Chapter Thirty-One

"And what about the Lavignes? Helene?" I asked.

Mrs Finch smiled, a dangerous sort of smile. "We take them with us, of course."

"Take them with us?" I repeated.

"It will stir the pot nicely, I think." She chuckled, and if her smile was dangerous, then this laughter was deadly. "Oh yes, I think it will work very well indeed. They will scramble. They will make a mistake. And we will strike. Oliver can announce the trip tonight at the party. As a surprise for his newfound family."

"You can't imagine we will still be having the party?" Oliver growled. "I can't even look at those people."

"You must." Izzy jumped in. "Oliver, it is imperative that the Lavignes do not suspect you know any of this. Everything must be just as it was. It's the only way you will catch them and uncover the full truth."

At this, Oliver's jaw tightened, but he managed to incline his head in a small, sharp nod.

"Mari, you will write to your family," Mrs Finch said. "Let them know that your trip has been extended by a couple of days. I do not anticipate that we will be in France for long; I think that once the cat is set among the pigeons, a conclusion will not be far behind."

What the outcome of this conclusion would be, none of us knew.

"I will speak to Barker and make sure all the arrangements are in place for us to leave tomorrow. We can travel back as far as London with Max and Izzy," Mrs Finch said. "Izzy will inform Winnie and Maud, and they can follow behind. I will telegraph Sylla that we are en route."

I felt a moment of relief. Sylla, Maud and Winnie. The whole charm together. Then I remembered we would be together in Paris, and my mind happily returned to panic as well as a tentative emotion it took me a moment to identify as anticipation.

"Good," Izzy said. "Now, with that all decided, we should start getting ready. It's not every day you attend your friends' pretend engagement celebration."

There was a knock at the door, and Oliver opened it a cautious crack, peering out before pulling it open more widely to reveal Barker standing at the threshold.

"Sorry to interrupt," Barker said, utterly unfazed by all of us crowded in secret conference in Max and Izzy's room. "I sent those parcels to Mrs Finch's room – the ones you asked for, Your Grace." He directed this comment at Izzy. "And if you're ready, the lads will bring the rest of your luggage up."

"Perfect, thank you, Barker." Izzy smiled, then she looked to Mrs Finch. "I visited Madame Solange as you requested and spoke to Iris."

The tension left Mrs Finch's face, replaced by a small, pleased smile. "Excellent." She turned her attention to me. "Mari was only asking the other day after my dressmaker. Now she will experience her talent for herself."

"You ordered me a gown?" My brows rose.

"Certainly." Mrs Finch sniffed. "It is your engagement party, Mari."

"I can't believe you found the time to organize such a thing," I said.

Mrs Finch looked affronted. "Marigold Bloom," she replied. "I may be a brilliant, singular mind managing a secret organization of exceptional women as we fight against the tyranny of an oppressively patriarchal society, but there is always time for fashion."

Hours later I gripped my glass of champagne, watching the couples swirling around the dance floor in front of me with a curious feeling of detachment.

Almost everyone in this room – and it seemed, suddenly, as though there were so many people, far more than the forty I knew had been invited – believed that this whole party was in celebration of an engagement that didn't exist, between me and the man who stood beside me, his posture rigid as he too watched the dancers. Several people – whose names I had already forgotten – stood with us, and one man was opining on the subject of estate maintenance and the lack of good help available these days.

My eyes darted to where the Lavignes stood, deep in conversation with another couple, watching Helene dance gracefully with a man about her own age. It was hard to smile into their faces while knowing that they had lied and tricked their way into this house, into Oliver's family.

In a way, I had thought the party full of guests would be easier. Easier than lying to people I knew and loved, easier than maintaining a fiction over a period of days for the suspicious Lavignes. A sort of superficial level of dishonesty. But it wasn't easier.

Standing here, in the scrupulously cleaned and polished ballroom, surrounded by displays of fragrant flowers that I had arranged myself, candlelight flickering seductively over the scene, it was more like being shoved out on a stage in a gilded theatre – and I was no actress.

Then there was also the matter that those displays of flowers reminded me jarringly of this afternoon's scene in the flower room. If anything, I was trying very hard not to let my feelings for Oliver slip through, not to let them show. Perhaps that was a mistake because it would have helped us to appear more convincing as a couple, but I couldn't do it. I was afraid that if I looked up at him, then he would see the naked yearning in my eyes and realize that it wasn't an act at all.

I didn't have the luxury of falling in love with Oliver Lockhart, I knew, because something so foolish could only end in disaster. I wasn't prepared to deal with that sort of heartache. I had too many people who were depending on me, and right now one of those people was Oliver himself. I needed my attention to be on finding his sister, not on how nice he smelled, or how tall and strong he was, or how he looked when he smiled, or the way he had said Bloom earlier, as if I were something precious and wonderful.

"I think I need some air," I said, my voice tight. "Please excuse me for a moment." With that, I turned and edged round the dance floor, where I noticed Max and Izzy were dancing in perfect harmony, gazing at each other as though no one else existed. Max leaned down and whispered something in Izzy's ear, and she laughed, the sound a burst of pure joy.

I made my way through the crowds, nodding and smiling, and accepting the congratulations of people as I passed, until I was out in the cool quiet of the hallway.

I let my feet take me in the direction of the garden, greeting the chill of the air against my heated cheeks with relief.

It was a cloudless night, still as a tomb, and as I looked up I realized there was something else that was different away from the fog and smoke of London: spread over me like a taut length of midnight silk was the clear night sky.

I felt my breath catch as I stared. A riot of stars scattered carelessly across the black, each one a pinprick of pure silver light. There were thousands, and I could only stand, dazzled by the way they wheeled overhead.

"Pretty, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind me, and I don't know why I was surprised to find that Oliver had followed me – after all, he was probably more eager to get away from the crowds than I was.

"It's beautiful," I replied. "I have never seen so many stars. At home, they are hidden… I suppose it's silly, but I didn't imagine there could be so many." It made me feel very, very small, but the feeling was not unpleasant.

Oliver came to stand beside me, and we both stood there, looking up for a moment.

"Are you cold?" he asked finally.

"No, not at all," I said. "It was too warm in there. Too many people."

"I know," Oliver huffed. "I swear Mrs Finch must have added another dozen invitations to the list without me noticing."

"At least," I agreed with a smile.

"How ever did she even get all these people up here?" He sighed. "It is supposed to be one of the benefits of living in the middle of nowhere that no one can get here at a moment's notice."

"I think she can do anything," I said reverently. "Part of me thinks she could have flown them here if she set her mind to it. She planned this whole thing, while running the Aviary, schemed all her schemes and still managed to remember to order a gown made to my exact measurements – which I certainly didn't give her." I broke off here, glanced around and leaned towards him. "I think she might have measured me in my sleep," I whispered.

Oliver huffed out a laugh. When he looked down at me, his eyes were warm. "Whatever her underhand machinations may have been, it was worth it. You look lovely."

"Oh, thank you," I said, thrown by the simple sincerity of his tone, no trace of his usual dryness. I ran my hands over the soft silk of my skirts. "I know we have much more important things to focus on, but I have to admit it was love at first sight for me. I've never worn anything like it."

The dress that Mrs Finch had pulled from between layers of thin tissue paper was a dream. Made in the exact tender green of spring, the neckline was cut in a broad arc, sitting wide on my shoulders. Cinched at the waist, but not at all restrictive, it fell out into a wide pool of silk that diffused into a darker green at the bottom. The elbow-length sleeves and the hem of the dress were embroidered with delicate spikes of pink heather, just like I had seen on the moors.

Heather. Calluna. Meaning: luck and protection.

With my hair pinned up in a loose crown of rose-gold curls threaded with matching heather-pink ribbon, I felt like a fairy queen, and hard as the evening had been, I had to admit that Mrs Finch was on to something when it came to the importance of clothes – this dress felt like armour. Even Mrs Lavigne had been stunned into silence when I had come floating down the stairs, confident that whatever other problems I had, worrying about looking the part was not one of them.

Mrs Finch, glorious herself in a gown of spangled navy tulle, had only beamed like the cat who'd got the cream, while Helene and Izzy descended into raptures over me.

"You look very handsome too," I said to Oliver now, running my eyes appreciatively over the fine black suit, his usual monochrome appearance broken up by the inclusion of a copper-coloured brocade waistcoat. His jacket fitted him like a glove, the tapered waist and tails emphasizing his tall, lean body, and his black tie was worn in a neat bow, as enticing as the ribbon on a present.

Looking at him properly was, I realized, a mistake, because suddenly my mouth had gone dry and my palms were clammy. My eyes swung away, towards the dark shadows of the garden in front of us, lit only by the light streaming from the house.

Oliver cleared his throat. "Perhaps," he began, unusually tentative, "we could … dance."

"Dance?" I squeaked. "I – I thought you hated dancing. Do you even know how?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Madam," he said grandly, "I am a gentleman."

"Well, I am no lady," I muttered, cheeks flushing. "I don't know how to do those fancy waltzes."

The music drifted softly through the open doors. The smile Oliver gave me was soft, secret.

"Ah, but the beauty of the waltz is that you only need the right partner." He held out his hand. "Follow me?"

Unable to resist, I watched my fingers touch his as though I had no control over them. His hand wrapped round mine; his other hand went to the small of my back, gently tugging me in towards him.

My heart seemed to be on a mission to beat out of my chest as he began to guide me in the steps. It took a minute or two, but I realized as I softened into his touch that he was right, that if I let the pressure of his hands guide me, then I could dance. Sort of. It was probably the worst waltz in the history of waltzing, but as I felt his fingers tight round mine, his shoulder, warm and solid under my touch, the heat of his tall body crowding my own, I didn't care. I was floating.

"You mowed the lawn," I said, if only for something to say, something that neither of us had mentioned. I hoped he wouldn't notice the huskiness in my voice.

He nodded. "Someone told me it was the best place to start, if I wanted to set the garden to rights."

"And do you?" I asked. "Want to set the garden to rights?"

He lifted the shoulder under my fingers in a shrug. "I think it's what my mother would have wanted. It would have made her unhappy to see it as it is now. Though I'm not sure I have the vision to do it justice. What would you do?" His eyes slid to me. "If it were yours?"

I tried not to look as if I had been thinking about exactly that since the first time I glimpsed it out of my bedroom window.

"Well, I suppose you could repair the pergola," I said offhandedly. "Then train some plants over it. Wisteria is always magical in early summer, and then clematis as well. That would give you flowers all the way through to autumn." I nodded towards it. "You could have seats under there, in the shade. Somewhere soft and inviting to curl up with a book and enjoy the view."

As he spun us back towards the lawn, I continued dreamily. "Then you could reinstate the existing flower beds, but I would extend the one on the west side all the way down the lawn and then sweep it into a wide curve. It would soften everything and make it feel less formal. I'd focus on a pallet of purples, blues and whites, but with some deep pinks too. Nothing too structured, but a little wild-looking, tumbling, romantic – some lovely scented roses too, fat and pretty, with a bench to sit on and enjoy them." I briefly lifted my hand and pointed off to the side before returning it to his shoulder. "Over there I would put in a large pond with a water feature – there's nothing nicer than the sound of running water when you're sitting in a garden.

"I'd have steps going down to the back lawn and repair the wall so that it was a proper walled garden again. You could grow beds of flowers like a nursery there, fruit and vegetables too if you were interested. And then, most importantly, the greenhouse." I closed my eyes for a moment. "There is space for a huge greenhouse, and what you could grow in there … well, the possibilities are limitless. You could grow rare tropical plants, propagate the most temperamental roses, and you could do it on such a scale…" I trailed off here and glanced up to find Oliver looking down at me with laughter in his eyes.

"It sounds," he said solemnly, "as though you have given the matter some thought."

"No! I… It just… You asked for my opinion!" I flushed, the words coming out defensively.

"I did," he agreed. "And I'm glad." His eyes drifted over the land in front of us as if he were picturing the scene I had described. "I like the way you talk about it."

"It's a joy, really," I said simply, as he spun me under the stars. "It all comes out of joy. Making something like a garden, it takes patience and hard work. You don't see the results at once; sometimes you don't see the results for years. It's an exercise in hope."

"You make it sound … healing," Oliver said.

I beamed. "That is precisely what it is. If you ask me, doctors should be prescribing it. And you're so lucky, Lockhart … all this space. Where I live there is no space like this. I know you have difficult feelings about the house, but for what it's worth, I think that if you wanted to you could make it something better than the story of its past. I think your garden could be part of that."

He was silent at that, but I saw the muscle in his jaw tic. The music swelled.

"I think perhaps you have already found a way to use your gift," he said finally, roughly, "to make the world a better place."

We looked at one another for a long moment, the air between us crackling with something that I was trying so hard to deny. Our feet had stopped moving. I pulled my hands away from him.

"Thank you for the dance," I said, though the words came out in a whisper. I had to stop this at once. All this tingling. It wasn't appropriate. It wasn't why I was here. "We should go back. You need to make your big announcement."

"Yes," he replied. "I suppose so, though standing up in front of that crowd and making a speech is far from my ideal way to spend the evening."

"I will be right there next to you," I said, and the words drew a small smile.

"Thank you, Bloom," Oliver murmured. "After you brutally accosted me the first time we met, I never dreamed those words would be so reassuring."

"I did not brutally accost you!" I exclaimed, taking his proffered arm as we turned and headed back to the house. "It was an accident, and actually I think you have been a tremendous baby about the whole thing…"

"A baby!" Oliver interrupted, clearly insulted. And the two of us bickered all the way inside.

I tried not to enjoy it too much.

Minutes later Oliver and I stood up at the front of the ballroom, everyone's eyes on us. Beside me, I could feel him almost vibrating with tension, could see the way he gripped his glass of champagne so tightly it looked as though it might shatter, and yet to the rest of the guests I knew he seemed the picture of commanding elegance. I felt my own spine stiffen with determination. If he could do this, then so could I.

"I would like to thank you all for being here on this happy occasion," Oliver said. "I had no idea that I had so many friends who could drop in at a moment's notice," he added dryly. "This is in fact a double celebration for my family. First of all, we are here to celebrate the frankly unbelievable fact that Miss Marigold Bloom has agreed to become my wife." Here, he looked at me, and I saw the glint of humour in his eyes.

"She is – as I'm sure you are all aware by now – not only beautiful but clever, determined and far too good for the likes of me."

The audience tittered good-naturedly, though none of the humour remained in Oliver's face. He looked at me for a long moment, his expression serious, and I felt something pass between us again, a throbbing echo of the feelings that had fluttered through me in the flower room. He cleared his throat and continued.

"The other reason we are here, of course, is because – as many of you may have heard whispers of – my sister, Ellen, has been returned to Lockhart Hall, thanks to the intervention of her adoptive parents, Mr and Mrs Lavigne." Now, all the attention moved to the Lavignes, where they stood near us, smiling and looking the picture of innocent delight. Helene, in contrast, appeared to be quite uncomfortable.

A murmur went round the room. Of course the news of Helene's arrival had become the juiciest piece of gossip in town days ago, but now that people could actually see her with their own eyes, there was a feverish edge to their interest. This was not so surprising given the wildly romantic story.

"In fact," Oliver continued, and I felt my heartbeat pick up, knowing what was about to happen, but not how it would play out, "my fiancée and I have organized a surprise for our honoured guests."

I was watching closely, so I noticed that there was a flicker of wariness in Mr Lavigne's face, but his wife betrayed no such emotion, only clasping her hands together, a greedy light in her eyes.

"Oh, Mr Lockhart," she demurred. "You have already given us the greatest gift imaginable, completing our Helene's happiness."

The smile Oliver gave then got nowhere near his eyes. "It is I who am indebted to you, and to that end I have arranged a trip to Paris for us all. We leave tomorrow."

The pleased smile dropped from Mrs Lavigne's face, but Mr Lavigne beamed broadly. "Paris, sir? Tomorrow? What a spontaneous adventure."

Oliver turned his attention back to the crowd, who were hanging on his every word. "I found that hearing tales of my sister's life in France made me want to visit for myself, to see where she grew up, safe and happy though we were apart." A murmur went through the room at this, at the emotion that had broken through Oliver's words. I knew that in that moment he was thinking of his sister, worrying about her, wondering if she really was standing in this room with him.

I moved so that the back of my hand brushed his own. So that he knew, as I had promised, that I stood there beside him.

He exhaled. "I have missed so much time with Helene," he said, steadier now, "and I think it is about time we started making some new memories together."

The Lavignes' smiles had a frozen edge; Helene's face was bleached of colour. I looked into her eyes and could not begin to read the storm of emotions there, but she dipped her head in a nod, as though accepting Oliver's words.

"To new memories," Mrs Finch's voice cried out, and she lifted her glass.

"To new memories," the room chorused, and as the wave of chatter crashed over the room, and as both we and the Lavignes were swamped by well-wishers, my eyes met Oliver's.

It was time for us to solve this mystery … once and for all.