end, sending their shadows dancing over the water. A dragonfly hovered above a clutch of cream and pink water lilies.

"How lovely." Elizabeth only breathed it, but in the shadows on the far side of the pond there was a rustle of skirts. A woman sat up from a chair. She was wrapped in a shawl, and veiling hung from the brim of her hat.

"Flora?"

"There's a lady here to see the garden," called the young countess. "An English lady. She stopped to look at your roses."

Elizabeth's breath came short and fast, but she managed to control her voice. "Pardon me, please. I did not intend to intrude--"

"You are not intruding," said the girl, with some irritation. "I brought you. Lady Isabel likes to take people around her garden, don't you, Isabel?"

"I do." She pushed herself out of her chair with some effort--Elizabeth thought she must have been very deeply asleep--and started toward them around the pond. She moved like a woman of seventy rather than one of thirty, and for a moment Elizabeth wondered if she had come to the wrong place, stumbled upon some other Isabel. So complete was her confusion that when the woman stopped before her, she did not hesitate or think, but gave her own name to the anonymous face behind the veil.

"How do you do," she said. "I am Mrs. Elizabeth Bonner, of New-York State."

There was a small silence, which a jay interrupted with a harsh cry.

"Flora," said Lady Isabel softly. "Please tell Cook I will take tea here wi' my guest. And tell Mrs. Fitzwilliam that I dinna want tae be disturbed."

Elizabeth wished very much to see Lady Isabel's face, but she must be content with her voice, which gave no hint of surprise or displeasure.

"But--"

"It is verra rude tae stare, Flora," she said gently.

The girl nodded.

"Ye may come back tae sit wi' us after ye've talked tae Cook."

This seemed to reassure the girl, and she ran off.

Lady Isabel said, "I prefer tae sit in the shade, if that will suit?"

Elizabeth found her voice again. "Yes, thank you. That will suit very well." She touched her handkerchief to her brow, perspiring suddenly in the cool of the garden.

Flora was back very quickly, out of breath and flushed. She sat on the ground next to Lady Isabel's lawn chair and tucked her legs beneath herself.

"Ye came alone," said Lady Isabel. "Are ye verra brave, or just headstrong?"

"Perhaps I am both," Elizabeth said.

They sat for a moment listening to birds calling back and forth in the trees, and then Flora--it was hard to think of her as the Countess of Loudoun-- surprised Elizabeth and Isabel both.

"Did Carryck send you, or was it Jean Hope?"

The girl knew the whole story, then-- certainly she knew more than Elizabeth did of Lady Isabel's flight from Carryckcastle.

"No," Elizabeth said. "Nobody sent me. Nobody knows that I am here." Except Nathaniel, she might have added, but stopped herself.

"O' course they didna send ye," said Lady Isabel evenly. "Ma faither wadna take sic a risk. Ye do realize the danger?"