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“Gurglewood.” He paused. “The name of my hunting box.”

Ah, yes, she knew he had such a property; she just hadn’t known it to be thus named.

As if he could see inside her mind, he said, “I’m trying out names for it. What do you think of Gurglewood?”

“It’s …”

“The property isn’t too terribly far east of Mollybrook. We decided to stay closer to home for this year’s Earls Trip. It’s quite pretty. There is a brook that runs strong and clear, and a small thatch of woods.”

“Ah. Hence the name. Gurglewood.”

“Yes. Too literal?”

She wouldn’t presume to verbalize her agreement, though she suspected Lord Harcourt would only smile if she did.

“Well, it is superior to River’s Embrace, which was Lord Stonely’s suggestion.” He snorted. “While the brook is lovely, it is hardly a river, and I should think being ‘embraced’ by a river would be an unpleasant, perhaps even fatal, occurrence.”

“Yes, River’s Embrace is perhaps a tad too poetical.” Lord Harcourt’s friend Lord Stonely was a poet who tended toward the dramatic. Though Diantha had read and enjoyed many of his poems, she preferred novels. And when it came to reading Lord Harcourt’s friends’ writing, she was more inclined toward Lord Marsden’s speeches, which were often printed in the papers.

“I shall continue to ponder the matter,” Lord Harcourt said. “The matter of a name arose because while the property has historically been a rustic, masculine retreat, I’ve undertaken a renovation, the centerpiece of which is a pool for taking the waters. You may or may not be aware that natural springs exist in the area.”

“I am familiar with Royal Turnbridge Wells, which I believe must be nearby?”

“Precisely. Have you taken the waters there? ’Tis the same water that flows under … Gurglewood.”

“No, no. I am merely aware of the existence of it as a spa town. I grew up in a village called Barbury, which isn’t far.”

“Right. I forget that you haven’t always been with us, Miss Brown. But of course you came via the friendship of our mothers, which was aided, I am sure, by geographic proximity.”

“Yes,” she said carefully. She had never been sure how much Lord Harcourt knew about her family’s tragic history. She suspected that Lady Harcourt, then of sound mind and recently widowed, had insisted on Diantha as her companion, and that Lord Harcourt, newly the earl, had simply written the necessary letters—and arranged the necessary bank drafts.

“People say the waters in the region have healing properties,” he said. “All manner of curative claims are made. I don’t know about that, but immersion should lift the spirits regardless, do you not think?”

Oh, Lord Harcourt. He had built a pool for the mother who no longer knew him as a son.

“Perhaps we can visit with your mother at some point? Is that what you are suggesting? If so, I think it a fine idea.” Perhaps Diantha would be able to take the waters, too. She didn’t think of herself as overly sentimental, but there was something about the image he had conjured of a pool next to a brook. She would like to try it at night, under the stars. Though she supposed the darkness would mean one wouldn’t be able to see the brook. Still, one of the things she missed from her life in Barbury, perhaps the only thing—other than her sister, of course—was the freedom to be outside at night. There was something about a cool night draped with winking stars that, speaking of soothing, had a pleasantly tranquilizing effect.

And who knew? Perhaps the waters did have curative properties and would temper her bilious nature.

“That is precisely what I’m suggesting,” Lord Harcourt said. “Next month, the second week of Earls Trip.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The three of us gents shall go as usual for the first week, and the second we will be joined by my wife and her sister, by Stonely’s wife, and by you and Mother.”

For the second time today, Diantha found herself without words.

While she appreciated Lord Harcourt’s devotion, she was not inclined to interfere with his holiday. Caring for an ill parent was not for the faint of heart, and she truly believed that his annual trips with his friends were essential for his well-being.

“We really can manage without you, my lord. Though the idea is very generous.”

“It wasn’t my idea; it was Marsden’s. Earls Trip has to change with the times, he claims. Two of us are married. We’re all older. We’ve different responsibilities than we had when the tradition started, and rather than chuck it all out, we’ve decided on … what word did Marsden use? ‘Transfiguration.’” He chuckled. “The transfiguration of Earls Trip.”

Transfiguration. Lord Harcourt probably thought Lord Marsden meant the word in its colloquial sense, the idea of changing the appearance of something. And possibly that was how he’d meant it. But Lord Marsden had been to seminary. He often used religious metaphors in ways Diantha wasn’t always entirely sure were metaphors. It was one of the many mysterious yet compelling aspects of his character.

“It is all settled.” Lord Harcourt brushed his hands together, and gone was her partner in caretaking, her fellow soldier. Her employer had returned. Which was fine. It was good to remember, especially today, her role in this household.

Dismissed, Diantha sneaked to her room for a brief respite. She took the long way, up the servants’ staircase in the back. She wasn’t required to use that staircase, but it would save her from passing the music room in which Mrs. Saunders sat with Lady Harcourt. She did not want Mrs. Saunders to know she was taking a break. There was no express rule against it, but Diantha was companion to Lady Harcourt, and the only thing that supplanted that was being summoned for an audience with Lord Harcourt or directed elsewhere by him.