Abashed, Miss Dunkirk looked down. Jane tugged at her bonnet and looked at Mr. Dunkirk with an overly innocent expression. “I am sorry. I heard my name, but I am afraid my bonnet kept me from hearing anything else. Did you address me?”

He laughed, a clean, pure laugh that came up from his belly. Jane wanted above all else to make him laugh again, and to look at her always with such delight. Miss Dunkirk laughed with him, and for a moment, Jane felt a part of their family.

“Miss Ellsworth, I had asked Edmund not to tell you because I wanted it to be a surprize, but I will confess. He has engaged Mr. Vincent to tutor me in glamour. Is that not the most exciting thing you have ever heard?” Miss Dunkirk slipped her arm through Jane’s and leaned close to confide. “Edmund has such an admiration of your skills, and I envied them, so I pestered him for lessons until he agreed.”

Jane glanced at Mr. Dunkirk, but he was studying the landscape around them, having already lost interest in the conversation. Surely he could not admire her skills overmuch if he had engaged Mr. Vincent rather than letting Jane continue to help Miss Dunkirk discover her talents. Though, truly, to be tutored by a man of Mr. Vincent’s skills was enviable, and surely the best for the girl no matter what her feelings about the man’s manners might be. “Mr. Vincent is supremely talented.”

Miss Dunkirk wrinkled her nose. “He is so odd, though. You wouldn’t believe how droll he can be. He seems to love the visual arts to the exclusion of language. Outside of lessons, I do not think he has said more than five words at a time to me. Though when he is speaking of art and glamour, he can wax poetic.” She shook her head, laughing. “Really, he is very droll.”

They passed beneath the dappled shade that the copse of trees provided before they came upon the strawberry mounds. The sudden cool was such a relief that conversation ceased for a moment, only to begin again when they emerged from the trees. Each group exclaimed as they saw the strawberry patches, which even from a distance shewed the heavy red berries nestled among the glossy leaves.

When Mr. Ellsworth had had the strawberries planted, he had instructed his gardener to make them seem a natural part of the landscape. They meandered along low hills and a cunningly contrived stone wall that seemed to be a picturesque ruin, yet raised the strawberry plants so that one did not have to stoop to pluck them.

On the hill above them, Mr. Vincent was unpacking his easel and his paints under the shelter of an ancient arching laurel.

Mr. Ellsworth stopped short and turned in some astonishment. “Where are the servants? I expressly told them to set the nuncheon under the laurel tree. Virginia”—he turned to Mrs. Ellsworth—“did you tell them to go elsewhere?”