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“I’m excited to see it.” She was rambling a bit anxiously, which he found adorable. “And I’m honored that you would wish to show it to me.”

Her cheeks pinked delightfully and she nodded and beckoned him on.

He stopped when the path turned, then opened up into a fan-shaped corner plot. “Oh, capital.”

She waited, her hands clasped before her tightly.

“That’s a grand Davey Elm.” The tree was old, centered in the middle of the far border, and surrounded by a low, stone hedge wall where shade-loving species could flourish in the shade.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it? It was already here, of course, and it inspired the idea of surrounding it with a local Cornish garden.”

He entered, gazing around, seeing it all lush and green in his mind’s eye. “Are these saplings the apple tree you mentioned? The one that grows in Truro?”

“They are. I hope they will flourish here. We’ll see.” She tilted her head. “You have a good eye.”

“I am a naturalist,” he said, smiling.

“Yes, Tamsyn mentioned it, I remember. Are you studying anything special?”

He looked up and turned about. “There.” He pointed. “Him.”

She looked—and her mouth dropped. “Is that the same bird?”

“I believe so. He followed me through the woods.”

“From the Pixie’s barrow?”

Grimly, he nodded.

She said nothing for a moment, then swallowed.

“I still mean to study him, or some of his friends,” he continued. “I hope to prepare an extensive report on the chough’s habits, and on what might be behind their disappearance from our coasts.” He could not help the hint of pride that colored his tone. “I’ve had the honor of discussing the idea with Sir Joseph Banks, himself. He feels that a comprehensive paper would help secure a spot for me in the Royal Society.”

How wonderful,” she breathed. “And then?”

“Then?”

“What are your dreams? You love the work, it seems, and surely you have goals, ideals for your future. Or do you plan to leave it all behind when you inherit your father’s title?”

“No. My father is young, still, and healthy as an ox, thank goodness. I have years and years before I have to worry about taking on the marquessate.”

“So? What will you do?” She gave him a head to toe look that stirred his blood. “You don’t seem the type to loll around, waiting.”

“No. You are right.” He raised a shoulder. “I mean to travel. The world is full of so many varied things. I want to see the rare lichens in the Yorkshire Dales, the Scottish primrose that only grows in the Highlands and travel to America to see a skunk.”

“Oh, yes, and that plant they have there, along the coast, that eats insects!”

“Exactly. I would happily sail to Madagascar to see a Baobab tree or to Africa to see the things that live in the papyrus swamps.”

“All the differences,” she said, her eyes shining.

He stepped forward, utterly drawn to that glow.

But she glanced nervously at the chough and dropped her gaze.

His heart lurched. He felt as unsteady as a colt on new legs—and as starving for warmth and comfort.

“Speaking of differences,” he said softly, to give her a chance to recover. “I see that this raised bed is filled with a mix of sand and soil.” He strode over. “Are you going to try for some coastal or maritime specimens?”