According to the booklet, the gardener counted the blooms every January, and this year there had been two hundred and eleven varieties, nearly all of them exotic and to be found nowhere else in England—other than when the seeds had been carried to the other islands in the chain. The Gardens were arranged like the empire itself, with species from the different colonies and outposts grouped together. Here, at the door, she was in Australia. As fine a place as any to begin.

She started with a sketch of the Gardens themselves from this vantage point. She always liked to get the wide view before she switched to the narrow. When she was back in her cottage, she would put color to it, but for now, black strokes on clean white paper would suffice.

“An artist, are you?”

She was nearly finished with this first sketch and ready to flip the page when the deep voice drew her gaze up. She smiled when she saw the older gentleman crouching down beside her. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was the gardener, though she’d caught only a glimpse of him inside, where he’d promised to chat with each guest and answer any of their questions. It would hardly be fair to dominate his attention, but she knew well she’d have questions enough to keep him busy all day.

She flipped to one of the sketches she’d done the other day of the seabirds, complete with scientific names and her observations. “A naturalist. The sketches are just part of my observation and discovery.” That was always the first step to learning, after all—observation.

The gardener nodded, appreciation in his eyes rather than condescension, which was the usual response she got from people. Especially men.

“Well done, indeed. You’ll find a rich selection here in our Gardens, to be sure. Mr. Menna,” he said then, a palm extended. “The gardener.”

She probably ought to use her full name with title, but it seemed too pretentious for the setting. “Libby Sinclair. How do you do?” She put her fingers into his palm, liking him even more when he bowed over them even without knowing she was a titled lady.

“Wonderfully, miss. Thank you. Have you any questions yet? I do realize you’ve barely begun your exploration, but I’m happy to answer any inquiries.”

No fewer than a dozen rioted for a place on her tongue, which made her laugh. “I could keep you occupied all day, sir. Here’s the most important though—do you need an apprentice?”

He laughed, though there was nothing mocking about it. Just actual delight. “I’ve a bit of one already in the vicar. But I do enjoy talking about my gardens with avid pupils. You are certainly welcome here any time, Miss Sinclair, and I’d be most happy to share any knowledge with you that I have and you desire.”