Page 41 of The Cottage at Brambleton Hall

Magnus watched her, waiting by each door like a driving instructor with his foot hovering over the brake.

‘Indeed,’ he said.

That one, she knew now. Meeting ‘the standard’. A surge of pride pulsed through her.

They moved from room to room. Sammy worked, her hands steadier, her eye quicker.

In the last bedroom, he showed her how to prepare the room for guests ‘to retire to’, removing the velvet bedspread and folding either side of the duvet back at the top in matching triangles. He replaced the quilt. ‘Now you try,’ he suggested.

Sammy removed the bedspread, buckling under the weight, then folded back the duvet. She turned back the side, tugged the duvet straight, and frowned.

‘It’s like it’s fighting me,’ she said, under her breath. ‘Very passive-aggressive linen.’

Magnus made a sound.

Sammy checked on him. He was smiling. No. More than a smile. An unexpected laugh slipped out before he caught it.

Sammy patted the fold flat.

‘It is not passive-aggressive, Miss Jenkins,’ Magnus said, recovering himself. ‘It is incorrectly aligned.’

Sammy stared at him. ‘You laughed,’ she said.

‘I did not.’

‘You absolutely did.’

The faintest shift of an eyebrow. ‘Proceed,’ he said.

Sammy smoothed the fabric into place. ‘Right,’ she said, smiling to herself. ‘Correctly aligned.’

Eleven

Nate was already beside the lake, feed bucket in hand, when he saw her coming down the path.

Inviting Miss Jenkins to feed the ducks that first time had been a mistake. Not a serious one. Just the sort of small, avoidable mistake that tended to lead to larger complications.

Late summer had settled over the lake. On the banks, reeds rustled, their tips scorched brown by the sun. The surface lay mostly still, broken only by the slow movement of ducks cutting across it. The air felt warm, carrying the faint sweetness of wild growth and water.

‘Hi,’ she said.

‘Hello, Miss Jenkins.’

She held up a tin. ‘I made something for you.’

He took the tin weighing it in his hands, trying to recall the last time someone gave him a present. ‘You didn’t need to.’

‘I know,’ she said. ‘But I did anyway. It’s a cake – apparently, my baking is adequate.’

A brief laugh escaped before he could stop it. ‘Thanks.’

He set the tin on the grass and switched his focus back to the water scattering feed in a wide arc. The ducks closed in quickly, cutting across the surface.

She crouched beside him. ‘Bay,’ she said, pointing to the drake. ‘Juniper.’ A smaller hen. ‘And that one there hiding in the reeds – that’s Thyme.’

‘They don’t have names,’ Nate said.

‘They do now.’