Blake closed his eyes—anything not to see the yellow eggs splattered on his perfectly polished boots. “What I meant, Mrs. Mickle, was that she might as well have been raised by wolves, given the pack of guardians to which she was subjected.”

By then the housekeeper was on the floor with a cloth napkin, trying to clean up the mess. “Oh, but the poor dear,” she said with obvious concern. “I had no idea she'd had a difficult childhood. I shall have to make her a special pudding this evening.”

Blake's lips parted in consternation, as he tried to recall the last time Mrs. Mickle had done the same for him.

James, who'd been grinning to himself in the doorway, stepped forward and asked, “Do you have any idea where she went, Mrs. Mickle?”

“I believe she's working in the garden. She took with her quite a bit of equipment.”

“Equipment? What kind of equipment?” Blake's mind was flashing with horrific images of mangled trees and hacked up plants. “Where did she find equipment?”

“I gave it to her.”

Blake turned on his heel and strode out. “God help us.”

He wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Holes.

Big, gaping holes, all over his formerly pristine lawn. Or at least he'd thought it had been pristine. In all truth, he had never paid much attention to it. But he did know that it had definitely not looked like this, with brown clumps of earth littered across the grass. He didn't see Caroline, but he knew she had to be there.

“What have you done?” he bellowed.

A head popped out from behind a tree. “Mr. Ravenscroft?”

“What are you doing? This is a disaster. And you,” he said to James, who hadn't made a sound, “stop laughing.”

Caroline emerged from behind the tree, her dress liberally streaked with dirt. “I'm fixing your garden.”

“You're fixing my—You're what? This doesn't look the least bit fixed to me.”

“It's not going to look so wonderful until I finish with my work, but when I do—”

“Your work? All I see is a dozen holes.”

“Two dozen.”

“I shouldn't have said that, were I you,” James commented from a safe distance.

Caroline stuck the end of her shovel in the dirt and leaned on it as she spoke to Blake. “Once you hear my explanation, I'm sure you will understand—”

“I understand nothing!”

“Yes.” She sighed, “men usually don't.”

Blake started looking around the garden, his head whipping frantically from side to side as he tried to assess the damage. “I'm going to have to call in an expert from London to repair what you've done. Good God, woman, you're going to cost me a bloody fortune.”

“Don't be silly,” she replied. “These holes will all be filled up by evening. I'm merely moving your flowering plants into the sun. They'll do much better. Except for that impatiens, of course,” she added, pointing to the lovely pink and white flowers planted right next to the house. “Those thrive in the shade.”