Her chest tightened. The rose arbor, where she and Crewe had walked that morning, where he had spoken of his mother, where something had shifted between them that she was still struggling to name.
She kept her expression neutral as she passed him the paper. "The rose arbor. Unless you have a different interpretation."
He read the words, and she watched recognitionflicker across his features in the tightening of his jaw and the slight pause before he spoke. "Lovers walked," he repeated quietly. "Clara has a romantic imagination."
"Clara has an excellent memory." Alice began walking before her voice could betray her. "This way."
They emerged from the maze and crossed the garden toward the crimson-draped arbor, where roses cascaded in waves of scarlet and wine. The scent reached them first, heavy, sweet, and almost overwhelming in the afternoon warmth. Alice breathed it in, recalling the brush of petals against her fingers and the quiet grief in Crewe's voice as he spoke of his mother.
The token was not immediately visible.
"Keeper of petals," she murmured, scanning the structure. "Steady hands and observant eyes."
Crewe spotted it, tucked into a tree hollow just beyond the arbor's reach, where an ancient oak spread its branches over the roses like a protective parent. "There," he said, pointing. "But how?—"
Alice was already moving. A stone bench stood beneath the tree, decorative rather than practical, its surface just wide enough for a pair of determined feet. She gathered her skirts in one hand and stepped onto it before Crewe could object.
"Lady Alice?—"
"Spare me your concerns." She reached for the hollow, her fingertips brushing the bark. “I have climbed higher than this many times."
The token was just beyond her reach. She rose onto her toes, one hand bracing against the trunk, her body stretching into a position that would have scandalized her mother and delighted her younger self. The brass disc caught the light, tantalizingly close.
Her fingers closed around it.
"Ha!" She pulled the token free, brandishing it like a trophy, and looked down to find Crewe watching her with an expression she could not immediately categorize. Reluctant admiration, perhaps, or the frustration of a man whose expectations had been upended.
"You might have fallen," he said.
"I did not fall." She stepped down from the bench with deliberate grace and straightened her skirts. “Leastwise, I rarely do."
He took the token from her hand, his fingers brushing hers briefly, warm even through their gloves. “You are rather good at this," he said, and the words sounded as if they had been extracted from him by force, each syllable reluctant.
Warmth stirred in her chest—pleasure, certainly,but also something more complicated. "Was that another compliment, Lord Crewe?"
"An observation." His eyes held hers a moment too long, and the corner of his mouth twitched in what might, generously, be called the beginning of a smile.
They unfolded the fourth riddle together, heads bent over the paper in unwitting intimacy.
Neptune's tears in marble hands,
Where water flows at stern commands,
The tokens hide where naiads play,
In shadows cast at close of day.
Crewe frowned. "Neptune's tears. Another fountain?"
"Not quite." Alice's mind raced as she sorted through her mental inventory of the gardens. "The lily pond. The statue of Neptune at its center holds a bowl that catches water from the ornamental falls. Marble hands, stern commands, shadows at dusk. The western light casts shadows toward the naiads at the pond's edge."
She looked up to find Crewe's eyebrows raised, a small movement that spoke volumes.
"How did you…” He stopped himself. "Never mind. Lead on."
They walked toward the lily pond, their pace quickening, the competitionhumming between them like a plucked string. Other pairs were visible in the distance. The sisters arguing near the fountain, Mr. Davenant scratching his head beside the hedge maze, but Alice and Crewe were clearly ahead.
"You know," she said as they rounded the bend toward the water, "you might try enjoying this."
