“Mr. Foxworth is taking so much extra care with preparations for your visit,” Lucas said, “that he begs to be forgiven for not being here in person to greet you. He’s personally inspecting the grounds work, the cleaning of the manor house, and your chambers.”

“Is that so?” my mother asked. “Our chambers?”

It was clearly a question and not a simple acknowledgment, which surprised poor Lucas. How would he answer? He fluttered about, loading our luggage, and then assisted both my mother and me into the carriage.

“This is a beautiful carriage, Harrington,” my mother said, running her hands over the new leather seats. “We should get a new one, perhaps. Perhaps something similar.”

“I forget the name of this one,” my father said, “but I know it’s from England.”

“It’s a brougham,” I said, speaking before thinking.

My mother looked at me. “How would you know that?”

“When he visited me at Great-aunt Nettie’s, he showed it to me.”

She nodded but remained suspicious rather than impressed that I would have paid attention to such a detail. Had I said too much? I glanced at my father, who gently shook his head. I said nothing else until Foxworth Hall came into view. I was seeing it for the first time in the daytime, and it did look quite different. Garland was right. It changed its personality and appeared to be more austere, older, but still quite beautiful, resting in its stunning natural settings with the rolling hills behind it and the manicured lawns and flowers around it. He wasn’t overstating by telling me he had far more than the Wexlers when it came to his gardens.

When I was here at night, I hadn’t seen all the windows on the two main floors, either, and now noticed the windows above the second floor, too, windows of what surely was that attic he had described. It seemed to go the length of the mansion. The driveway widened more than I had thought, and from this height in the daytime, the houses below looked like ones in a toy village.

“Well, I do declare,” my mother said at first sight. “It’s so big. Is that lake part of his property?” she asked, nodding to our left.

“Oh yes,” my father said. “And soon to be your daughter’s, too.”

My mother gaped out the side window and then turned to me as if it wasn’t until that moment that she understood what was happening.

“I don’t know how you’ll manage being the mistress of such a mansion. You hardly know enough to take care of your bedroom. A busy husband like yours will certainly be dependent on you to look after your domicile. I’m sure you won’t have the hours and hours to dote on yourself, Corrine. Now, finally, you’ll understand what I’ve carried on my shoulders all these years.”