“I mean, it was nice to see you enjoying the stars as much as I do. Stargazing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”

“It should be.” Talk of tea reminded her of her own abandoned mug on the desk. She took a swig. “Ugh, cold. I wasn’t expecting that. I really was lost in the stars for a long time.”

“Would you like another?”

Nory looked at her watch. “I ought to get back.”

“Do you have a curfew?”

“No. But it’s late, and I’ve got an early start tomorrow.”

“Ah, yes. The pheasant shoot.”

Nory grimaced.

“You’re not keen?” he asked.

“I’ve been trying to get my head around it, and I know that we’ll be eating what we shoot, but . . .”

“You prefer your meat vacuum-packed in the fridge section.”

“Go on, tell me I’m a hypocrite. I’ll own it.”

“I’m not going to judge you because you don’t have the heart to kill a living thing. Have a think about it, and if you still don’t feel comfortable in the morning, then don’t do it. It’s not for everyone.”

Nory appreciated his diplomacy. She didn’t expect to get quite such an easy ride from the others if she decided to back out.

“Come on, then, I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m old-fashioned. Humor me.”

Nory smiled.

Isaac pulled the door shut behind him, Lettuce having vigorously declined the offer of a late-night walk. It had begun to snow. The white flakes tumbling down from the sky made it look as if the stars were dropping out of the heavens. Everything was quiet, muted by the snowfall, so that only the sounds of their boots crunching on the frozen ground broke the silence.

“It feels otherworldly,” said Nory, her voice hushed. The quiet dark made her feel like she ought to whisper.

“It does,” Isaac agreed. “This landscape brings a different kind of magic with every season.”

“I suppose it does.” Her mind was drifting back through her childhood growing up here; long, hot summers with crisp bleached grass, and grasshoppers jumping at her ankles. Spring with its yellow daffodils and Robins Wood a cerulean carpet of bluebells. Wading through the pumpkin patches in autumn and collecting chestnuts fallen from the trees down near the lake. And then the winters, sometimes so harsh she felt they would never end, numb fingers in frozen gloves as she helped her parents in the glasshouses. It hadn’t felt like a charmed life at the time, but as she looked back on it now—perhaps with rose-tinted spectacles—she did so with more than a little nostalgia.

“I couldn’t wait to leave here when I was a kid,” said Isaac.