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“Nearly every evening when I am at Seaview Manor.”

“And when you are in London? Do you have a favorite place to watch the sunset there?”

He glanced at her with a rueful smile. “Alas, London offers rather fewer opportunities for such peaceful contemplation. I fear I must content myself with a glass of brandy and the view from my study.”

They walked for several more minutes before the path widened into a secluded clearing, where Cordelia glanced upward and stopped in astonishment. At its center stood an enormous oak, its ancient trunk so broad that several men could scarcely have encircled it with outstretched arms. Great branches twisted among the neighboring trees, forming a magnificent canopy above roots that rose from the earth like slumbering creatures. George had loved old trees since boyhood, but this particular oak had captured his affection from the moment he first saw the property.

High among its branches, partly concealed by leaves and trailing ivy, stood the tree house he had designed as his private refuge. Far more elaborate than a simple platform, its broad timber floor curved around the living trunk, supported by stout beams secured to the strongest branches. A low oak balustrade enclosed its edges, while an arched roof of wooden ribs and woven boughs sheltered the rear without obscuring the sky. Climbing vines softened the workmanship until the structure appeared almost a natural part of the tree. Beyond its open western side stretched a view that never failed to stir something in George’s heart.

Cordelia tipped her head back, her lips parting in astonishment. “Oh, George! Good heavens, what is that?”

“Where I come to escape the demands of respectable society.”

“And drink brandy?” she asked, laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Among other things.”

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Other things? Such as entertaining ladies?”

He chuckled. “No, Cori. You are the only woman I have ever brought here.”

A delighted blush warmed her cheeks, and she stepped closer to examine the workmanship. “It is extraordinary. Did you build it yourself?”

“I designed it, though several of the estate carpenters assisted with the construction. I had grand ideas concerning the roof, and they were obliged to remind me that an oak, however accommodating, cannot be expected to hold up a second manor house.”

“Those seats look enormous. Are they made of wood?”

“Solid oak, carved and fitted by one of the cleverest joiners in Kent. He persuaded me that broad, reclining benches would be more comfortable than the stone seats I had first considered.”

“And how did you manage to bring all that timber up into the branches?”

“With considerable effort, several ropes, and a few inventive curses. The cushions, I assure you, proved rather easier to convey.”

She laughed and looked back toward the little house with unconcealed delight. “It is like something from a fairy tale.”

He had hoped she would like it, but he had not anticipated how much her pleasure would mean to him. “From up there one can see across the lake and the western fields,” he told her. “At sunset, the whole valley changes color, and on a clear evening the last light lingers over the water long after the gardens have fallen into shadow.”

“And you sit there and watch it, with your brandy?”

“Whenever I can.”

“Always alone?”

“Until now.”

She looked at him, and something changed in her expression, a flicker of awareness that made his pulse quicken. When she turned her face toward the branches once more, however, her pleasure was touched by an unmistakable wistfulness.

“I have not climbed a tree in years,” she confessed. “Not properly, since my leg…” She let the words trail away, but he remembered everything she had told him of her childhood accident and the changes that had followed it.

“Would you like to climb this one with me?”

The longing in her eyes was answer enough, though she studied the height for another moment before smiling. “Oh, I should dearly love to.”

“Then we shall do it together. I know the soundest branches, and I promise you shall not fall while I am with you.” He did not offer the assurance because he doubted her abilities, but because he understood that, after so long, the first attempt might require more courage than she wished to admit.

George set the decanter upon a low stone table positioned near the trunk and glanced at her feet. “Before we begin, there is one practical matter to be settled. Your boots and stockings must come off, for bare feet will afford you a much surer hold upon the bark.”

Cordelia looked down at her boots and then at him, the corners of her mouth lifting. “And I suppose you mean to assist me with these preparations?”