The vicar—he must mean Mr. Tremayne. He was the only vicar on Tresco, so far as Libby knew. And it made sense that he and Mr. Menna would be not only acquainted but friendly. That certainly explained how he’d known so much about botany when he led her through her own gardens with such expert ease.

Though she wanted to glance around to see if perhaps he were here now, she instead kept her focus on Mr. Menna. Conversing with him was ever so much easier than chatting with the holiday-goers on St. Mary’s. “That’s very kind of you, sir, and I’ll no doubt take you up on your offer. Though you ought to attend the other visitors first. I don’t want to take up too much of your time.”

He chuckled and leaned a little closer, dark eyes sparkling. “To be perfectly honest,” he said in a whisper, “I’d prefer to spend a day with someone genuinely interested than with someone who only came because they were told they must. But we’ll let that be our secret. I try to think of it as a challenge to interest those casual visitors and help them see the splendor all about them.”

“What a lovely perspective.” It certainly was healthier than growing frustrated when people didn’t seem to care about the same things you did. Which was how she ended every single conversation with Edith. “I pray you open someone’s eyes today, Mr. Menna.”

“And I pray you enjoy every minute you spend here, Miss Sinclair. Don’t hesitate to find me if you have a pressing question. Otherwise I’ll certainly find you in a bit.”

She smiled him on his way and turned to a fresh sheet of paper. Her first individual subject would be the Alsophila australis—a fern, so said its leaf, but far larger than the sort she saw at home. The stalk was as thick as the trunk of a sapling, and it was at least three feet tall.

It was like being in another world altogether. One she could happily get lost in. Where, she had to wonder, had Oliver Tremayne last been in these gardens? If Mr. Menna called him an apprentice of sorts, then he must spend a lot of time here. Had he ever knelt right here, where she sat now? Had he helped to plant any of these specimens in the ground or arranged the stones that guarded them?

And why did the thought of that make her fingers tingle around her pencil? She took a deep breath and focused on her work. First this fern, and then the ones neighboring it. As the morning went on, she had to scoot to a new position several times as the sun arched over her, warming her shoulders.

“There you are, dearest.”