Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate, Gabriel reflected, for the house had electricity and modern plumbing, and a collection of ride-on lawn mowers and small tractors now lived in the outbuildings where horses had once dwelled. But every time he came here, he liked to envision the people who had built this house.

There would have been a small army of skilled labourers who had crafted the beautiful manor, and no expense had been spared with an eye to design. The house was three stories, rows of large, rectangular windows set uniformly into the rich burnt-umber stone and topped by a smooth slate roof. The center of the house was dominated by a wide expanse that extended forward from the wings, rising to a triangular roofline with small crenellations on top, giving it a slightly medieval flair. A massive arched doorway at the bottom welcomed guests in grand style.

But it was the location that awed their visitors. Set up on a gentle rise and surrounded by carefully maintained and manicured gardens that had once made the cover of the BBC Gardeners’ World magazine, Millbrook had a breathtaking view of the sea. Stretching away until the water joined the horizon in a merging of cerulean and azure on bright days, lead and silver on broody days, the vista never grew tiresome.

“Oh,” breathed Lia as they turned off the main road and started the easy climb up the long, tree-lined drive. “What a beautiful spot.”

“It is,” Gabriel agreed, glancing over at her in the passenger seat. She had her nose pressed against the glass with the excitement of a small child, and it made him smile.

The ride up from London had been passed in relaxed companionship, some of it in comfortable silence, other parts in easy conversation. She’d been waiting outside for him when he’d fetched her from her hotel in the morning, and it had been easy to pick her out of the crowd long before he pulled up in front of the aging building. She was wearing another one of the pretty sundresses she seemed to favour, this one a deep emerald shot through with a swirling lawn-green pattern. It made her eyes seem more green than brown today, her cheeks flushed with color above her familiar smile. She’d tossed a well-travelled pack in the backseat of his car and slid into the passenger seat, and he’d had the alarming sensation of butterflies waking beneath his ribs.

As they drove, Lia had told him about her work and the many places it had taken her. In turn, she’d asked Gabriel dozens of questions about restoration, his schooling, and his travels. All light and easy-to-answer queries, and he wondered if that was on purpose. She did not raise the question of his own art again, nor did she inquire any further about the two paintings she’d asked him to sell to her.