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“T he arrangement of veins in a leaf is called ‘venation,’” Athena explained.

It was Friday afternoon, and the late-September weather was so delightful that she had moved their botany lesson outdoors.

For the past hour, she and her students had been observing the way plants grew in the wild.

They were now seated on a blanket beneath a giant, oak tree on the far edge of the estate, surrounded by a carpet of fallen autumn leaves.

“Take a look at the intricate structure of this leaf,” Athena went on, holding up a large, golden oak leaf as an example.

“Do you see all these veins? They are closed off and dry now because the leaf has fallen from the tree. But when this leaf was green and new, every one of these veins moved water, nutrients, and sugars.”

“Are the veins in a leaf similar to the ones in our bodies?” asked Miss Russell.

“Indeed! They are both vessels of transport.” Athena was delighted by the girl’s observation. “Can you think of another way in which a leaf’s anatomy can be compared to the human body?”

Miss Russell squinted as if deep in thought. Then, studying her hand, she said, “Well, both have an outside layer, don’t they? In our case, we have skin?”

“Exactly right! Does anyone know what the protective outer layer of a leaf is called?”

Miss Weaver shyly raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss Weaver?”

“It is called its epidermis , which is derived through Latin from the Ancient Greek word for ‘skin.’”

“Girls,” Athena said, impressed, “I suspect we may have a couple of future doctors in our midst.”

Miss Weaver and Miss Russell shrugged modestly, but their bright eyes conveyed their pleasure in the compliment.

Miss Jones shook her head. “Doctors? Women can’t be doctors.”

“Yes, we can,” Athena responded. “Last year, Miss Elizabeth Blackwell earned her medical degree from a college in New York state—the first woman in America to do so. We may not have women doctors in England yet, but if Miss Blackwell could do it, so can you!”

Misses Weaver, Russell, and Jones grinned at this suggestion.

The Gilbert sisters, however, who had been whispering during this exchange, began giggling.

“Miss Gilbert, Miss Cecelia. What is it about our discussion that you find so funny?” Athena asked.

Miss Cecelia bit her lip. “Nothing, Miss Taylor.” She and her sister exchanged a glance and burst out laughing again.

“It is clearly something ,” Athena pointed out. “Please share. We always appreciate a laugh.”

“All right,” Miss Gilbert replied reluctantly. “It’s about…” She blushed and covered her eyes with her hands. “Mr. Chapman!”

All the girls broke into laughter now, their cheeks growing rosy.

“Oh, Miss Taylor, you should have been here on Wednesday!” cried Miss Weaver.

“Mr. Chapman played the pianoforte for an entire hour ,” added Miss Jones. “And we all danced and danced and danced.”

“It was heaven!” exclaimed Miss Cecelia.

“Yes, so you have all said.” Athena was pleased by their enthusiasm.

“And yesterday’s music lesson was such fun!” declared Miss Gilbert.

The girls proceeded to argue about who had gotten the longest time at the pianoforte and which one of them had earned the highest praise from their new music master.

“All right, that’s enough. I’m glad you are enjoying your music lessons and I’m sure Mr. Chapman gave you all equal time at the pianoforte and equal praise.”

She was about to bring the lesson to a close, when Miss Gilbert gave a little gasp, and said, “Miss Taylor, who is that?”

Athena followed the direction of the girl’s stare. Mr. Vernon was climbing over the stile in the fence that separated his property from hers.

Athena started. Why was he walking this way? In the past, whenever she and her sister had noticed him on his side of the fence, he had quickly vanished, as if intent on avoiding an encounter.

“It’s Mr. Vernon,” announced Miss Russell.

Miss Jones said, “Isn’t he the brother of Caroline Vernon, the murderess ?”

The students all squealed in horrified delight.

“Girls, hush. We don’t know that Miss Vernon was actually guilty of murder,” Athena heard herself saying, and she immediately wished she could retract the words.

“What do you mean, Miss Taylor?” Miss Gilbert’s lips parted. “Are you saying that she didn’t do it?”

“That is not a question for this class to ponder,” Athena replied quickly. Over the past two days, Miss Vernon’s awful fate had never been far from Athena’s mind, but she didn’t want to open the matter for discussion with her pupils. It was apparently too late, however; the cat was out of the bag.

“Caroline Vernon’s ghost haunts Thorndale Manor,” Miss Russell proclaimed, with hooded eyes and a mysterious cast to her voice. “ Everyone knows that. ”

“We know no such thing,” Athena insisted.

“The ghost of Caroline Vernon murdered our maid, Sally!” cried Miss Jones, a remark that provoked nervous shrieks and laughter from the other girls.

Just then, Mr. Vernon came striding up. Athena worried that he might have heard this ridiculous comment, but if so, his expression gave no evidence of it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Taylor. Ladies.” He smiled tersely and bowed.

“Mr. Vernon. Good afternoon.” Athena stood and dipped a quick curtsy. The girls were all staring at him frozen and wide-eyed. “Ladies, where are your manners? Stand up, please! And say good afternoon to Mr. Vernon.”

The girls scrambled to their feet and said in unison, “Good afternoon, Mr. Vernon.”

He nodded and turned to Athena. “Pray forgive me for interrupting. I saw you out here and was hoping I could have a word with you when your lesson is finished.”

He was being so cordial. As he had been at the end of their tea at Darkmoor Park. But she still hadn’t forgotten his rude manner at their previous meeting.

“You are not interrupting, sir. Our lesson is finished.” She echoed his polite tone.

To the girls, she instructed, “Please return to the house for period five.” Selena would be waiting for them in the schoolroom.

“Miss Weaver, as you are the oldest, I’m putting you in charge of getting the girls back safely and quickly. ”

“Yes, Miss Taylor. Let’s go girls.” Miss Weaver, with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high, shooed off her classmates, who, with occasional backwards glances at Mr. Vernon, began traipsing back to the manor house.

“You wished to speak to me, sir?” Athena asked.

“Yes. Your sister said something at Darkmoor Park about a lack of new pencils. I had an extra box that I should like to give you.” From his coat pocket, he produced a small, cardboard box imprinted with the familiar Cumberland Pencils trademark and offered it to her.

Athena accepted the box with surprise and gratitude.

“How kind of you.” And how thoughtful that he’d remembered a remark Selena had made in passing.

Athena was beginning to think that her first impressions of Mr. Vernon might not have been the most accurate representation of the man.

“I made a list for the stationer’s, but I was obliged to pay the grocer’s bill instead.

Mrs. Hillman’s endowment, when it arrives, will make things easier, but—this is very timely and much appreciated. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.” He cleared his throat. “Miss Taylor. There is something I have been wanting to say to you for some days now. I wish to apologize for that morning last week at the riverbank.”

“Oh. Sir, there is no need—”

“There is,” he insisted abruptly. “It was a terrible moment, but that is no excuse for the way I behaved.” He looked her in the eye. “I heard what you said under your breath. Just to be clear: I do not hate you.”

Athena flushed as she recalled that awful morning, and the observation she had muttered to herself. She hadn’t realized he had heard it.

“If I’m completely honest, I admit to feeling a bit jealous because you and your sister have had the good fortune to acquire Thorndale Manor,” he added. “But I realize that is not fair or rational.”

“And yet it is completely understandable,” Athena conceded. “I would probably hate me if I were you.”

“As I said, I do not hate you. The blame for what occurred with my family home lies entirely at my departed father’s feet. I transferred my ire to you and for that, I should like to offer my abject apologies. I hope you will forgive me?”

It was a very fine apology. And the look of appeal in his blue eyes was impossible to resist. Athena’s ire melted away as rapidly as an ice chip in the summer sun. “I appreciate what you have said, Mr. Vernon, and I do forgive you.”

His dark brows raised in inquiry as he held out a hand to her. “Friends?”

Athena hesitated. She felt she must maintain a sense of propriety and reserve with him. After all, she still owned his former home, and no matter how magnanimous he was being, it had to irk him. And yet to turn down an offer of friendship would be rude.

“Friends,” she repeated as they exchanged a firm handshake. At his touch, a little shiver raced up her arm. What was that about?

“Thank you.” He took a breath. “And there is something else for which I’d to thank you.”

“Oh?”

“I appreciated you reading to Mrs. Hillman yesterday—it was a clever diversion. It is not healthy for her to get upset. And I’m glad you and your sister are going to read to her on a weekly basis. I know it will mean the world to her.”

“We shall see about that,” Athena replied, trying not to speculate on the cause of that shiver. “Once Mrs. Hillman hears Selena read aloud, I doubt she’ll want me to come anymore.”

“Ha!” He shook his head, his lips twitching. “You are too modest. You are very talented.”

“Well, thank you. I was glad to do it.” With regret, Athena added, “I wish I could continue our conversation, sir, but I must return to the house. I have a class to prepare for.”

“May I accompany you? I used to take daily walks this way, and I miss them.”

“Of course. And please feel free to walk these grounds anytime you like. We are neighbors, after all.”

“Thank you.”