Thankfully, Philippa did not press the issue as we climbed the stairs to the first floor. I hoped I had made my point and she wouldn't try to argue about it again. For now, at least.

I didn't enjoy using a harsh tone with my sister. Even though her opinion felt insulting, I knew she had good intentions. Certainly whatever problem had sent her to my door was weighing on her mind and affecting her behavior.

She refrained from sharing any further thoughts as I completed the tour of my home. In fact, Philippa had nothing to say at all. I suspected she was trying to punish me by giving me the silent treatment. We adjourned to the sitting room where tea had been brought up. My sister maintained her silence as she sipped the liquid.

If she thought it would frustrate me, she clearly didn't know me well.

It was easy to fill the silence with absolute nonsense. In fact, it was entertaining to invent ridiculous stories of the previous caretaker, who had absconded with what little of value had been left in the house. Naturally, I made him out to be a complete buffoon.

A few times, I thought Philippa was going to smile, but she maintained her stoic expression with a self-control I had to admire. I was exhausted by the time she retired for the night. A headache was forming behind my eyes as I made my way to my room where Davison waited for me.

"I am in no mood for a scolding," I told him bluntly. Though he had only been my valet for a short time, I knew him well enough to understand that he wasn't afraid to voice his thoughts. And in my current state, I had no patience for it. "This has been a difficult enough day as it is."

"Of course, sir," Davison responded promptly. "I would not presume to do so. There has been quite enough scolding within these walls today."

Warily, I eyed him as he approached. How much of my conversation with Philippa had he heard? Was he being sarcastic? Why was it so hard to read him sometimes?

He assisted me in removing my jacket and placed it to the side. "Did you have a chance to speak with Mr. Walton today?" was his next question.

"Briefly," I said with a sigh. "To be honest, I don't think we need to worry about footprints. No one has actually seen a person in the gardens. Maybe Mr. Fenton simply forgot he walked in that direction."

The gardener had to be near seventy years old at least, if not older. Ordinarily, I would have been concerned that his age made him a poor choice to bring the gardens back to life. Given that he was the only person to interview for the position, however, he had been hired. On the plus side, he had grown up in the area and had an obvious love for plants. Slowly yet surely, the garden was coming to life.

"I hope you will think twice about saying such a thing to Mr. Fenton," Davison said, his tone becoming stern. "He is a hard worker and there is nothing wrong with his memory. He knows where he has been in the garden. In any event, the footprints found were clearly larger than what one would expect from Mr. Fenton's shoe size."

Letting out a heavy sigh, I racked my brain for any other possible explanation. "Well, then, perhaps one of Mrs. Wallace's children is to blame. They have permission to explore as they see fit."

"Mr. Walton knows the difference between a child's footprint and that of a man."

Right. Of course he would. I was clearly too exhausted to think logically about this situation. "Why would anyone be sneaking around the garden?" I asked, sitting down to remove my boots. "Because if no one saw this person, it's safe to say they were trying to be discreet. There's nothing valuable here. And a poacher wouldn't find any animals near the house."

"A treasure hunter, perhaps."

"Treasure hunter? Oh, of course. I should have thought of that." I laughed until I saw that he wasn't smiling. Strange. That had been a joke, hadn't it? "You can't be serious! Who in their right mind would search for treasure at Pearsend?"

"Ah. I see you have not heard the rumor."

Oh no, not another rumor! I'd had my fill of those this year, possibly for a lifetime. "What kind of rumor is there this time?" I asked, trying to put it all together. "Are you suggesting that someone believes there is treasure at Pearsend?"

"Indeed. That is the story that I've heard since I arrived at Pearsend," Davison said seriously. "Perhaps not treasure, exactly, but a great deal of money. Jewelry, perhaps, or even gold."

"Why?" was the only thing I could think to say. As far as I knew, the only owners of Pearsend had been those with little cash on hand. That was why the place had been allowed to deteriorate into its present condition. The idea that any of those men would have hid a treasure was...well, quite frankly, it was nothing short of ridiculous. Absurd! Impossible!

Davison cleared his throat and stood up straight. "Twenty years ago, Mr. Henry Pinetop was the owner of Pearsend," he said. He placed his hands behind his back, looking like any number of professors I'd had at school. "He was purported to be a heavy investor in the Stocks."

"Yes? What of it?" Investing was a common pastime for gentlemen. Sometimes it worked out well for them while others lost all their wealth in reckless schemes. It was practically a more acceptable way of gambling. "There's nothing unusual about that."

The other man narrowed his eyes at my interruption. "Perhaps not," he responded, his tone conveying disapproval, "but from what I've been told, he began acting strangely. He ceased making any improvements on the property and became a recluse. He became quite paranoid. I was told he hid his fortune from thieves before he fell down the stairs and met his demise."

"Is it a common occurrence for a gentleman to fall down a flight of stairs?" I asked with a laugh of disbelief. I'd heard about a young man in Bath who'd died five years before doing just that. Not to mention Mr. Conrad Ingram, who had done so when he was drunk shortly before I took my leave of Bath.

It was almost enough for me to avoid stairs at all costs, even if I wasn't prone to over-imbibing.

"It is known to happen, though I wouldn't say it was common," Davison said, waving his hand dismissively. "I will admit that it is a detail that was added in the last two decades through the many retellings of the story. As far as I can tell, Mr.

Pinetop died of a heart attack. I'm simply trying to be faithful in relating the rumor that I heard. There could be some significance to it."

By this point, I wasn't interested in getting sidetracked by uncertain information. "Fine, fine. He didn't die from misfortune or the ill-intent of others. Why would they say he fell down stairs? Is it supposed to make it more believable or simply more exciting?"

"If an untimely death makes it more believable that there was treasure, then I suppose, yes. My guess is that it is supposed to be a hint that the man was killed for his money."

"Why didn't they say that he was poisoned or something like that?" I wasn't given to inventing tales, but I knew the importance of making sure details made sense to the story. This tale was not making any sense. "A fall down the stairs seems a bit of an undramatic and unnecessary addition."

The valet shook his head. "I am not here to make sense of other people's imaginations," he said seriously. "You wished to know what was being said. I can only offer you my theories on the story, not explain why certain details exist."

"Well, why would anyone believe he hid a fortune in his house?" was my next question. On the surface, I could understand if this was some wild tale that children told each other. A scary story to go along with a derelict building was the kind of thing I could understand children doing. But the trespasser's footprints hadn't been those of a child. "What kind of person would hide his money like that?"

"To prevent anyone else from finding it, of course. There are rumors that Mr. Pinetop had a rival who sought revenge for being ruined by some of Mr. Pinetop's actions. This person is believed to be responsible for the man's death."

I had never encountered such a convoluted and obscure story before! Rivals? Hidden money? "This is complete nonsense," I complained. "My siblings and I would tell each other better tales than this, but we never believed them."

"Indeed, sir. It has been difficult to separate truth from fiction in the matter, which is why I have not brought it up before."

The headache that had been held at bay was now pounding with an intense pressure. "So, you think there is someone who believes money has been hidden somewhere on Pearsend for the last two decades, and he is to blame for the footprints in the garden?"

"It seems the most likely explanation for someone being on the property, sneaking about, as you put it."

What was I supposed to do about this? That there might be money or gold or something of value in Pearsend was laughable. And while a child might believe it could be possible, surely their parents or some adult in their acquaintance would have set them right as they grew up. No one could have achieved adulthood still believing the story.

Where was the brandy when I needed it?

"While you were listening to the local gossip, did anyone mention their suspicions about where this hiding place might be?" I asked. "Only in the gardens, I hope? Or maybe out in one of the fields? That would be the place to hide something."

It was bad enough to have someone mucking about in the gardens doing who knew what. What if they tried to come inside? The previous caretaker may not have noticed an intruder. He certainly hadn't shown himself diligent enough to care, even if he had known.

Davison looked offended at the suggestion. "That would take the mystery out of the matter. I'm certain that half of the enjoyment for our neighbors is trying to guess its location. I'm sure they all have different theories."

So there was a chance someone would try to sneak into my house. Wasn't that just perfect? Of course, this would come to light while my younger sister was in the house.

"I assume Mr. Walton and Felton will keep watch from now on?" I hadn't thought to make the request when I spoke to the steward before. However he was a smart young man, and would know the steps to take when there was an intruder.

I said "young" as though he wasn't only a year younger than me.

"Of course. And they know to inform me if there are any more incidents. Naturally, I will then tell you what happened."

It was on the tip of my tongue to suggest that we could just skip a step and have them inform me, but I refrained. There was a system and it must be abided by, even if I found it tedious. I would just have to resign myself to being the last person to know anything in this house.

~*~

"Treasure? How exciting! If one must live in a ruin, having treasure to search for is surely an advantage! Do you have any clues on where the treasure might be or even what it is? We should find it ourselves!"

Philippa had appeared to forget her pique of the day before by the time she joined me for breakfast. I'd hesitated to tell her about the possible intruder, but thought the story of treasure would amuse her. It had immediately sent her into good spirits.

"I don't see any benefits to it," I replied calmly. "It will be nothing but a nuisance if there are people traipsing around my property. Can you imagine the trouble they would cause? The damage?"

When I had ventured into the gardens earlier, Mr. Felton had only been able to give me a vague description of the footprints. The size was definitely larger than a child's, but could have been any adult. Everything else appeared normal and undisturbed; there were no signs of digging or searching for hidden treasures.

"What else has your valet learned about the matter?" Philippa asked as she leaned forward. She appeared to have forgotten about the eggs and bread in front of her. "Does he have any clues on where the treasure might be?"

"He says it would take the fun out of the speculation the neighbors do." Was he simply trying to excuse the fact that he didn't know anything?

"Well, we must search for ourselves."

"Don't you think that has already been done?" I answered in what I thought was a reasonable tone. "Our neighbors have had years to look. If a treasure ever existed, it is long gone now."

"There's no reason for you to be so negative," my sister complained with a pout. "Think of how exciting it would be to search for the treasure. In fact, we should do just that! Today! Let's go on a treasure hunt! There's bound to be some hiding place that everyone else has missed."

But I was already shaking my head. "I have too many things to do." Had I been younger, I would have been eager to make such a search, but now the idea sounded exhausting. The ongoing repairs made a convenient excuse. "As long as you don't interfere with my staff, you are free to search as much as you wish."

"You are as bad as George! I thought you were the brother who could enjoy life."

I couldn't help but feel like it was an unjust comparison. "I know how to enjoy life, but I've also learned when to take my responsibilities seriously," I told her. "That is part of growing up."

One would have thought my father would have been proud of me for learning that lesson. During my time on the continent, I had quickly realized that being responsible was crucial for survival. Being focused on pleasure and doing only what I wanted only resulted in disaster. I'd seen it happen time and time again.

"But what am I to do while you do—" Pausing, Philippa waved a hand and then continued, "—whatever important task you claim you must do? What do you have to do, anyway?"

"If you're looking for something to pass the time, you can find something to read in the library," I reminded her, since I didn't really think she was interested in what I did or didn't need to do. "Or you can make your own search if you think it will be so amusing. I am not trying to prevent you from enjoying yourself."

"It's not the kind of thing one does alone. Lucas, please? For me?"

And there was the return of my petulant sister. This really was strange behavior. I didn't recall her being so mercurial before I left home last year. Had her quarrel, or whatever had happened with her betrothed, affected her more than she was telling me?

"I'm beginning to believe you didn't think through this visit of yours," I said lightly. "What did you expect to do while you were here? You must have known it wouldn't be the same as being at home. You don't have friends to visit or Father's tenants to assist. You must have realized that I would not be in a position to entertain you every minute."

Philippa's pout gave away her lfeelings on the matter. She hadn't thought about it. Then her face cleared. "Well, I will find some way to amuse myself," she said. "I don't suppose you have time to introduce me to your neighbors? That would be the fastest way for me to make friends."

"I haven't even had the time to introduce myself to the neighbors," I told her bluntly. Technically, I had spoken to a few gentlemen when our paths crossed while riding but I hadn't made any formal visits yet. I'd been meaning to do so, but that was a task that kept getting pushed aside for more important things.

Her expression twisted in disbelief and confusion. "You can't mean that you have been stuck in this house with no company!" she exclaimed in horror. "For a whole month?"

"It's not as though I'm stuck in the house, like a prisoner," I said with a laugh. "I make sure to exercise Phaeton every day, and I also oversee the progress of the farms. I can introduce you to the farmers' wives if you'd like. They are busy getting the cottages in order, but they will make you feel welcome."

Mrs. Little, especially, was a sensible woman, and I greatly admired her ingenuity. Any time her husband, Mr. Walton, and I were confounded by a situation, she had a suggestion that proved successful. Mr. Little was a fortunate man to have her as a life companion.

"If my paths were to cross with any of the tenants' wives, I will be happy to make their acquaintance, but I won't interrupt them," Phillipa said quickly. "I'm sure I would be in the way."

Did she think of herself above a farmer's wife? According to society dictates, she was. As I sifted through my recollections of the past, I wondered how Mama had treated the tenants at Bywood Hall. As far as I could remember, they hadn't been close friends, but Mama made sure to know each one of them. She took gifts when someone was ill and visited each house once a month.

"I don't want to confuse anyone and cause any trouble. It isn't as though I will be the lady of the house," Philippa added, catching my attention. "Though I am happy to be hostess for you while I am here."

"I have no plans for hosting any dinner parties or entertaining guests." The very idea! After Philippa's reaction, I knew Pearsend was not up to the standards of society. Maybe it never would be. Hopefully, though, I could make it good enough to have my neighbors visit.

"Why not? It would be just the thing to introduce yourself to the neighbors." Philippa's voice rang with excitement. "I can manage everything! All I need is a list of the families in the neighborhood. It can be done very easily."

"No."

"I'm sure we could get Mrs. Wallace some help in the kitchen," Philippa continued as though I hadn't spoken. "And if we focus on the dining room and the sitting room, we can have everything up to snuff. A week from now! That would be just the thing."

"Philippa, no."

With a start, she turned to me. "What?"

"I said no," I told her sternly. "I can understand the appeal of having a project. Pearsend has been a project for me. However, this place is not ready for guests. You have forced yourself onto me and we can make do, but we will not be entertaining any other people."

Her gaze skittered to the side. "A little work and everything would be fine. It would be simple. You wouldn't be bothered at all."

"I thought this was a ruin," I said, using her words against her. "No one entertains in a ruin. Not even for the novelty of it."

"What happened while you were out of the country? You used to be so much fun and now you're nothing more than a stick in the mud." Philippa crossed her arms.

"Sometimes, Philly, life is simply not fun." Such as when you are informed you ought to be engaged to a lady you dislike, or when you are suspected of being involved in someone's death. Since returning home, life had been a series of events that had been less than enjoyable for me. "So we must make the best of things as they are."

At that moment, the knocker on the front door sounded. "Strange," I said, glancing at the clock against the wall. "I wonder who that could be at this time of the day."

At first, it had been a relief to be alone and have no visitors. Most assumed that Pearsend was abandoned, so even travelers searching for help would avoid it. While I'd almost reached the point where I wanted company, Philippa was making me rethink the matter.

The knocker sounded again, and I had to resist the urge to get up. The maid would answer the door if Davison was unavailable. I had to let them do their job.

"Maybe one of your neighbors heard that I have come to visit, and they have come to introduce themselves," Philippa suggested, her tone eager. "That would be delightful. Perhaps they will be able to convince you that a dinner party would be just the thing."

"How on earth would they know you're here?" I asked, amused by the suggestion.

"It is a small neighborhood, isn't it?" she countered, her tone becoming stubborn. "All servants talk. I'm sure someone must have seen me in the wagon when that kind farmer brought me here."

The door of the dining room creaked as Molly slipped in. "Excuse me, sir," she said nervously. Her hands were twisted in her apron. "There's a gentleman here to see Miss Bywood."

"See? I told you!" Philippa exclaimed gleefully.

"Did the gentleman give his name?" I asked, ignoring my sister.

"Yes, sir," Molly said. "Mr. Bartholomew Talbot."